#but there's not a lot that's close by here

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAYBE I JUST WANNA BE YOURS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not get jealous. he especially doesn't get jealous over someone he's not even dating. because he's not dating you. he doesn't want to date you... right?

(wordcount: 5k; fem!reader, nsfw, lots of smut LOL idk what got into me this is the first fic ive written with more smut than plot in ages. but anyway: jealous!dazai, fingering, oral (f->m), semi-public/public sex. whiplash from dazai's thoughts (as always). unedited.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihi. SO this actually wasn't going to be connected to anything, but i decided like mid-fic that i wanted to make it a continuation to the adareader universe ive been considering building. i was too lazy to go check for inconsistencies, so if there's any dihfausihdfsudf just ignore them LOL. when i eventually make the masterlist for it and officially connect them all, ill go thru and double check for them. first i need to write them something with actual substance and not just horny posting LOLLLL.

Dazai is not a jealous man.

He’s not.

In fact, he’s the most un-jealous person in the whole world. He has no reason to be jealous, especially over you. He’s not dating you. Dazai never asked you to be his girlfriend, and that was intentional because Dazai doesn’t want a girlfriend. More specifically, he doesn’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. You’re just a friend—a friend that he sometimes fucks and occasionally seeks out to spend time with. He doesn’t want someone relying on him in a way a girlfriend would, and he certainly doesn’t want to rely on someone in the way a boyfriend would, because he doesn’t want the rug pulled out from under him when it inevitably goes to shit. 

The thought is suffocating, it makes his skin crawl.

Almost as much as the realization that the cop the two of you are assigned to be coordinating with is clearly head over heels enamored by you. Dazai scowls from where he’s standing a few steps behind you, watching as you go over the details of the file that the man brought to you—Dazai didn’t care to learn his name. And yes, Dazai means you because when the officer came over with the file, he didn’t even acknowledge Dazai’s existence and walked right over to you.

He still hasn’t acknowledged Dazai’s presence, staring at you with an adoring expression as you read through the file. Dazai thinks if this were some sort of cartoon, the officer would quite literally have hearts in his eyes—it’s disgusting, Dazai can hardly stand to watch it.

“Dazai,” you finally say, voice a soft hum. He likes the way you say his name—it rolls off your tongue prettily, and it makes his chest oddly warm. He’s not used to people saying his name with such softness; he’s used to anger, irritation, fear, but never this. He’s wondered how his given name would sound, he’s spent many nights imagining it, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his cock, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you to call him by it. That’s a step too close to actual intimacy and he’s not willing to take it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai realizes you must have said something after you said his name, but he didn’t catch it because he was too absorbed in the way you said his name to notice.

“Come here,” you say again, nodding your head for him to drag himself out of the corner he’s sulking in to come to you. He feels a bit too gleeful watching the way the officer’s expression shifts in surprise as he turns to look at Dazai, finally noticing him.

Dazai pushes himself off of the wall to take a few steps closer to you, and he may or may not stand a bit too close on purpose just to see the other man frown. He stands behind you, chest brushing your back as he looks over your shoulder to scan through the file you’ve been reading. It takes him twice as long as it usually does because he didn’t realize that being in such close proximity to you would make him as dizzy as it did, and he’s too stubborn to back off now. 

Your hair smells like vanilla, and Dazai can smell the faint scent of your favorite perfume dabbed on your neck, worn off throughout the long day. His attention strays from the file to you, tracing the smooth curve of your neck, dipping down to your collarbone and swallowing when he realizes that the top three buttons of your dress shirt are undone, the stuffiness of the tiny room and the lack of air conditioning causing small, visible beads of sweat to form on your skin. His breath catches as his gaze lowers just a bit more and-

You turn to look at him and his gaze snaps up before it can drop to dangerous territories, and Dazai catches the amused look in your eyes—you know exactly what he was looking at. Instead of having some shame, because Dazai has no shame, he shifts just an inch closer to you, one of his hands resting on your hip. He watches the way your lashes flutter the same way they always do when you’re trying to pretend you’re not affected by his touch, and his lips curl up into a small smirk.

“What do you think?” you ask after a second. 

To your credit, your voice isn’t as strained as he expected, so Dazai ups it a notch, fingers sliding from where they’re caressing your hip to trail across your inner thigh. All out of sight from the officer on your left, but Dazai can tell he’s aware that something is going on from the way his enamored expression starts shifting into a more awkward one.

Dazai gives him a smug, sardonic smile before saying, “I think our friend over here should go get us the CCTV tapes—that’ll be much more useful to us then a bunch of reports.”

The other man’s face shifts in confusion, brows furrowing and lips curving down, but before he can say no, you speak up and agree, “That would be great.”

Dazai rolls his eyes when it makes the man straighten and nod, “I’ll get it right away.”

Before he steps out of the room, Dazai tosses another look over his shoulder, this one colder than it is smug, and he says maybe a bit too snidely, “Don’t come back until you have them.”

The officer doesn’t reply as he leaves the room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, Dazai is pulling away from you to walk over to it. He locks it quickly and then turns to face you, tilting his head to the side as his gaze roves over your body. You’re leaning back against the table, eyebrows raised, and Dazai doesn’t stop himself this time when his gaze lowers to the swell of your breasts just barely made visible by your partially unbuttoned shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, motioning for you to come over to him.

You don’t budge. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and say dryly, “There are cameras in here, Dazai.”

He pointedly looks up to the two corners of the room that they’re in and then back down to where he’s standing, silently telling you that this is a blind spot. After a moment’s hesitation, you push yourself off the table and make your way over to him. Dazai tilts his head back against the wall, looking down at you through his lashes as you come to stand directly in front of him. He pretends that his throat doesn’t bob when he feels your fingers slip into his belt loops.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but your eyes are glittering so he knows you know exactly what the problem is—and to think he thought you weren’t cruel, you might just be the worst type of cruel there is, hiding it behind pretty smiles and sweet words. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because that cop has a crush.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Dazai replies with a simpering smile, lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, breath catching as your eyes flutter shut, pressing your face into his hand. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Dazai thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—he’s thought it since the day he met you, but he thinks it especially now when you’re leaning into his touch like it isn’t poisonous, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his soul isn’t black and rotten. You deserve better than him, and that’s another reason why he refuses to take that next step: he knows one day you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize that you’ve fallen for a mask, that the man you care about doesn’t actually exist, it’s a thing that can barely call itself human pretending to be him.

He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know that something is wrong with him—he thinks that you must have some inkling after the bout of paranoia he had a few weeks ago when he was at your apartment, but he doubts you know the extent of it. He doubts you know that thoughts running through his head whenever that officer looked at you were anything but just casual jealousy; that every time he leaned in closer to you, Dazai’s fingers twitched in the direction of the gun given to him by the Agency that he’s only supposed to use in emergencies. 

Old habits die hard, Dazai has always been quite trigger happy. They never should’ve put a gun in his general vicinity.

 He leans down to ghost his lips below your ear, savoring in the way he feels you take in a sharp breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to kiss the spot beneath your jaw that makes you writhe, and just as he expects, you let out a breathy moan against his ear that makes his head dizzy, your hands darting up to cling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Dazai,” you gasp as he kisses down your neck. He hums in response, his free hand resting on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Are you sure…”

“I’m sure,” he says, and then adds smugly, “When am I ever wrong?”

He doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re probably rolling your eyes at him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to make a witty remark about the first time the two of you met. His grip tightens on your waist as he flips you around so that your back is to his chest.

His hands immediately work to unbutton your slacks, lips finding their way back to your neck to pepper kisses up and down your skin as he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He lets out a low groan against your skin when he slides his hand into your pants and feels just how damp your panties are.

“This better be for me,” he mutters more to himself than to you, nipping at the skin of your neck. His voice is a bit more rough now as he asks you, “Lace?”

He lifts his face from your neck to look at you. Your eyes are half lidded as the pads of his fingers trace the cloth of your panties, head lolled back against his shoulder, breath ragged and lips parted, but there’s something teasing in your gaze as it flickers up to meet his.

“The ones you like,” you breathe out, and Dazai swallows thickly. “I was gonna see if you wanted to come over after this.” 

“Shit,” he whispers, putting pressure right over where your clit is hidden, watching the way your thighs tremble. “Look at you, only I make you feel this good, yeah?”

“Don’t tease.” The whine that clings to your words makes Dazai’s head spin. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants and tries to ease some of the friction by pressing you back into him, rolling his hips against your ass. “Dazai-”

“Shhhh,” Dazai soothes with a grin, kissing up your neck to your ear when he hears the distress in your tone. “I’ve got you.” 

With practiced ease, he slides his fingers beneath your panties, middle finger dipping between your folds. He inhales sharply, immediately losing his grin when he feels how wet you are.

“This better be for me,” he repeats, a bit more seriously this time as he slides his finger between your folds, putting pressure on your entrance but not quite pushing in. “Hm?”

He waits for a response, relishing in the way your whole body trembles against him. He doesn’t even know if you know what he asked, you already seem so fucked out—lips wet and parted as you breathe in and out shakily, lashes fluttering and chest heaving.

“Tell me,” he presses, his free hand sliding up your body, untucking your shirt so he can slip his hand beneath it to feel your skin.

“‘course it’s for you, Dazai,” you say after a few seconds of confusion, like you were trying to remember what he asked. “What kind of question is that?” 

Dazai doesn’t respond to that, letting out a pleased hum as he kisses your jaw again. He also doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, quickly plunging his middle finger deep inside of you. The sudden intrusion has your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry that escapes your lips—he almost wants to pull your hand away, but decides against it because he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you like this.

You try to rock your hips to get him moving, but Dazai’s hand flattens against your stomach, holding you still against him.

“Dazai-” you gasp his name again, this time your voice is more pitched, caught between a whine and a complaint.

“Patience,” he coos, but his voice is strained and his breath is heavier as your tight walls hug his finger, imagining that it’s his cock instead. He drags his finger out until only the tip remains inside of you. He teases your entrance again, tracing a gentle circle but not pushing back in. “Bet you could already take two fingers for me, yeah?”

“What if he comes back?” you suddenly ask panic flying through your eyes as if you’ve only just remembered where you are. Dazai is distinctly displeased by the thought of another man crossing your mind while his fingers are inside of you. “Dazai, what if-”

“He won’t,” Dazai answers you, making his displeasure known as he nips your neck. 

“How do you-”

“The corner that the disappearance took place on—it’s a blind spot for the CCTV cameras,” he answers before you can finish. Dazai knows this because he killed a target in that exact same spot two and a half years ago. “He’ll be gone for a while. He won’t want to come back empty handed to you.” 

Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to question him anymore, sliding his middle and ring fingers inside of you and watching as your jaw falls slack. To make up for the displeasure he felt at you bringing up that irritating cop, he fucks you hard with his fingers—you barely have time to bite the palm of your hand before his fingers are stretching your walls.

He thinks he might be pushing his luck—he doesn’t know if the cameras in the corners of the room pick up sound, and if they do, he doesn’t know how well they pick it up. Even if you’re doing your very best at muffling your moans, there’s no hiding the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt—it’s wet and filthy, and it has Dazai’s head dizzy. 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are plunging in and out of you back up to your face. Your pretty eyes are almost fully rolled back as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge and your lashes are wet. One particularly rough snap of his wrist has your hand falling limp from your mouth to your side and your lips parting in a moan that Dazai doesn’t dare allow anyone else to hear. Quickly, his free hand darts up to grab your jaw hard, turning your face toward him so he can press his lips to yours messily, swallowing the keening moan before you can let it out. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth gently in contrast to the rapid thrusts of his fingers. You try to kiss him back, but you can hardly even breathe with how deep his fingers fuck into you. He knows you're close—he can feel it in the way your whole body is trembling, and how your pussy flutters around his fingers, so he picks up the pace, just as desperate to bring you over the edge as you are to get there.

He’s the only one that can make you feel like this. He’s the only one that can make your body shudder and writhe, he’s the only one that can make your eyes roll back in pleasure, he’s the only one and he needs to prove it.

“C’mon, baby,” he pleads against your lips. The pet name that spills from his lips is not the teasing bella he likes to hit you with like he intended—it comes out strained, breathy, just as desperate as he feels. The lack of control scares him a bit, but he’s too out of it for it to take hold. “C’mon, once on my fingers, then as many times as you want on my cock when we get home, alright?”

He doesn’t know what you’re trying to say, the noise that spills from your lips, muffled against his mouth, is a moan, caught between his name and a please and something else he can’t make out. Distantly, he thinks that the bandages on his forearm must be ruined, he can feel your slickness dripping down his hand to his wrist and he can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you. He doesn’t care—in fact, the thought only makes his lower abdomen tighter. 

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, the only word she can make out and Dazai grins.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, scissoring his fingers inside of you and rubbing his index finger over your clit, and you’re gone. 

Dazai groans when he feels you moan his name against his lips, hand dropping from your face to your waist to hold you upright as your knees buckle. You cum hard on his fingers, hips stuttering and stilling, and he can feel tears spilling over your cheeks. His cock is painfully hard now and he wants nothing more than to unbuckle his pants and replace his fingers with it, but he thinks that would be pushing his luck—he’s never had any semblance of control once his cock is inside you and he needs to keep an ear out for footsteps approaching the conference room. 

He rides out your high, pace slowing as he continues to fuck his fingers into your sensitive cunt, wiping your tears with his free hand once you’ve steadied yourself. You tremble, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and Dazai only removes his fingers when you claw at his wrist for him to stop.

His fingers are dripping with your cum, and though Dazai is aching for a taste himself, he instead lifts them to your lips. You’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, leaning back against his chest and breathing heavily, but you instinctually part your lips for him. His breath catches when you take both of his fingers into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around his digits as you taste yourself off of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand dropping down to rub the heel of his hand against his cock, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure. He has no idea how he’s going to hide this before the officer gets back and…

His thoughts trail off when you finally push off of him, your legs are still trembling, and your eyes are still a little hazy, but your gaze drops from his face to his rapidly rising and falling chest down to where he’s rubbing his cock through his pants. And then, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeats, voice breathy this time and pupils blown wide as he watches your fingers work at the buckle of his belt.

Dazai almost wishes that the officer would come back soon, just so he could walk in on you with a faceful of Dazai’s cock. But if that happens, all of Ango’s work will go out the window because there’s no way he’s letting someone see you like this and walk out alive. 

Dazai’s cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. He’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum, and his tip is flushed red, but you waste no time before ghosting your lips across his length, suckling gently at the vein running along the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip.

Dazai chews at his lower lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat. Instead, his throat spasms as he swallows, reaching out to cradle the back of your head gently, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly.

“Lookit you,” he breathes out, voice wavering as he swallows another low groan. His fingers tighten in your hair just a bit, but he doesn’t push your face down on his cock, head falling back against the door as you work his cock further down your throat. His breath is ragged and heavy as your tight muscles spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he can feel your nails digging into the bandages wrapped around his hips. “That’s my girl.”

Another loss of control that should probably concern him, but you’re quick to take his mind off of it with the way he can feel you let out a whine around him, nails digging a little bit deeper into skin as you take him fully into your mouth, lips flush to his pelvis and nose buried in his pubic hair.

His head falls forward as he pants, watching your throat struggle to adjust to him. He strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him because he worries that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll let out a pornographic moan, one that will be impossible to deny if anyone over hears.

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, eyes wide and glassy with fat tears that roll steadily over your cheeks. 

Beautiful, he thinks hazily, and his—all his. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to imagine you like this—you’re his. 

He chokes over air, free hand coming up to cover his mouth and hips jerking forward. He feels you gag around him and his hand drops to caress your cheek in apology, trying to wipe away your tears, but it’s clumsy and frantic—the sight of you on your knees for him, tears streaming down you face as you take him down your throat, is enough to send him spiraling over the edge.

His vision spots with black dots, the taut cord in his abdomen tightens and then snaps. He’s hardly able to muffle the moan that spills from his lips as his eyes knock back and his head falls against the metal of the door. His whole body tenses and spasms as he cums down your throat, he gasps for air, thumb still stroking your cheek as you struggle to swallow all of his cum.

It takes a minute for Dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. By the time he has, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. His hazy gaze focuses on your face—your lips are wet and swollen, your eyes are still glassy, and this time Dazai doesn’t have an excuse as he lifts his hands to cradle your face and says quietly, “Mine.”

Your smile is teasing. “‘I don’t get jealous,’” you mock lightly, leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as his hand slinks around your body to your back, pulling your body flush to his as he deepens the kiss, sinking into the familiar feeling of your lips sliding against his. 

“I don’t have reason to be jealous,” Dazai murmurs, this time with a different meaning. He pulls back slightly so he can button your pants back up and tuck your dress shirt back into them, making sure you look presentable before the officer gets back.

Instead of teasing him again, your smile softens and you affirm, “You don’t,” and Dazai’s throat tightens. 

The thought of being in an actual relationship has always been suffocating to Dazai. Imagining having to spend the rest of his life with one person, having someone rely on him when his will to live is fickle at best and nonexistent at worst, becoming dependent on someone who could leave him on a moment’s notice… It makes his stomach churn with disgust, his chest tight with anxiety.

But when that faceless someone turns into you, Dazai realizes that the thought of a relationship is not quite as unappealing as it’s always been to him. Does it still make him skittish? Sure, but does it outweigh the green hue that colors his vision whenever someone looks at you and thinks you’re not his? Does it outweigh the bolt of fear he feels whenever he sees someone display interest in you, wondering if maybe you’ll get sick of his flighty behavior and give them a chance?

Absolutely not.

Dazai hears footsteps approaching the door he’s leaning on, and quickly unlocks it, motioning for you to stand back by the conference table. When the officer opens the door, the two of you are standing there casually like you never moved.

The officer gives you an apologetic smile that makes Dazai’s eyes twitch. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any CCTV footage from the area.”

Before you can respond, Dazai smiles tightly and says, “Wow, and it took almost twenty minutes for you to realize that—no wonder the police keep coming to us for help.”

You elbow Dazai, but he’s unrepentant, giving you a sweet smile before turning a cooler one back onto the officer. “If you don’t mind, we can finish the rest back at our office tomorrow now that we have the files. We have a date to get to.”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re raising your eyebrows at him, but he keeps his gaze trained on the officer, finding sick satisfaction in the way the man’s eyes dart between the two of you, a dawning expression crossing his face.

“A… date?” 

“A date,” Dazai confirms, picking up the file and motioning for you to leave. He pointedly ignores the amused expression on your face as you make your way out of the room, walking past the officer who dumbly steps out of the way. “Thanks for the help… or, well, lack thereof.”

It’s only when the door slams shut behind the two of you, do you finally echo, “… A date?”

Hesitantly, Dazai confirms, “A date?”

When you don’t immediately respond, Dazai’s smile starts to freeze, considering that maybe you don’t want to date him and he read all of this wrong. You want to keep things casual, no strings attached. But after a few agonizing moments, you hook your arm around his and lean into him.

“Where are you taking me then, hm?”

“… It’s a surprise,” he replied.

A surprise for both of you, because Dazai hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

A tenseness that he hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders dissipates when you laugh and press your lips to his upper arm before resting your head against it. 

“Alright,” you agree, although he’s pretty sure you know damn well this is all spur of the moment. “Let’s go then.”

Though Dazai tries to rifle through all of the options of places you like to go, when the two of you step outside, all coherent thought washes right out of the window when you turn to look up at him, the setting sun casting an ethereal glow over your face.

“What is it?” you ask when he freezes in his tracks to admire you. “Dazai?”

For just a split second, Dazai can imagine it. He can imagine a life with you, and there’s no sign of any of the suffocation or discomfort he usually feels when he thinks of long term commitment too hard. He imagines waking up to you in the morning and falling asleep to you at night, he imagines spending his days laid up in bed with you sharing kisses and sweet nothings and he imagines dragging you around the city to show you off to anyone and everyone. His thoughts start to spiral out of control, and he’s glancing down at your ring finger, wondering-

“Dazai?”

Dazai’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he swallows thickly when a more realistic image comes to mind—the expression on your face when you find out about his past, the disgust, the fear, the realization that he’s just not who he made himself out to be, that he’s been lying to you since day one.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, voice a little raspy, so he shakes his head, giving you a disarming smile and clearing his throat. “You’re just so stunning that it leaves me at a loss for words, sweet bella.”

You don’t seem to buy it, but you don’t press, arm tightening around his as you make your way back over to your car.

As soon as you look away, his expression shifts into a more downcast one as his gaze tracks back over to you. It’s only a matter of time, he remembers. His past will catch up with him sooner rather than later, and no matter what you may insist about the past being in the past, he knows everything will change when you finally realize what all he’s been hiding from you.

… but maybe there’s not too much harm in indulging while he still can. He just has to keep reminding himself that he can’t get too attached.

“You should let me drive,” Dazai says sweetly. “So I can drive us to the place and keep it a surprise for you.”

You laugh in his face. “As if.”

You usher him over to the passenger seat before making your way back over to the driver’s side, and Dazai finds a genuine smile unconsciously curling at the corners of his lips. One that quickly falls when his fingers wrap around the handle of the car door.

He thinks, maybe, it might be far too late to stop himself from getting attached.

[headspace-hotel]

The idea of Pleistocene rewilding, even though it annoys the hell out of me, is so interesting in what it implies about ecosystems.

If we accept that North America's ecosystems are "incomplete" or "impoverished" because of the extinction of Pleistocene megafauna, that implies there is a "complete" state of ecosystems. In the absolute sense, of course ecosystems don't ever have a "complete" state, but is it possible for an ecosystem to be relatively incomplete? What does that even mean?

Could an "incomplete" state of an ecosystem be recognizable without knowing what used to exist in that ecosystem, for comparison? Could a researcher tell that they were in an environment where an animal had gone extinct, without any direct evidence of that animal or knowledge of what it was? Who is to say how many taxa of a kind of creatures "should" be in the ecosystem?

Say we accept, then, that North America's ecosystems after the Pleistocene (but before European colonization, which involved intentional destruction) were "complete," in the sense that researchers couldn't detect any obvious "dysfunction," whatever that means.

But 10,000 years, compared with life's history on the earth, are nothing--- the blink of an eye. There hasn't been very much time for entirely new types of animals to evolve.

So it would imply that ecosystems have a LOT of plasticity and ability to re-arrange to absorb shock, and that animals can quickly expand their ranges and change their niches to adapt to the new state of existence.

...this, in turn, implies something strange about the introduction of new animal species to a continental mainland: that "native" and "non-native" animal species probably won't be distinguishably different in their impacts in the long term, because the ecosystem is chaotic and constantly changing to begin with.

Introducing new animals to islands is a disaster, because it's introducing an animal with a niche that didn't exist before at all, such as terrestrial predators or large herbivores. Introducing plants is a disaster in a small and unpredictable sample of cases.

But in the example of horses in North America, the impact could range from positive (horses used to be here, and their extinction "damaged the ecosystem," therefore horses being introduced "fixes" that damage) to neutral (the ecosystem adapted to not having horses very fast, therefore the ecosystem can likely adapt to having horses again very fast). Saying that horses are invasive seems to require us to believe contradictory things: that the ecosystem has changed so much since the Pleistocene that horses no longer belong, and that ecosystems can't adjust to change quickly.

Then, why indeed should we not introduce camels, or cheetahs, or lions?

Well, this is where "Pleistocene rewilding" gets on my nerves: it sees North America as fundamentally impoverished of animals, and at the same time, somehow treats different species of animal as weirdly interchangeable. We don't know if the American lion was closer to a lion or a tiger, and we don't know some important things like its hunting behavior. The "American cheetah" was not any more closely related to the African cheetah than to the cougar, and might not have been a specialized fast runner like the cheetah.

So this might apply to the horse just as well: the species of horse in Pleistocene times might have been so different from today's horse that they don't have the same role in the ecosystem. Well, is it better to be horseless or horsed?

I don't think that introduced species are inherently bad. This isn't a extreme position. Among plants, very few introduced species actually become invasive, and even some of those considered "invasive" are not actually harming the ecosystem in a way that can be demonstrated. I don't think I would recommend the introduction of a plant purposefully, though...or would I? With climate change occurring rapidly, I am in favor of moving species to areas where they can survive.

One philosophy of biodiversity is that the more biodiverse the ecosystem, the more ability the ecosystem has to absorb shock and adapt to change. Introduced species could have a range of potential to adapt different from native species, and could raise the shock absorption potential of an ecosystem. But they would also disrupt existing relationships and cause a shock to the native species that already exist.

Range expansions are an alternative to extinction for some species. We will probably HAVE to consider introducing species to new areas in the future. Well, imagine in the future we put Zebras in Arkansas, and the Zebras outcompeted the white-tailed deer in that area. Is that good or bad? Both species get to keep existing, but the deer's range is a bit smaller. Is the measure of biodiversity more important in a local area or in the world?

Makes my head hurt...

[bi-writes]

I’m sooo curious, how did John and his young wife meet if you have an idea?

I read a young price fic where she was his son’s nanny and now I’m curious if you have lore for them too!!!

-anasdump

they are the most obnoxious group of oxygen-stealers you've ever seen, and they're in fucking uniform.

taking up all the bar counter space. hogging the pool tables. throwing the darts so hard, they nearly took out some poor man's eyes. if they laugh and holler and spill one more fucking speck of beer on your leather purse, you're going to wind it up and smack them up the throats with it.

you approach the bar for a refill. you crane your neck as you look for a spot to grab the bartender's attention, but they're all shoving each other and slamming their hands on the wood and getting in the way. you huff, stepping up to a couple of them.

"hey, you need to move. no one can order if you're just gonna take up the whole counter."

the biggest one turns to look at you head-on. you glare a little, motioning with your hand for them to move, but he just leans back against his elbows. he's got the ugliest army haircut, and he wears his dog tags out in front like it's some kind of medal. you doubt he's ever seen anything outside of whatever stupid base he came off of.

"sure, we'll move. but it'll cost ya."

he looks you up and down, and you purse your lips when you meet his eyes.

"no. move over. i'm asking nicely right now."

"oooo," he laughs a little, nudging his friends with his elbows. they laugh, too. "i'm terrified, love."

you decide to just move them yourself. you shove your way between them, but when someone grabs your arm and tugs you backwards, you don't think. you just swing.

your knuckles connect with that asshole's face, and he cries out as he steps backward into his friends.

"don't fucking touch me!"

"you cunt--"

"oh, you did not just fucking call me that, you stupid, brainless piece of shit--!"

"easy," a low voice says behind you. you're almost glad for the interruption. your fist would falter with another punch you think, already bruising around the knuckles.

he's weathered, this new man. you would smell the military on him from a mile away, but he's older in a way that speaks volumes to you. he has the hands of someone that only knows hard labor, and the lines in his face have been warped not by time, but by decisions. he wears a beanie and a scruffy beard, and by the way the other men shuffle in his presence, he must be someone important.

when he steps in front of you, he blocks the view of wandering eyes. you peek around his arm, and every single one of those idiots has their gaze on the floor, and they stand at attention.

"you're an embarrassment to the crown, you lot," he mutters. "supposed to be examples. supposed to enact...some sense of duty in others, and yet all i see are a line of fucking boys that never learned their manners in primary." he laughs, "i mean...to call a lady a cunt?"

you rub your knuckles gently, looking down.

"i expect all of you to report to lieutenant riley at 0600 tomorrow. and your weekend passes are hereby revoked."

the whole pub is a little more relaxed once they're gone. you take a seat at the bar, and the bartender gives you a solemn smile before going to make you another drink.

"i uh..." you stiffen when you hear him behind you. "i want to apologize on behalf of them. tha's no way to treat someone, especially a woman."

"especially a woman," you laugh a little, shaking your head as you pick up the drink set down in front of you. you take a long sip of it, turning to face him. "i can handle myself, thank you very much."

"i can see tha'." he nods to your hand, which looks a little raw. you hide it under the counter, taking another sip of your drink.

"you know, i think you have a lot of other things to worry about," you snap. "like the band of assholes you apparently are in charge of."

"i'm sorry about them," he says again. "you won't see them here or anywhere close to you ever again. tha' i can promise you."

"you listen here--" you turn in your seat to face him, poking his chest with your finger. you try not to think about how your finger doesn't even budge, hitting a thick, pelted chest that has no give. you glare up into those baby blues. they're so bright--gorgeous. your breaths shake, but you steel yourself. he looks anything but afraid of you, no, he looks amused. "you all bring nothing but shit tracking in those boots of yours."

he sniffs, tilting his head to the side. "not a fan of servicemen, are you?"

you laugh, shaking your head.

"i'd spit on you, but even that's too good for you."

he grins. a full-blown smile, and when he leans into your space, you don't move. your finger on his chest flattens, your entire hand pressing there in the middle of his chest.

"i'm john."

you look him up and down. his pretty eyes, the dated but kept beard, the smile lines, the warm and solidness that sits under your hand. he's a teddy bear under that, but you're not fooled. this man isn't like the others--he's wise. experienced. it means he's trigger-happy, and it means he has blood on his hands.

you give him your name anyway, and he repeats it, low enough and close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

"i need another drink," you say, putting a finger on his lips and pushing him backwards. "and you're gonna buy it for me. buy me a few, actually."

john chuckles, taking his jacket off. he drapes it over the back of your chair, and you try to avert your gaze when you see big, burly biceps and coarse hair. his arm stays there, behind you.

"you understand me, john?" you coo, and he smiles big. he nods.

"yes, ma'am."

[leighsartworks216]

His Beautiful Nose

Sylus x gn!Reader

This is all I think about when I see him sometimes, genuinely. I just see his nose and I go a little insane

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, kissing, biting, teasing, silly

Word Count: 1,001 (all my fics lately have had such satisfying word counts ough so good)

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AO3

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"Sweetie, what are you doing?"

You shush him, focused on whatever the hell you were up to right now. Sylus quirks a brow at you.

"I think I have a right to know, since you're holding my face hostage," he teases, speaking in a languid murmur, raspy.

You'd found him asleep in one of his many lounge chairs; legs out, arms crossed, head back. It was impossible to ignore the desire to sneak around behind the chair and hold his face. Of course, doing so woke him up, which led you here.

"I'm just appreciating how pretty you are," you tell him. And it's not technically a lie. You are appreciating his beauty. Just, a specific part of his beauty.

"And you can't sit in my lap and do that?" He reaches back behind the chair. His large hand finds your back easily and begins tracing light shapes into your sides, your spine - wherever he could reach.

You giggle and squirm away from his ticklish touch. "No, now stay still and hush."

He huffs with exasperation, but he does as you ask. His hand settles on your lower back, loosely holding you close. He appreciates you in turn with his crimson eyes, half-lidded with sleep.

You run your thumbs along his cheeks. His skin is smooth, pliant beneath your fingers. He seems so untouchable - and he is. To everyone that isn't you. The fact you're this close means more than you'll ever be able to fully grasp.

You lean down and press a delicate kiss between his eyebrows. His fingers twitch against your back. You trace under his eyes, coaxing him into closing them and putting his full trust in your hands. You kiss the spot again.

The next spot your lips find is perhaps half an inch down, at the point where his nose begins protruding from his face. It's an odd place for a kiss, he thinks. You must be up to something, yet he allows it anyway.

Kisses are slowly peppered down his nose. Each one takes its time, each following the strong line of his nose, over the bump and the wide bridge, down to the tip. Each one pours into the lazy smile tugging at his lips. You really woke him up just to "appreciate" his nose?

The kisses retreat towards his brow, but never reach it. One kiss, then two placed at the most prominent part of his nose's definition, and then-

He cracks an eye open. "Did you just bite my nose?"

You hum with a slight nod, kissing over the spot again. "I've been wanting to bite it for weeks now. This seemed like the perfect opportunity." Despite the nonchalant way you say it, he can practically feel the heat radiating off your face and onto his.

He chuckles softly and draws you closer by your back. "Do it again."

Truly, you didn't expect for that to be his response. You anticipated this being the one and only time you'd ever be allowed to do this. But he's encouraging it, with clear amusement.

Your teeth settle on either side of the bridge of his nose and not very far down, not even as far back as your canines, and gently bite down. It's not a lot of pressure, either. Realistically, it's more of a light nip, but he hums his approval. When you pull away, your lips catch on his skin, just as his do when he bites your hand. It's perfect.

His eyes watch now with unreserved affection. His hand trails up your back, reaches to cradle the back of your neck and the base of your skull. "Come here," he murmurs lowly. You're guided forward, drawn down as he tilts his head further back to meet his lips.

Your mouths move together in languid, drowsy kisses. The faint wet sound of your lips parting and shared, soft breaths fill the room. His nose presses against your chin, and yours in his, but neither of you move from the awkward angle except to deepen the kiss.

You feel the smirk on his lips before you see it. He pulls away and your body is suddenly weightless, floating through the air, carried by playful tendrils of energy.

"Sylus! What're you doing?!" You're flipped over him, slow enough you don't get lightheaded, to the front of the chair and directly into his lap. His arms wrap powerfully around your waist to draw you against his chest. Light kisses trail along your neck.

"You woke me from my nap. It only seems fair to keep you here," he says against your skin.

There's no point trying to push his arms away or wriggling free. He's much too strong for that. So, you give in. You sigh with a playful roll of your eyes and lean back into him, trying to find some comfortable position. Once you're settled, one of his arms slips from around you, and gently fingers turn you by your chin to face him.

"I also need to return the favor, don't I?"

He takes his sweet time doing so. A trail of kisses, all light pecks, winds from your jaw to your chin to your cheek. They finally come to your forehead, where he places one between your brows. Down to where your nose begins. Down over the bridge, to the tip, and back up.

Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts his head and carefully lines his teeth up in just the same way you did. He bites down, gentle in a way that seems unfathomable to anyone else who knew him. After a second, he pulls away, lips catching on your skin.

He leans back into the chair and guides your head to his shoulder before wrapping his arm around you once more. He sighs, long and low, with content. "Wake me up in four hours," he murmurs.

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

"You should have thought about that before you snuck in, sweetie."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08

[jiminiecrickets]

KILLER? I BARELY KNOW HER! FUSHIGURO TOJI / M!READER

summary. shadows of your past catch up to you – but you're the strongest, and there's nothing you can't handle.

wc. 5.5k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom toji. mentions of underage drinking. sorcerer + teacher reader, enemies-to-lovers (with extra steps), sorta sugar baby toji/rich reader, doggystyle + missionary, mentions of exhibitionism + filming, unprotected sex, brief degradation (r. receiving), brief breeding kink, implied shower sex

notes. every dark-haired male jjk character deserves a silly and illogically powerful best friend with whom they have romantic tension :3 you're him. literally.

The pleasant chime of the doorbell echoes throughout your home. You're not expecting anyone.

You know you should be careful. In fact, you shouldn't be staring at the back of the front door at all. Opening it would ruin the carefully put-together façade of the closed-curtain windows and dark rooms.

Maybe you're tired, and you forget, moving on instinct. Maybe you're bored.

Maybe you're hopeful.

The door inches open, and a man looks up from where he'd been staring listlessly at the flower-spotted bushes lining the patch of green between the entrance and the driveway. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and his eyes are dark, flickering with an emotion you can't quite catch before it flutters away.

"Toji?" you say, the surprise in your voice teetering on warmth. "Hey..."

"Hey," he replies – exhales, really, something like a hum. He reaches up by his shoulder, the action too familiar for you not to stiffen, but he just rubs the back of his neck, stretching out the cricks of his body. "So. New place, huh?"

Your hand rests behind the door. He knows better than to expect it to be empty. "Old, technically. It was my first property purchase."

He tilts his head. "Yeah? When did you get it?"

"Fifteen. A birthday present for myself – a gift for surviving another year of high school. And curses, I guess. Surviving them was way worse because getting their blood in my mouth made me want to die."

He scoffs, and the raised scar over the corner of his lips shifts with his amusement. "Fifteen... And what does a teenager do with a house?"

You shrug. "Drink. Party. Pirate movies. The usual."

"Hah. Sounds like you were a fun kid." Toji scuffs the toe of his sandals against the ground absently. Then he rolls his neck and sighs. "Look, I didn't come all the way here to talk history. Long-ass way out, too, so just let me in."

Lifting an eyebrow, you give him a once-over that feels keener than it should be. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What, you think I'm here for that bounty? Who do you think I am?"

"Don't blame me. You seem very well aware of it."

"Isn't worth the effort for the price. 'Sides, you've given me more than that over the years, haven't you? I like to keep my options open, and it seems to me like it's a better investment to keep you alive."

"You talk as if you could kill me at all," you mutter, a little disdainfully, but it dissipates swiftly when Toji cracks a smirk, so familiar and entwined deeply with your favourite memories. The breeze stirs lightly, and Toji's hair ruffles, almost blue in the sunlight.

"Couldn't I? You're the one who runs away."

"Yeah, after immobilising you. Not a lot of fun to be had if you're dead as a doornail. Say – how deep are you in the jujutsu world? You must be rusty. I'd be willing to help you train."

"You'd help me kill your fellow sorcerers?" He chuckles and arches a brow. "I'll have you know I'm looking at a contract worth thirty million from a bunch of religious crazies."

"Peanuts." You wave a dismissive hand. "Now that I mention it, I'm getting complacent, too... I could use the challenge. Keep in contact with me and I'll pay you double."

"You're paying me to use my body?"

"Your words, not mine."

He holds your gaze steadily for a while, and despite his airy voice, his eyes are thoughtful. "Let's not talk business on your doorstep. Lost your manners, have you?"

Finally, your shoulders loosen, and the tension in your body vanishes. With a soft chuckle, you pull the door open further and step aside. "Don't make me regret this."

"Please," he says, slipping out of his sandals and into your home. "You never do."

Zenin. Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. All of his names, all of his history, and yet, to you, he is just your baby – your Toji. It'd be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed, he thinks as you draw him into a rib-shattering hug. Instead, he feels smug.

Before that Gojo kid, there was you. It wasn't a position you were born for – like the kid was – but you trained your way up and eventually found yourself most suited for the role, all but waltzing into it – because what youth wouldn't want to be number one? It was almost gross, your selflessness and single-minded ambition, and Toji knew how that sort of mindset made the people in power feel. They commissioned him for your death at one point, after all.

It was fun. You were both so young: dancing around each other's weapons as if it was all a stage, chasing each other's clues like a couple of dogs running after a bone. Still – you were society's best, the cream of the crop, and for you to be his, of all people, was a selfish triumph he indulged in too many times to count.

His hands creep up beneath your baggy shirt as he leans up to kiss you, tongue slipping between your lips to share in the taste of some expensive whisky he can't name. He hums – a low, rumbling sound, like a tiger chuffing – as his fingers bump over thick, warm muscle.

Blood and bone. That's what you all are, when it comes down to it.

"You should wear tighter clothes," he murmurs against your lips. "Less to grab in a fight."

The backs of his thighs press into the edge of the kitchen bench, where a forgotten glass of water sits – the remnant of your half-hearted attempt at being a good host while his lips found your neck.

You huff. "A 'fight', huh? I wasn't expecting one."

"You should always expect a fight. While you're at it, always expect to lose. Stops you from being disappointed."

"Sounds pessimistic."

"That's the price we pay for being good at what we do."

"As if you pay for anything, Toji."

He chuckles. He drops the hem of your shirt before sliding his palms up your chest – what a tease – and cupping your face. His hands are warm, callused, thrumming with lifeblood. He sweeps his thumb absently over your cheek, committing every pore of your face to memory. You have the urge to pull away, look down, like a schoolboy with a crush – but Toji's hands are firm.

"C'mon, at least look me in the eye before we kick this off. You that ashamed of me?"

Startled, your gaze flicks up to his. Instead of the half-wry look you expect, he smirks and pulls you in to meet his lips. His fingers interlace loosely at the nape of your neck, caging you in place, and you have no choice but to bend to his whim.

"Stupid," you mutter against his lips, mostly to yourself. "Stop playing with my feelings, Toji – that's manipulative. You're breaking my heart here."

Rather than pulling away himself, he pushes you away, a palm flat on your chest but without any real power. It remains there as he leans back against the stone countertop. "My bad, baby. It's just funny."

"Funnier than you calling this," you gesture between your chests, "something to 'kick off' after... how many years? If you weren't all over me seconds ago, I'd think you came over for a beer and a game."

He lifts his hands in teasing surrender at your accusatory tone. "All right. We'll fuck, then. Maybe include some heavy petting for the B-roll, if you're up for it. Sound good?"

You cross your arms over your chest and muster up a suitable amount of annoyance for a glare. Toji finds it hard to take you seriously – what with your dumb jokes and ridiculous inclination towards flashy fighting – so to him, it's more of a pout. "So, you got lonely without me, huh? Yeah, nah. We're not filming ourselves."

"Hm." It's not a yes, but it's not a disagreement, either. "Why not? It'd be hot."

"I'm a teacher, Toji," you remind him, clicking your tongue when he shrugs, one hand on his hip. "I don't want that kind of thing to exist. If it got out..."

"So you are ashamed of me," he mutters. He steps forward to grab your hands when you start to protest, visibly distressed. He snickers. "Kidding, kidding. Fuck, it's fun to play with you. You don't care about the other one, then? The one from the abandoned restaurant?"

"Well—" Your breath stutters when Toji absently compares hand sizes and laces your fingers together. You watch as he aligns four of his fingers against your ring finger specifically, one at a time as if comparing again, but this time...

"Well?" he prompts, his grin broadening. His shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Well, I don't look like I did ten years ago, and as far as I know, my face isn't in it..." All logic scatters like leaves in the wind when he looks up at you through his lashes, that playful, pretty smirk of his tugging at your heartstrings just right. It's like the years never passed. You swallow. "I-It was different," you finish lamely.

Toji's eyes flicker down to your lips. With a flick of his wrist, he twists a hand in your collar and tugs you down so that your faces are inches apart. Your chests collide roughly. He doesn't seem to care, his gaze trained on you with a heavy, smoky intensity. "Fine. If you won't let me film it, you better make it memorable. I'll decide later if it was worth coming here for."

—

Toji should have known you were serious when you pulled the bedframe about six inches out from the wall. He'd laughed at first, insulting you for such uptight behaviour regarding something as boring as walls, but you'd just dragged him to the bed with a roll of your eyes.

With how loud he was moaning, you could only be glad that he didn't find you at your apartment property.

"Toji," you breathe, your gaze trapped on the tight, firm ass ricocheting off your hips. Your grip tightens. "Toji."

"Fuuuck," he drawls as his cock throbs, prying his eyes open to narrow them at you over his shoulder. Lust has turned the usual green of them nearly black. "What?" he bites out.

"I missed you. Missed this. Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight."

He lets out a throaty chuckle, turning back around to rest his head on his forearms. With a shift of your hips, your cock punches his prostate, over and over, and his eyes roll back briefly, a pleased groan rumbling from the depths of his stomach. His dick pulses and swings uselessly between his muscular thighs.

"M-Men are all the same," he grumbles. You click your tongue, though you don't miss the way an involuntary moan makes him stutter.

"Awful way to greet an old friend, you know. I thought you were smarter than that. Try being nicer," you slam your hips forward, making his eyes fly open with a gasp, "and you'll get what you want."

His skin prickles when you glide a warm hand up his side and come to rest it upon his shoulder, holding him down with just enough strength to make his muscles flex to fight it. Your thumb rubs little circles into the back of his neck, tracing the dips of his shoulders until you find what you're looking for. You dig into the taut muscle, making him wince.

"Stressed?" you hum, and your voice is gentle. Gentler than he deserves. "Is it money problems again?"

Something like guilt stirs in his belly, but a well-angled thrust has his thoughts unravelling. "No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats. You hum in response and don't push the matter further.

Your hand lifts from his shoulder, and already he can feel the stiffness returning. Damn those God-hands of yours. He finds himself arching back, bracing against the bed, in an effort to return your hands to their rightful place.

You hush him sweetly, pressing your chest to his back and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The angle has the shaft of your heavy cock pressed right up against his prostate and his body jolts with the fiery burn of pleasure, his knuckles turning white as he fists the sheets. "No need to chase me anymore. Not going anywhere. 'M right here, baby."

Toji manages to scoff, and his voice is steadier than he expects. "Not chasin' you, asshole."

"Yeah? Then what do you call showing up at my door as you did, unannounced?"

"Welfare check."

You roll your eyes. "I hate you."

You punctuate your sentence by yanking his hips back on your cock, the wet squelch of lube and precome making him shudder. Despite the rough treatment, a moan tumbles from his lips, and he laughs, loose and breathy.

"Fuck me like it, then," he dares, knocking his temple gently against yours.

One hand lifts to card through his hair. He groans softly as your nails scrape his scalp, but his eyes fly wide open as you grab a fistful and tug, wrenching him up to kneel. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as you wrap your hand around his leaking cock, jerking him off at the same pace as you fuck into him – he swears he sees stars as your thumb and index finger twist roughly around his swollen tip. His cock squelches in your fist, bubbles of precome sliding down his tip and smearing across your palm.

"Fucker," he snarls, ceasing his split second of flailing to grip your hip and thigh. You'd consider it painful if you hadn't also had the pleasure of being stabbed, slashed, shot, and bitten. "Nngh – so fuckin' big—"

"Going back on our word, are we, honey?" you say slyly, twisting your fist up and down his wet cock. "Tsk, tsk, Toji... so forgetful. I'd say you're getting old."

You glide a fingernail up the line of his vein, making his hips stutter and forcing another curse to slip from his lips, and you dig the tip of your finger roughly into his leaking slit. He moans and his back arches against your hold as your throbbing cock easily slides deep into him, the harsh, rapid smack of your balls against his ass almost disorienting.

He shudders. The heat of his body pulls his skin too tight, makes his tongue heavy and clumsy. Your hands are not quite soft – years of weapons training and hand-to-hand combat would do that to someone – but they're sweet on him. Loving, nearly. Your warmth softens the rub of calluses and tough scar tissue, and Toji learns them anew.

"C'mon, baby... want you to talk to me. Love your pretty little sounds." You end the sentence in a whisper, patting his stomach with the absent sort of friendliness you had as a youth. You never shied away from touching him, rewarding him with your weight draped over his shoulders or entwining your fingers when he did something that pleased you.

That familiar feeling jolts him back to reality. He glances your way – perhaps to say something, but he doesn't remember what about – and you capture his lips with yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip.

He keeps them sealed, airtight.

You groan into the kiss and nip at him pleadingly, because you'd have to break Toji's jaw to get him to open up – and you couldn't do that to your favourite killer. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer is too sweet to pass up on.

Eventually, with enough petting and kisses, Toji relents, if only to see you perk up like a puppy tossed a bone. He groans softly as you explore his mouth, tongue curling around his and gliding over his teeth.

Your breath is hot and sweet against his, your lips shockingly gentle despite the quick and steady pace of your hips bouncing off his ass. He jolts every time your cockhead kisses his prostate, swollen and sensitive from your unrelenting pace. His dick bobs, dark red and pulsing hotly in your palm, and he groans like an injured animal. It's almost desperate.

Your shaft drags against his slick walls, which clench with a rippling squeeze as if he's trying to milk you dry. With each hungry snap of your hips, your tip punches the breath out of his lungs. His vision blots out, and he swears he can feel your cock in his damn throat.

Without warning, and without a word, he comes, his expression going lax with pleasure as he releases thick ropes onto his stomach. It's four hard spurts and two weaker pulses, the slow, measured tugs of your wrist twisting in a way that has his thick thighs trembling.

You coo softly, and Toji's face is uncharacteristically warm. Little kisses drift their way up his shoulder and neck and he sighs softly, eyes shut and head tilted back against your shoulder. You press your palm against his chest to feel the heart thudding beneath his ribs, the rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You cup his chest and squeeze.

He cracks an eye open, disapproval furrowing his brows. In response, you grin cheekily and nip at his earlobe as you smooth your fingers through his hair – a silent apology for being so rough.

To his credit, he lets it go. Doesn't even smack you for being an ass. He does, however, clamp down punishingly around your cock when he pulls off, making you hiss at the scrape. It bobs and you shiver at the cold air.

Thoughtfully, Toji glances down at it, still hard as rock and curving upwards towards your stomach. He reaches for it.

Your eyes widen when he slips a nail under the edge of the condom. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Don't sound so scared. I know we're both safe. Said ya missed me, right?" He grins, dark and sharp, with eyes half-lidded – almost coy. "I'll let you finish inside me. For old times' sake."

"Contract-sanctioned stalking? I thought better of you, Toji." Despite your flippant words, your breath hitches, and Toji's grin widens. He tugs the slick condom off and tosses it aside – without even tying it up, the bastard – and before you can grumble about it, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and presses his lips to yours.

You groan softly as he parts his lips and allows you in. He shifts closer, his knee between yours, and grabs your hand. He brings it down between your bodies.

"Baby..." you whisper as he wraps your hand around your lengths, pressed together. He is hot and velvety in your palm.

"Mm." The sound is deep and content, and he blinks up at you slowly like a cat. "I know. I want it."

Then, slinging his arm loosely around your shoulders, he pulls you down with him.

You barely manage to catch yourself before crushing him, your instincts and reflexes dulled by familiarity and a dreamy languor. Not that you think he'd mind – not with that grin.

Toji spreads his knees and hooks his calves around your thighs. He guides your cock into him again, and he rumbles out a pleased moan as it buries itself hilt-deep into his slick warmth.

His head falls back against the pillows as you press your hips flush against his ass. "Ah, shit..."

"You good, baby?" you murmur, swallowing harshly as his gummy walls flutter tightly around you, as if he can lock you inside forever. Your dick twitches.

"Mmh, fuck, jus' sensitive. Move."

It's only natural that you obey.

Toji feels hotter now that you don't have the layer of plastic to contend with – hotter, wetter, hungrier. You thrust shallowly at first, but as his moans grow louder – less restrained – you allow yourself to move tip-to-base, deep and dirty the way he used to like it. Seems he still does. The rim of his puffy asshole catches on the ridge of your cockhead and his nails rake down your shoulders and back, leaving stinging raised lines in their wake.

Pride fills your chest, inflates your ego. An infamous assassin, the Sorcerer Killer, spread wide and inviting with his cheeks all flushed – he's certainly given you a thousand little deaths. You grip the meat of his ass and lift his hips off the mattress, fucking into his wet heat at a new angle that has him shouting your name.

Maybe it's because you can see his face – see all the pretty cock-drunk expressions that wash over his features – that you find yourself chasing the precipice of release embarrassingly fast. He locks his legs around your waist, thick and muscular, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Why would you ever want to leave?

"Toji," you grunt, panting softly. "'M gonna..." Your breath fans against his sweat-slick skin, making him shiver and arch into your touch. He cups the back of your neck as you nibble and suck dark bruises into his tanned skin, his lashes fluttering as you shift his thighs on your lap and leave far too many deep red hickeys printed on his skin. You even scatter a few across his collarbones and chest, and you're only pleased when he looks like he was mauled by a bear.

He pants softly, his bitten moans making your cock throb even harder. Fuck, you're so hard – the shape of your teeth printed into his skin for all to see makes you prouder than you'd ever admit. You trace the marks gently with your fingertips and Toji's chest stutters.

Gazing up at you with lidded, unfocussed eyes, he laughs, freer than he had since you met him earlier. Your heavy cock plunges into his stretched hole, again and again and again like you're trying to make him take, and your grip on one of his thighs is tight enough to leave red crescents. He grasps your face, turning it down towards him, and offers a sleazy, roguish grin, breathless. His eyes trace the cut of your cheeks, the curve of your lips.

"You look less stupid than usual. S'all you're good for, ain't it? Fucking me nice an' deep with that fat cock of yours – f-fuck. S'mine, yeah? All mine?"

You shudder and groan, bone-deep, and Toji can feel the heavy throbbing of your cock leaking inside him. The slick feeling of you against his walls builds a hot ball of arousal in his lower belly. Your chest heaves against his and your stomach tenses, familiar planes of muscle firm against his hand. Excitement roars through him like a wildfire – eager and keening.

He yanks you down for a devouring kiss as you come, catapulting off the precipice into white bliss. You gasp into it. His ass clenches around you with his own release as he moans, his soft walls stroking you and sucking you in.

He's so fucking warm, so fucking wet. His body is slick with sweat and he shoves his tongue into your mouth like a man starved. Maybe he is. You groan, low and pleased, and his thighs tighten around you like a cage, possessive in his hungry, unyielding embrace.

Spilling into him is heaven. You've died and ascended, you're certain of it. He drinks you deep, as if he was made for it, and lets his head fall back against the pillows with a less-than-steady sigh as your balls tighten and pulse hotly against his skin. Dragging it out, you grind your hips into his ass in lazy circles, huffing and puffing against his throat as if you've run a marathon. Your fingers graze his own, fluttering in a way that seems almost... uncertain.

Hah. As if you knew what that word meant. You were unshakeable, infallible. The strongest. You'd hold onto that title for as long as you could; the burden was heavy.

Rather disappointingly, you don't choose to hold his hands. They glide down his waist and hips, making him shiver, and you slowly pull out, the solid but gentle grip on his thighs never wavering. You set him down as if he was made of glass and his body twitches as thick come leaks from his stretched hole, dripping and pooling white below his ass.

He tosses a lazy arm over his eyes, bending one knee and bracing against the bed. Another hot gush of come. "Ah, f-fuck... shit. You still come like a truck..."

Your gaze, once so dark and sultry as if you were about to eat him alive, now snaps to him, wide and kind and so embarrassed that Toji can't help but crack a grin.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Other than the hickeys, no. Wouldn'ta minded it anyway," he adds slyly, peering out from within the shadow of his arm. "Pretty hot when you get creative."

Shuffling off of the bed with a soft chuckle, you pick up the discarded condom and toss it in the bin. You pull open the wardrobe with a flex of a wall of muscles that Toji watches keenly, spreading his knees to eye you through them. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"Y'know, I was thinking," you begin suddenly, rifling through clothes and drawers.

"You can do that?"

"Shut up. I was thinking about you – your situation."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into your bed. "When'd you have the time? Not while you were fucking me, I hope."

"Just listen, Toji." You turn around, washcloth in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. Dark, but loose and unremarkable – as he prefers it. You toss the clothes at the bottom of the bed and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, raising your voice as the faucet squeaks on. "I was wondering if you'd wanna... you know – catch up. Or at least let me help you."

You continue, "I could find you a place in a better school zone, get you set up legitimately. Honestly, actually, you wouldn't even need to work. You could just focus on your family and I'd take care of the rest."

Toji sits up, ignoring the pinch of pain and the mess between his legs. It'll ache later, so he'll deal with it later. "What?"

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. But why?" He lowers his voice as you return to him and begin to clean him up. He meets your eyes and his mouth takes on the beginning slant of a smirk. "My ass that good, huh? You want me to be your sugar baby?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "You're not that hot, Toji. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Wasn't talking about my face. Still – it's not like you to beg me to go on the straight and narrow. What's with that?"

"At the risk of sounding humiliatingly sappy after sex," you sigh, sitting back and dropping the cloth aside, "I still care about you. A whole fucking lot. I only want good things for you, Toji, and I have all this excess wealth that I can't donate fast enough, so if I can change just two more lives – I'd beg for the chance."

The desire to change lives without ending others'. He can understand the sentiment.

"What would you want from me?"

For a moment, you're taken aback by the tiredness in his voice. You blink. "Nothing? Like I said, the money would just vanish into a charity otherwise. Well – maybe I'd like to be invited over on the weekends, and maybe drop off-slash-pick up itty-bitty Megumi every so often. He's that age, right? Oh – and you gotta let me into the kitchen. I make a mean lasagne. Wonder if the boy would like it..."

He snorts. "That's a lot of conditions."

"Well, I am offering to let you live like a plump and happy housewife, so..."

He's quiet for a while, his hair falling over his eyes in a way that blocks your view of his face. You toss a rolled-up towel at his head, and he catches it without looking.

He lowers the towel. "You... don't seem to care that I left you."

"No, I didn't at all care that my friend dropped off the face of the earth without warning." You cross your arms and scoff, the smile slipping from your face. "I only heard about what happened months after you vanished, and by that time, there was nothing I could do to search for you. I had too many people looking at me to dig up old underground contacts and not enough time to comb through the country myself. You could have talked to me, you know," you say, your voice softening. "I would never turn you away."

He shrugs, noncommittal. "It's like you said – too many people looking at you. Would be alarming if I came strolling up to your door, wouldn't it?"

"You did today," you point out.

"Yeah, when there's a bounty on your head. I could be killing you right now."

You scoff, though the hint of a smile flickers across your lips. "You're impossible. But fair point. Just... think it over, okay? Come find me after all this bounty business is over and done with. You know where I live."

Toji chuckles softly, and he accepts your offered hand. You lead him to the large bathroom and he threads his towel over the rod next to what must be yours. He stares longer than he should, but the sight of the two towels beside each other – his green, yours blue – forms a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. His heartbeat quickens.

The sound of water hitting the tiles fills the bathroom. He raises his voice over it. "Hey."

Glancing over, your arm shimmering with water droplets from where it rests against the faucet handle, you tilt your head wordlessly.

"I should be picking up the kid in a couple of hours," he explains, "at six. As far as he and the childcare know, I work a normal nine-to-five like the rest of 'em. You could go."

Your eyes widen, and you let out an endeared laugh. "Toji, Megumi doesn't know who I am. The last time we met, he was a newborn. I'm not about to give everyone a heart attack by showing up on your behalf."

"It wouldn't be on my behalf, dumbass." His tone borders between disparaging and fond. "I'd go with you."

"Wh—?" Your throat bobs harshly. The shower seems forgotten, and Toji pushes you backwards into it with a palm on your chest because he's not about to waste the water. It pours onto your head, your hair beginning to stick to your face, and it still doesn't seem to register. A smile pulls at his lips as he reaches for your body wash, scanning the label while your brain putters out and short-circuits.

You didn't expect an answer that soon.

"You heard me," he says coolly, as if this is a normal Tuesday for him. He squirts a dab of body wash onto his palm. "Isn't this what you asked for? In my opinion, it's not that fun. I get a lot of women chattin' me up while we wait. Awkward as hell since I can't be rude or they might tell their kids, and then their kids won't like Megumi... ah, it's a big deal. You being there will help. You love to talk, so you can do it for me. Good game plan, right?"

"Toji, I..."

"The fact that I'm talking more than you worries me."

"You said pick-up's at six, right?" you say suddenly, the glint in your eyes intensifying.

He arches a brow, glancing up at you. "Yeah."

"That means we have an hour." You lean in, trapping him against the glass of the shower. There's a hint of mania in your gaze, starved with a vehement zeal. "I'm gonna fuck you, now."

His eyes widen. A feral grin spreads across his face. He laughs against your throat and moans when you press your thumb roughly into one of the many hickeys littering his neck and chest. "You're crazy. Fuckin' crazy – oi."

It's disturbingly easy for you to lift him by his thighs and press him against the cool glass. His skin prickles as he grips your shoulders and mutters, his breath mingling with yours: "If you drop me, I'll kill you."

"Promise?" you ask with a breathless grin.

He crushes his lips to yours. No one else gets the privilege of taking your little deaths.

[sevsbunny]

stoned

stoner!sevika x stoner!reader

warnings: WHEW!!!! um. gp!sevika ya. choking. thumb sucking. daddy kink. breeding kink. fingering (r receiving). p in v. dom!sevika. praising. use of weed. um. yeah. mentions of somno. this is straight porn with semi plot.

note: hey! um. this turned out way longer than i expected. i simply listened to mac millers “stoned” and it sparked this inspo so…hope you enjoy! feed back always welcome and asks are always open! semi edited & definitely no word count…there’s a lot here.

EIGHTEEN PLUS. MINORS DNI.

sevika rolling up a joint for you and her while you’re laid out on her bed, only in her t-shirt

she’s man spreading in her desk chair as she brings the paper up to her lips and licks it, your eyes never leaving the movements

your fingers flip through some records, finding the more sensual and relaxing one that she has, the one both of you usually fuck to lol

“baby put on a record,” she says huskily, eyes low from the joint she had just shared with you before rolling this one. the shimmer she took pumping slowly through her veins as she finishes flicking the joint to roll the tip closed

you slink out of bed, finding sev’s record collection, sitting pretty in a bin you got for her after see how she used to store her records (on the floor under her bed you about had a heart attack)

“good choice, doll.” you blush at the praise as you walk over to her record player and flicking it up, before putting the record on and putting the little arm onto the grooves

you turn on the record player, adjusting the sound before it starts slow, the sound filling the room as you hear a flick of a lighter

you look over and see sevika’s broad and wide frame spread out more on her chair if that was even possible

the joint hung loosely on her thick lips you could kiss and suck all day. the lower lip piercing she has glinting in the low light and she only had on her black boxers and a wife pleaser — both black.

the low light from her floor lamp illuminating the room in a warm red, the shadows dancing on sev’s features as she takes a long practiced drag from the joint

she looked like sin.

“c’mere.” the command is simple, her voice even and low. she outstretched her bionic hand, motioning you over with her pointer finger

your feet hover over to her without your brian registering youre moving until you’re standing in between sevika’s thighs and her metal hand grips your hip possessively.

you feel your throat harbor a small whine as her bionic fingers dig into your skin. “there you are. so pretty,” she murmurs, her eyes grazing over your frame as you stand there for her in her shirt

her eyes hooded, a dark shade of grey from the effects of the joint and the shimmer. she tugs you closer to her by your hip, moving you into her lap

your straddling her one thigh, as she brings the joint up to your lips and lets you take a hit. your eyes never leave hers as your lips wrap around the joint seductively. she hitches a breath, the grip on your hip to tightening softly.

you sit on her thigh, and you both let out a soft gasp as you can feel how wet you really are already. “that wet already?” she teases, her voice gruff and low as she looks up at you, her eyes flickering over your gaze to your lips and down your chest. your nipples were hard , poking through her thin t shirt

“hm..” she hums softly as she holds the joint in between her lips before taking both of her hands and gripping your hips tightly, moving them slowly up the sides of your skin to grasp your breast in her hands

your eyes can leave the sight before you — the joint loosely in between her lips, her eyes only looking at her hands moving against your breasts as they grab and squeeze

her nostrils flare as you make a sharp whining sound when she pinches one of your nipples with her bionic hand. she takes her flesh hand to hit the joint before passing it to you.

you take it, as soon as her hand goes back to your breasts, tipping her head back slightly, looking through her lashes up at you

“take a hit, baby.” she commands softly, eyes darting from the joint to your lips persuasively. you lick your lips before bringing it up to your lips and taking a hit, her thumbs and forefingers pinching your nipples slightly as you exhale

you let out a small cough, a soft smile spreading on sevika’s lips as she runs her hands from over your shirt to up and under your it, across the expanse of your tummy and to your chest, rubbing soothing circle. “good girl. another.”

you obey, taking a longer one while feeling weed start to affect your system. she knew you loved smoking indica hybrids, that’s what most of her garden was when she got her hands on seeds. she didn’t sell, just grew enough for the both of you.

her hands stayed at your chest before going to to play with your breasts, skin to skin making you gasp slightly under her touch. “so soft, all mine,” she murmurs, before sitting up and pulling you closer to her. she takes the joint lightly from you, placing it again in that sacred spot between her lips, before tugging the ends of your shirt up and over your head

“need to see all of you, sweetheart.” exhaling some smoke from her nose, she takes her bionic arm and grips your chin lightly, before taking a hit of her joint and pulling you towards her.

pressing her lips against yours, you felt the cool metal from her lip ring press against your lips , as she exhaled the smoke into your mouth. you gladly inhaled, letting the second hand shot gun smoke fuel your brain and nerves. your sensitivity to her touching you made your skin melt, your limbs heavy.

she kisses you softly, nips the bottom of your lip playfully before pulling away and letting go of your chin. “good girl.” her restraint is wearing thin, watching your eyelids heavy with each second and puff of the joint. she can feel you drenching her bare thigh, your hips staying perfectly still despite the whimpers that fall from your mouth

“vika…” your brain is becoming mush, the weed flowing through your veins and making your core throb as she holds the joint up to your lips and you take a few hits.

“what is it, pretty girl?” she muses, taking a hug from the joint as she cocks her head to the side. you pout, she knows what you want, does she have to make you beg?

“use your words, doll. daddy can’t read your mind.” so she does know. you bite your lip, your hands coming to balance themselves on her shoulders, her flesh hand coming to grip your hip steady as she continues smoking the joint with her bionic hand.

“wanna…fuck…need you…” you can’t properly form the words, the weed making you feel too far gone. you’re a stoner, you love smoking and you’d say you could almost out smoke sevika. (she’d never let you)

but there was something about the way the slow, sensual music from the record, the way her hands slowly gripped her hips tighter, pushing them back slowly, before pulling them forward.

you let out a small whine as your brain caught up to her movements. she wanted you to grind on her thigh, the desire and need pulsing through her gaze as she stubs out the joint, and bringing her bionic hand to your other hip.

“come on, baby, you’re soaking me already. tell daddy what you want.” she commands, lowly, moving your hips at a slow pace across her thigh. your slick making it easy for your cunt to move against her skin.

watching her leaned back, guiding your hips against her thigh and the way she was looking at you like you were her next meal had your cunt throb against her skin.

and she felt it.

she smirked, gripping your hips before hauling you up and into her arms, your arms securing around her neck andher flesh arm hooking your leg around your thigh so your cunt was pressed snug up against her cock.

you let out a gasp, feeling how hard she was through her boxers. your hold tightening around her neck as did your grip with your legs around her waist. she had hips, hips that knew how to fuck against you and with the wicked glint in her eyes, you knew exactly that’s what she planned on doing.

her bionic arm held most of your weight combined with your effort, as she brought her flesh hand to squeeze your ass firmly, making you gasp out. she reaches further in between your legs, and she already knew how soaked you were giving the cold air hitting her thigh where your cunt sat a few seconds prior

but nothing could compare to feeling it on her flesh fingers — how soaked you were and continue to get.

you let a soft moan slip out as soon as you felt her thick fingers glide along your folds, dropping even more with the added pressure of your clit against her cock.

“daddy,” you whimpered into her, hiding your face into her neck embarrassingly as she stroked your cunt, spreading your wetness around easily.

“this all for me, sweetheart?” a tease in her voice followed by a soft grunt as she teased your hole with her middle finger. “shit..” she groans under her breath before sinking her finger in and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as you feel her press into you.

she quickly adds another one as soon as she realizes that it’s so easy to slip in because you’re so fucking wet, you probably wouldn’t even realize if she slipped her cock inside your cunt — you were that wet

but she needed to feel you cum around her fingers atleast one time before her cock (many times after)

she picked up her pace, her fingers thrusting into you at a rate that made your head swim. your body felt like jelly as you clung to sevika, feeling her hips rut up into you and adding the pressure against your clit as she finger fucked you.

“you feel so fucking good baby,” her grip on you with her bionic arm tightens as she feels your stomach clench against her, a silent warning you’re about to cum. “already about to cum? you’re so damn easy…” mutters and groans under breath as you whine and whimper against her, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin on her neck — claiming her.

“daddy, fuck -“ you moan as she hits your sweet spot, and she grins

“daddy getting the sweet spot for you, doll?” you moan as you nod, digging your nails into her skin as she fucks you senseless. along with the added pressure of her dick throbbing against your clit with each thrust of her hips, you’re loosing your mind.

“go on baby, i know you wanna cum. let me have it, please baby?” her tone is soft, even if her grunts and groans are deep. hearing her beg for you to cum on your hand has you moaning her name, before you clench around her fingers and feel your orgasm wash over you in her arms.

“that’s it baby, good fucking girl.” she growls deeply, and you can feel how heavy she’s breathing against you. she slips her fingers out, and pulls her cock out, rubbing the tip against your weeping hole.

“sev, please..” your begging, but you knew she’d give it to you anyways. your just too fucking high to really think with your brain.

“awe,” she coos, pushing the tip of her cock into your hole slowly. “baby’s already gone dumb on daddy’s dick?” you moan softly as she sinks you down further, nails digging deeper into her skin you know you’ll leave marks there later.

“oh, fuck yes..” you moan softly as she positions her flesh hand back on your ass, balancing the weight back out before she really sinks deeper into you.

you both moan together as soon as she bottoms out, your clit rubbing up against her bush and her cock so deep inside of you, you feel like she’ll split you open

“oh fuck, sweetheart…” you look up at sev, her eyes on you. her hair disheveled with pieces sticking in places and some in her face. she grunts as she grinds her hips up into you, your mouth falling open as she does. “your pussy feels like heaven around my cock, you know that?” she doesn’t expect you to answer — shit she doesn’t except you to do anything.

you turn into a babbling mess as soon as she picks up the pace of her hips, her thighs slapping up into your ass as your cunt drools on your cock and balls.

“that’s it doll, just hold on and take all of daddy’s dick.” her finger tips dig into the supple flesh of your ass as your moaning, the sound of her pre cum and your arousal making a obscene sound reverberated through the room. the pace of the music soon matches the pace of her hips, long, deep and fast strokes making you see stars

“daddy, fuck i’m gonna cum again …” she grins at that, deeply chuckling as she picks up the pace again, before walking over to the bed and gently laying you on your back — her cock still deep inside of you.

she moves your legs so they are now unwrapped from her hips and spread wide around them — as wide as you can get them. the tip of her cock hits harder as she pushes a pillow under your hips.

you grab her arms as she slots them besides your head, her flesh hand coming to wrap itself around your throat and squeezing. you smirk in response, your cunt clenching as soon as she adds pressure.

“you like that baby?” a wicked grin spreads across her face as she grunts, taking her bionic hand and pressing two finger against your clit.

“come on baby. cum for me. cream all over this fat dick.” your mouth falls open with a breathless gasp as she keeps her flesh hand firmly around your neck, moving her thumb to bring against your bottom lip. you poke your tongue out and wrap it around the tip of her thumb.

her eyes blaze with lust, pupils blown and you feel her cock throb inside of you as soon as she registers how fucking nasty you are.

“shit, you’re such a dirty slut.” she groans deeply, her fingers speed up on your clit, making your cunt clench with each fast stroke of her hips, her cock sliding in and out of you with ease. you were a dripping mess — all over her cock, her balls and most definitely her fucking sheets. she didn’t give a shit though. not with the way you looked wrapped around her cock like this.

“you’re a fucked out beautiful, stupid mess, baby.” she comments, her eyes gone from the weed and sex, her cock throbbing with each thrust as she feels your cunt clench once more before you’re squirting against her lower chest.

she groans at the beautiful messy sight, her thumb still in your mouth as you moan breathlessly. she eases a bit of pressure on your throat as you ride your high, making sure to get every last drop before she takes her hand off and removes her thumb to squeeze your breast.

“so fucking beautiful baby.” she leans down, taking her bionic hand from your clit as you whine from the over sensitivity, as she rests her forehead against your shoulder.

you wrap your arms around her neck as you pull her closer, and she takes her flesh hand to press against your lower stomach. “feel that, doll? feel my cock deep inside of you? gonna cum my load so deep in you, make sure it sticks..” she’s babbling now, her thrusts becoming more erratic as she sloppily kisses and sucks your skin. she’s a mess on top of you, and you can’t help but clench your cunt around her cock one more time as you feel her cum

“fuck vika, shit…” you’re moaning with her as her hands come to grip both your hips hard, pushing a few final thrusts of her cock into you, before she collapses on the side of you.

“doll,” you whine softly as she curls you into her so you’re both facing each other on your sides, her cock still hard buried inside of you. one of the side affects for shimmer — sevika had a longer endurance and bigger libido. you loved it, knowing you’d be able to serve sevika any time she needed to get off.

and it seemed like even though she was just balls deep inside your pussy. she needed more.

“know you’re tired,” she mumbles as she thrusts her hips slowly up into you, her arms tightly wrapped around your torso as you have a leg hiked up over her hip. “pussy still needs daddy’s dick though, mm..feel her sucking me in..” you hide your face into her chest as she slowly rocks into you, tugging the blanket over your frames.

it’s true, you’re cunt has been throbbing at the idea of you falling asleep while she uses you to her own desire. her own little toy.

“vika…” your moan softly, the music from the record playing its last song — something slow and quiet, sensual. the perfect mood for sevika. she groans softly as she feels your sleepy pussy clench around her, dripping all over her.

“rest your eyes sweetheart, daddy will take care of this pretty cunt.” she grunts softly as she moves her hips slowly in and out of you, the squelching sound of your cock and her cum making your head spin as you close your eyes, pressing against her.

[ssahotchnerr]

love ur writing!! 🥰😌

would love to see a one shot (or anything tbh) of reader waking up early on vday hoping to make aaron breakfast but he’s beat her to it instead! she just wanted to do something nice for him since he takes care of everyone else but he’s physically incapable of not taking care of her!!

a sweet start

thank you🫶🏻!!! ugh aaron and valentine's day is my favorite thing ever <333 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, descriptions of food, a lot of fluff 🥰

Your phone vibrated beneath your pillow, rousing you from what had been a restful sleep. You had purposely set the alarm low, needing it to be enough to awake you, but not so much as to disturb Aaron.

It was early. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, the bedroom still profusely dark. It was only six, but the hour would guarantee you the time you needed.

You quickly clicked it off, holding still for a moment before looking over your shoulder to ensure he hadn't stirred - your morning plans depended on it. But to your surprise, you found Aaron's side of the bed completely empty.

Shaking off the remnants of sleep, you fumbled with your robe, tripping over your feet as you slipped into your slippers.

You found Aaron in the kitchen; still in his pajamas, standing at the stove with a soft concentration. A bouquet of red roses was perched on the counter, catching your eye and sending a flutter through your chest. Sweet man.

The savory scent of buttery eggs, melting cheese and a touch of spice filled your nose as you inched closer. The floor creaked underneath your feet, causing him to turn.

"Morning sweetheart."

"What are you doing up?" You asked, your words laced with a yawn.

"Making you breakfast," Aaron grinned, averting his focus to fold over the omelet in the skillet. "Happy Valentine's Day."

You sidled up to him, allowing him to throw an arm around you and chastely pressing a kiss to your temple. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

Your words left you softly, causing him to crane his head down, lips in a soft smile before he brought them to yours, kissing you adoringly. You smiled into the kiss, and he mumbled an I love you.

"You're up early." He commented once he pulled away, filled with a light sense of urgency - fear your omelet would burn.

You burrowed into his side as much as you could, trying to soak up as much warmth as possible. Aaron, in his simple t-shirt, felt like a furnace against you. "You had the same idea as me."

His spatula slowed as he soaked in your sentence. His gaze shot to you with some alarm in his eyes - the sudden guilt of spoiling your plans.

"No no no," you laughed gently, kissing him once. Twice. "It's okay, I promise. I still have surprises planned. I just wanted to do something for you. You’re always giving so much - whether it's for me, your team, or anyone who needs you. I wanted to remind you that you deserve to be cared for, just as much as you care for everyone else."

"That's crazy talk. Sweetheart..." He trailed off as he transferred your omelet to a plate, turning off the burners as a safety precaution.

Aaron leaned back against the counter and pulled you forward at the hips, so casually and natural it brought a blush to your cheeks. "Don't even get me started on how much you do for me. Truly. You're here when I come home each day. You support me and understand when I don't. You remind me that despite the horrors I'm subject to encounter daily, there's still good in the world. You've accepted Jack with open, loving arms."

Your expression softened, your lips pouting slightly in a flattered manner.

"You're just, here. My shoulder to lean on. That's all I can ask for and as a result, this is the least I can do. Although you deserve it every day, I want you to have the perfect day today. I intend to go all out."

"I already am, simply because I have you." You wrapped your arms firmly around his middle, closing the gap between the two of you. "How in the world did I get so lucky?"

"That's funny, I was asking myself the same question."

"Thank you for the flowers," you mumbled into chest, pressing a kiss right over his heart. "And thank you for loving me so deeply."

"It's the easiest thing I've ever done. Mean it." He squeezed his arms around you, letting up only to resume doting on you. "What kind of jelly do you want on your toast? Strawberry? Grape?"

"Surprise me." Your lips pulled into a gentle smile as you nestled back into his side, right where you belonged.

A grin tugged onto Aaron's face in return, reaching for the bread, "Anything for my valentine."

[luvstappen]

pairing: oscar piastri x fewtrell!reader, lando norris x fewtrell!reader

summary: not even oscar’s birthday party stops lando from stirring up some drama

word count: 1.4k

warnings: swearing, angst, love triangle chaos, oscar suffering in silence

a/n: surprise! here’s the first little bonus chapter from the INTAF series, revealing exactly what happened on the balcony in part 19! hope you like it <3

masterlist

Oscar wasn’t the type to enjoy big parties. You knew that better than anyone else.

He could be charming when needed, of course. The polite smiles, the quiet nods, the well-timed remarks that made people think he was more engaged than he actually was. He was good at it. But you also knew that none of it came naturally. That socialising in rooms like these drained him in a way racing never did.

And tonight was no different.

His team had put this party together, and while the gesture was nice, it wasn’t for him. It was for the sponsors, the PR, the endless parade of people who wanted a piece of him now. Oscar wasn’t the type to demand attention, and this was the exact kind of thing he’d never choose for himself.

And yet here he was, stuck in the thick of it, listening to someone ramble about something that, judging by the slightly glazed-over look in his eyes, he couldn’t have cared less about. His expression was neutral, but you recognized the subtle signs of discomfort—the slightly tightened jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve.

You were different from him in that way. Where Oscar preferred to blend in, you thrived in crowds. You could talk to anyone about anything. You never shied away from the attention.

And if you were here, standing next to him, he wouldn’t feel like he was fucking suffocating. But you weren’t. Instead, you were across the room, laughing at a joke someone had said, completely at ease.

Then, as if he could feel your gaze on him, his eyes flicked across the room and landed on you. For the briefest moment, something in his expression softened. A quiet plea.

You grinned at him, excusing yourself from the conversation as you set your drink down and slipped through the crowd. When you finally reached Oscar, you leaned in with a wide smile. “Mind if I steal the birthday boy for a second?”

The woman he’d been speaking to blinked in surprise, caught mid-sentence. “Oh. Sure.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. Relief flashed across his face as he turned to you, already stepping away before she could even finish speaking. You grabbed his wrist, tugging him with you as you led him toward the balcony.

“You looked like you were about to die over there.”

“I think I was,” he admitted with a quiet chuckle.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool air hit you, sharp and refreshing. The night was calm and peaceful, the distant hum of music and chatter fading behind the glass door.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes briefly as you let the fresh air clear your head. “Better?” you asked, glancing at him.

Oscar didn’t answer immediately. He took a deep breath as he watched you, illuminated by the city lights.

Then, without warning, he stepped closer and hugged you.

This caught you off guard. Not because Oscar never hugged you, but because this felt different. Longer. A little tighter. Like he just needed it.

Your stomach flipped.

“Osc?” you murmured, surprised.

He exhaled softly. “Just... thanks for coming.”

Something in the way he said it made your chest ache. You blinked, taken aback, but slowly wrapped your arms around him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Of course I came,” you said, voice quieter now. “You know that.”

"I know," he murmured, pulling back slightly.

His hands lingered on your shoulders as his gaze searched yours.

“It just means a lot to me.” He smiled softly. “You mean a lot to me.”

Your breath hitched. Oscar wasn’t usually this effusive, so his words took you by surprise. He must’ve had a couple of drinks, surely.

Before you could say anything, the sound of a door opening behind you made you both turn.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lando’s light voice sliced through the air.

He leaned against the doorway, hands casually tucked into his pockets, smirking with his usual ease, but you knew him better than that. His eyes were unreadable and sharp, almost reproachful. They flicked between you and Oscar, assessing, calculating.

You stepped back from Oscar too quickly, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. And Lando noticed.

“No,” you said, too fast. “We were just… talking.”

Beside you, Oscar’s posture had shifted. His hands dropped from your shoulders, his usual composure returning like a well-rehearsed act. “Needed some air,” he added.

Lando hummed, his head tilting just slightly, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Right,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up, but that sharp gaze never wavered. “Well, I’m heading back to the hotel. Thought I’d let you know.”

Your chest tightened. “Already?” You hated how careful your voice sounded. How calm you were forcing yourself to be.

Lando shrugged. “Yeah. Long day.”

But his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked on Oscar. A fraction too long.

Oscar, who just stood there, still and silent.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Lando finally said.

Oscar gave him a small nod, lips pressing together. “Thanks.”

Lando hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, he made a deliberate step forward. And another.

His hand clapped lightly on Oscar’s shoulder, friendly, easy. But the way his fingers curled just a little tighter than necessary felt anything but friendly.

And then, just as easily, he turned back to you with a grin. His gaze swept over you, slow, lingering. Considering.

You knew that look very well.

And before you could even react, his fingers, soft and deliberate, brushed against yours.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. You stiffened, inhaling sharply as his touch trailed up, brushing over your wrist, before tilting your chin up with the lightest touch of his warm fingertips.

Your breath caught. You knew what was coming. And you should have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

Because this was Lando. And you never could. Resisting him had never been something you were good at.

His lips met yours, soft at first, but there was nothing hesitant about it. And then it deepened, his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him, like he wasn’t just kissing you. As Gigi would say, it was like he was staking a claim. Like he was making a statement.

Your heart pounded, but not just from the kiss. It was the weight of the silence behind you.

And Oscar. Just standing there. Watching.

You should have stopped. Should have pushed him away.

But you didn’t.

And Lando knew it. He knew you wouldn’t.

When he finally pulled back, his lips barely ghosted over yours, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“See you later,” he murmured, voice low, meant only for you.

Your throat was dry, your mind racing. Because what the fuck was that?

Lando’s gaze flicked to Oscar, just for a second. Long enough to make it clear. To finish his statement.

Then he turned and disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

And just like that, the quiet became unbearable.

You couldn’t believe what just happened. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look at Oscar.

He wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the skyline, hands shoved into his pockets. Not moving. Not speaking. Just standing there.

And something about that hurt more than anything.

You weren’t sure what to say, but the longer the silence stretched, the worse it felt. Finally, you cleared your throat, desperate to break the silence. “Well. That was… um.”

Oscar let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, but it was empty and didn’t really reach his eyes. “Yeah.”

Your fingers curled around the railing. This wasn’t like you. You weren’t someone who struggled for words.

You shifted awkwardly. “I, uh—I should probably—” 

“You don’t have to explain,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His voice was quiet and carefully even. It pained you.

“It’s not—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “It’s none of my business.”

The words landed like a slap.

And for the first time tonight, you finally saw it. A flicker of something in his expression—raw, vulnerable, something that twisted in your chest and made it ache.

Your fingers twitched at your sides before you reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Hey,” you murmured. “You okay?”

Oscar’s lips quivered, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah.”

Liar.

But you didn’t call him out on it.

[transgendz]

I am going to keep this short because I have another post up explaining the whole situation. Basically, I am the provider of a household of two other disabled people. One has cancer and is about to start chemo.

Me and the other roommate have mono. I have been mostly unable to work for a week and a half now because I have been horrible sick and busy cleaning for a pre-immunocompromised person to start chemo.

We need $300 the day after tomorrow to get our stuff from our storage unit before it closes. We e need to rent a truck and drive upstate to get our stuff. They're remodeling the whole lot, we don't have a choice but to get our stuff or they'll get rid of it. The last stuff I have from my dead dad is in the storage unit.

Proof/details in cut below, dm for more info

We don't have the transfers going on the GFM yet, I'm working on that, and expect that to be soon.

PP--$C--V--kofi

$0/$300

Mono and cancer diagnoses pictured above. Note on that: without complication is funny bc presenting to the ER with complications is what got the diagnosis.

Goal slightly changed from original post bc we had to pick up some stuff for Amy (roommate w cancer) and the gfm hasn't let the funds loose yet, I think I may be able to get that sorted soon, which would be great esp bc she starts chemo on the 12th.

Also, for anyone wondering, mono isn't super treatable? Best treatment is taking it easy, eating well, and steroids. I have steroids, but lol. We aren't able to take it easy or eat well rn. Anything extra to help us get through this would be really appreciated.

Personally, I've not been this sick since covid nearly killed me. And that's not going to change the things I have to do to keep the household running and its members alive and well. I've been at the end of my rope for a while here.

Cancer is so expensive, and being disabled is expensive, and wow, my other roommate still needs to get his name changed for safety reasons, which is seeming less and less possible.

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: V | jjk

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

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

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

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 9,619

—  warnings: sex dream, strong language, mention of sex, a lot of nervousness, mention of death, mention of murder, crying, mention of grief, heartbreak, mention of abortion, swearing, nipple play, nipple sucking, kind of fingering (not sure if it’s the correct word), and some very big tension

—  author’s note: soo this was supposed to be posted tomorrow, but in the end, I have to post it today 🤗 This chapter is honestly quite intense in a lot of levels, but it unveils a lot about oc’s past, and we will finally understand a lot more about what happened to her parents 🫠 hope you’ll enjoy this chapter 💞

Chapter V: unveiling the past

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

You and Jungkook are abruptly pulled out of your sleep, both affected by the very intense and heated dream you inexplicably shared. The dream involved a lot of kissing, his mouth on your nipples, his tongue lapping at your juices, your tongue swirling along his hard shaft, and his manhood inside your wetted core. It was an intense dream that you both enjoyed way too much.

After the full moon, three days ago, you haven’t really seen or talked to each other. There have been some messages here and there, mostly messages where he checks up on you. Things aren’t awkward between you, you’d actually say the opposite. However, you’re actually convinced that next time you’ll see him you won’t be able to resist him.

“Soooo,” Lexi says once you’re in the kitchen.

This night, you’ve slept at Felix’s house with Lexi to spend a little bit of time together. This whole pregnancy and werewolf journey has pushed you a bit far from them, and you don’t want that. They are a big part of you, they’ve been by your side since the beginning. So Lexi literally decided the other day that instead of having dinner all together, it’d be better if you and she slept here. Like old good times.

“You have to tell me how the little monster’s father is,” she almost demands.

“I don’t have any picture,” you instantly answer while putting coffee in a mug.

“I’m not asking for a picture,” she says. “I want you to describe the man for me.”

You roll your eyes, she’s unbelievable. She’s always so nosy, and since she has learned about the ‘I keep the baby and the father comes along’ story, she’s been dead serious to know everything about Jungkook. However, you don’t really know how to explain to her that 1) you’re a werewolf, and 2) he’s a werewolf king.

“He’s just a man,” you answer.

“You’re boring, yn,” she says before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hi girls,” Felix enters the room with the brightest smile on his face.

He leaves a kiss on top of Lexi’s head before pressing one on your cheek. When his lips meet your cheek, you close your eyes to savor this sweet moment with your father. Being on your own is all good and funny, but you always miss his sweet good morning kisses.

“Hi dad,” Lexi says. “Can you tell yn to provide us with more description than ‘man’ for her baby daddy?”

“Well, at least we know he’s a man,” he teasingly says to his daughter.

“Dad,” she moans. “You’re not helping.”

As she’s complaining to her father, you grab a plate that you place on the table with your coffee before sitting down in front of her. You take a toast, put butter on, and eat it. This is delicious. Simple but delicious.

“Okay,” you surrender. “I’ll tell you.”

“Finally!” she exclaims. “It was about damn time!”

You roll your eyes once more. This lady has an incredible personality, but you adore her. She’s literally your sunshine, you couldn’t live without her.

“It’s a tall Korean man with black short hair,” you start saying. “He has dark brown eyes and has a very athletic body.”

“So you’ve gotten to see his body closely,” she plays with her eyebrows while insinuating something sexy.

“No, I didn’t,” you instantly lie.

She furrows her brows, she knows you’re lying. It’s written all over your face.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she snaps back. “Did you already have sex with him?”

Felix chokes on his coffee, Lexi and yourself now looking at him.

“Don’t talk about that around me,” he defends himself.

“Come one, Dad,” she says. “We’re not ten anymore, we’re thirty, and your daughter is pregnant. We know babies don’t fall from the sky.”

Lexi is the type of girl to be straightforward, especially with you and Felix. In this case, she’s not wrong, but it still feels weird to be talking about sex around him. He’s like a father to you, and it’s just awkward. 

“Yeah, but still, I don’t want to know about what you do with guys,” he says.

“In this case,” you say. “We didn’t do anything like that,” you try to find an excuse without mentioning the wolf transformation. “He just spilled wine on his shirt and removed it in front of me.”

Lexi doesn’t buy it, but she pretends she does. She’s very much convinced you had sex with him, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Mmm,” she says. “Is he hot at least?” she asks. “We need to know if yn junior is going to have good genetics from both parents.”

There’s a sudden heat growing under your cheeks. You don’t want to say that he’s obviously so fucking hot and that you’ve been desiring to do wild things with him. But you’re not going to say that.

“He’s not bad,” you answer. “But my kid doesn’t need him to be good-looking, they just need me.”

Now, she’s the one rolling her eyes. It’s hard to not live with her anymore because you love your little bickerings. She’ll forever be the sister the universe gave you, and despite the tragedy of losing your parents, having her and Felix is the biggest blessing of your life.

“With you as their mother, I’m mostly concerned about their ego, not their beauty.”

“You’re just jealous,” you say before taking another bite of your toast.

Before any of you can add something, your phone rings, your eyes looking down at the screen. It’s a message from Jungkook. A smile appears on your face.      

 “It’s your baby daddy, I guess,” her words make you look up at her.

“Maybe,” you say.

You take your phone to see what he wants.

From Jungkook: Hi yn, how are you today? 😊

His message warms your heart. He’s been asking you every morning how you feel, and you can’t help but find this sweet. You know it’s because you’re carrying his child, but it’s still nice of him to do it.

To Jungkook: Hey Jungkook, all good here, and you? 😊  

His answer comes quite rapidly, Lexi looking at you very intrigued.

From Jungkook: I’m good too 😊 are you still up to meet the shadow’s alpha?

Now your heart starts hammering fast in your chest, and you take a deep breath. Meeting people who can help you unveil your parents’ past is exciting yet stressful. You wish nothing more than to meet this alpha, but you’re also scared of what you’ll find out.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks.

Your eyes look up to meet his. Although you absolutely adore him, you don’t want to tell him about this yet. You don’t even know how to tell him that you’re a werewolf. One thing you’re sure of, you want to know a bit more about your parents’ story before telling him anything. You’ll tell him one day, but not just yet.

“Yeah,” you say.   

To Jungkook: yep still good

Then, you agree with him to meet tomorrow at 4 pm. As you don’t want to stress too much over it, you join Lexi and Felix’s conversation.  

Your heart is beating extremely fast, your foot taping nervously on the floor, and your eyes gazing at the city passing before you. People are walking on the busy streets, many cars are moving around you while Jungkook is driving to the house of Mister Song Sungmin.

None of you speaks, his eyes glancing at you from time to time. He’s not sure if he should say something; he’s scared to say something he shouldn’t or that will hurt you. This is such an important moment for you. You’re about to meet someone that might have known your parents, and their true past.

“You okay?” he simply asks after a while.

“Yes,” your eyes leave the city to look at the man driving.

He’s back to wearing a suit which makes him look powerful, as always. You guess that he’s wearing a suit to reinforce his stature as king, projecting authority for the meeting you’re about to have with an Alpha.

This time around, it’s a grey suit with a black shirt underneath it. He’s extremely hot. But your mind doesn’t really dwell on it for long. All you truly think about is this meeting. It’s what truly matters right now.

A couple of minutes later, you arrive in front of a very pretty house. It seems to be the cozy type.

“Before going inside, there are a few things to know,” Jungkook explains. “Song Sungmin is one of the most powerful Alphas of your pack. He’s moved here after meeting his wife, Song Eunji who happens to be the daughter of a Blood. He’s also the uncle of my best friend, Taehyung.”

You nod before taking Jungkook’s hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

He offers you a small smile, a cute little dimple appearing on his face. Every time he smiles at you, you want to touch it.  

“I’d do anything to help you.”

And you’re grateful for everything he has done so far. No matter how things evolve between you, you’ll carry him closely in your heart. For sure, your baby is lucky to have him as their father.

“Let me know when you feel ready,” his thumb soothes your hand.

“We can go,” you tell him. “No need to make this last longer.”

In no time, you’re standing on Mister Song’s porch, waiting for him to open the door. Your heart is strongly hammering in your chest. This is more than scary, but you feel like you’re slowly getting closer to unveiling the truth about your parents. Strangely, it also makes you feel closer to them.

When he opens the door, your entire world freezes. Even your heart stops beating. You know this man. You met him twenty years ago, on the night your parents were killed. He’s the man that protected you from the butchery.

Twenty years ago, you were watching TV with your parents, but around 8 pm, somebody knocked at the door. It was your mother that opened it, and she was discussing with a man before she came to take you.

“Mommy and Daddy need to do something,” she told you in her honey-like voice. “This man is a good friend of mine, and he will take care of you while we’re gone.”

You were only ten so you didn’t question it. You didn’t think much about the fact they had something to do at 8 pm, something definitely unusual. You didn’t question the fact that you had never seen this man before. You didn’t even notice how scared she looked. You didn’t question anything, something you’ve deeply regretted your entire life.

This man took you to an ice cream store, offered you all the ice cream you wanted, and talked to you. Back then, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. It wasn’t every day that an old friend of your parents would come and give you all the ice cream you wanted. Over time, you forgot about the man’s name because, on that tragic night, you lost your parents. This man didn’t matter anymore.  

Jungkook’s glance goes from you to Sungmin, and he doesn’t need to be a genius to understand you both know each other. It’s definitely surprising, but not completely. You’re living in the same city, and you’re part of the same pack.

“You’ve already met, I suppose,” Jungkook breaks the long silence between you.

You and Sungmin nod, your eyes never leaving his.

“Please come inside,” he invites you in.

Before closing the door, he looks around to make sure nobody else is there.

“Would you like something to drink or eat?” he proposes with a smile on his face.

As you look at him, you notice that he hasn’t changed at all, except for the grey hair. He still has a warm and comforting smile on his face. A smile you never forgot.

“No, thank you,” you answer.

Jungkook answers the same, and the older man guides you toward the terrace. His house is pretty modest and filled with pictures everywhere. It might be his children and grandchildren. There are also pictures of him younger and he definitely hasn’t changed in a while. It seems like he always had this compelling posture as if he has always meant to be an Alpha.   

“Please take a seat,” he shows the chairs arranged around the table.

The three of you sit down, your eyes wandering around. This terrace is very beautiful, you hope that one day you’ll have a similar one. But you’ll need to earn a lot more money.

“So this is yn,” Jungkook introduces you. “The woman I talked to you about on the phone.”

“I know who she is,” the older man says, his eyes moving to you. “You’ve grown a lot in twenty years,” he smiles at you. “And you’ve become a wonderful woman.”

“Thanks,” you smile back at him. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Sungmin looks away for a minute as he wants to hide the tears forming in his eyes. You are his biggest secret. Nobody ever knew that, twenty years ago, he offered you as much ice cream as you desired. When he looks back at you and Jungkook, you only feel compassion for this man.

“I knew one day we’d meet again and I’ve been waiting every day, for the past twenty years,” he begins. “I was expecting you to come earlier, but I’m glad you finally came.”

“What happened?” Jungkook asks with curiosity.

Sungmin takes a deep breath, a lump forming in his throat as he remembers the events.

“Twenty years ago, your father the king found her parents. The ones that were running away from the pack for ten years.”

He doesn’t need to say much more. Jungkook knows. On your side, you frown, not sure to understand what he means, but you carefully listen to him.

“When I was informed of it, I ran to their house. I needed to see for myself if their child was still alive. If they really had a child ten years prior. Before I even knocked at the door, I heard that little giggle only a kid can do. It broke my heart,” a tear runs down his face. “And I took the terrible decision to take that child away from the house. I took that child as far away as possible because I was scared they could hear the screams of their parents. I didn’t want that child to grow up with that trauma.”

Then, you start to understand what is going on. You’re not a werewolf, or at least not completely. You’re a hybrid, and your parents were killed because of that. That explains why they never talked about it to you. They didn’t know if one day you’ll manifest any wolf signs. That’s why they also ran away from their hometown, and why your grandparents never approved their love. One of them was a human.

“I lied to everybody, I made them believe I had killed the child. Since nobody saw her face, it was easy to lie,” he looks down at the table. “I knew what I did was wrong, but killing a ten-year-old for a sin she never committed was inhuman. Putting an end to a pregnancy is one thing, but cutting short a child’s life is totally another,” his eyes look back up at you. “I don’t regret what I did, and I will never regret it.”

Shivers run down your spine. So your wolf abilities weren’t really dormant, they were there all along, but they were mixed with human blood. The pregnancy simply awoke that side of you, especially since you’re carrying a wolf’s child. Your baby is the reason why you’re now able to turn, and why your powers have increased. Your baby is the reason why you’re finally digging into your past.

“Since you’re a hybrid, I never knew what to expect. All I expected was for you to find me one day, and you did.”

“So Jung… Mister Jeon’s father is the reason why my parents were killed?” you ask.

Jungkook finds it weird that you call him Mister Jeon, but he can understand it. You’ve always been very respectful and even though you’re pretty close now, you still respect his king stature.

“No,” he shakes his head. “We are.”

Tears start appearing in your eyes, and both men only feel sorry for you.

“Your mother was a werewolf and had fallen in love with a human. She was the rebellious type, she never really followed the rules. Her parents and the pack were repeating that this love story would only end badly, but she didn’t care. Then, she got pregnant and ran away with your father,” Sungmin explains. “Hybrids are forbidden as you might know so we tracked her. For nine years we looked for them, but it was in vain. We then asked for the king’s help because he had better resources than us. In a year, he found you and we did what we had to.”

Now, the tears run down your face as you realize the extent of the situation. Your entire existence is forbidden. You shouldn’t exist, but here you are. And on top of that, you’re pregnant with the king’s child. Another forbidden life.

“How did my mother react when she saw you?” you ask.

“She wasn’t surprised at all, she even thought I was going to kill her, but I told them I wanted to protect the three of you,” he answers. “She told me that the only person she wanted me to protect was you. She was ready to face the consequences of her actions, but she didn’t want you to die for her sins.”

Thinking about her selfless move breaks your heart. You’re trying as hard as possible to not burst into tears in front of this man. Your mother always put you first, she was always making sure you were happy.

“She knew that the pack would kill you first, right in front of her eyes. She didn’t want her last souvenir to be that so I respected her last will—to protect you.”

Jungkook’s hand finds yours to hold it as tight as possible. This mustn’t be easy to hear. It mustn’t be easy to learn that you’re a hybrid. The only living hybrid.

“Who murdered them?” you ask. “My grandparents?”

The older man shakes his head. “They weren’t even present; how could they be? No matter what, she was their daughter. A daughter they deeply loved. It was another Alpha who did it,” he seems obviously very shaken up by this event. “Our pack has never been the same since then. Your grandparents retreated completely, grieving forever a daughter and granddaughter they lost. Each year, we gather together at your grandparents’ place to pay tribute to your mother and you.”

It devastates beyond comprehension to picture it. People have been grieving someone alive all along. People have been thinking about you when they hadn’t even met you.

“Even if you’re a hybrid, you’re part of our pack, and your grandparents always made sure to include you in those heartbreaking moments.”

“So you never revealed to them I was alive?” you ask.

Sungmin shakes his head. “I tried many times, but the words never left my lips.”

Right now, you only want to disappear. You don’t want anybody to see you while this devastating pain eats you alive. Mister Song and your parents protected you from death. They allowed you to live when you shouldn’t have.

Your wish to disappear is granted when you do so due to all the intense emotions you’re feeling right now. Jungkook is then unable to see you, but he can still feel you as his hand remains on yours. His fingers never stop caressing you in an attempt to calm the storm growing inside you.

Sungmin follows you and disappears as well but you’re still able to see him. You still see him like he didn’t blur into his surroundings. It’s so weird.

“I’m so sorry, yn,” his hand reaches out to yours, a hand that you hold.

“It’s not your fault,” you try to reassure him. “You did what my mother wanted; you protected me from a certain death.”

“But I could have insisted, I could have protected them,” he answers.

“You know better than I do that the pack would have never stopped looking for them. The issue would have been the same no matter what.”   

Your parents' end was destined to be tragic, but they chose to love each other. They chose each other despite the bans. They chose to have a child together and protect you as long as they could.

They knew from the beginning that you’d end up growing up without them. And right now, you hate them as much as you love them. They did all this for you, but you still hate them for knowing you’d be alone and without them.

Then Sungmin reappears, his gaze serious and looking at Jungkook, his king. He knows now what will happen to him. He’s a traitor. He helped a forbidden couple, protected a child that shouldn’t exist, and lied to the entire werewolf community.  

“Mister Jeon,” his voice tone is deep. “I’m ready to face the consequences of my acts.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, your eyes now looking at Jungkook. Slowly, you reappear as well. Jungkook has never faced such a situation, and he can’t make a decision in the heat of the moment. He needs to think, and most probably, he’ll have to report this incident to the council. Not only did Sungmin break the rules, but there’s a hybrid walking amongst them. The council will show no mercy to you and Sungmin.

But he can’t lose you, not after all of this.

He has a very strong and deep connection with you, and you’re carrying his child. This isn’t simple anymore.    

“Mister Song,” he says with a very strong tone. “I appreciate your honesty; it has enlightened us about Miss y/l/n’s past. But I can’t decide right now what to do.”

The older man nods, understanding that Jungkook is now deeply involved. He can hear that faint heartbeat in your belly, and above anything else, he can smell that baby’s scent. It’s a unique one. They’re carrying the strong scent that only the child of a king has. He can also see how deeply the king cares about you.

His decision doesn’t just implicate the Alpha. It implicates you, the baby, and him. Whatever he decides, the three of you will be impacted. It isn’t a light decision to make.

“I will be thinking about it and come back to you once I’ve decided.”

The Alpha bows to his king as a sign of respect. It’s really impressive the power Jungkook holds, and how even such an old Alpha submits to his king. This is incredible.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he says while bowing.

The drive back to your place is done in complete silence. In some way, the car feels heavier, as if the weight of the truth you’ve just learned is pressing down on you. This time, your eyes are red and swollen, and your face is ravaged by the tear you couldn’t hold back anymore. Learning about your past terribly scared you, but knowing it breaks your heart. Now, you know what happened on that tragic night in July. You now understand why your parents were so cruelly murdered—or should you say executed—, and why you were spared.

Jungkook keeps his eyes focused on the road, but you can sense the tension in him. His grip on the wheel is tight, his knuckles turning white, and he constantly glances in your direction. He wants to say something, to comfort you, but nothing seems to come out of his mouth. He isn’t even sure his words will ever be able to comfort you.

Once in front of the apartment complex, he slows the car to a stop. His eyes shift to you fully for the first time. There’s something in his expression that stops your heart. There isn’t only worry, there’s pain as well, as if he’s carrying this burden with you. You’ve never seen that in his gaze; he’s never looked at you this way before, so unguarded, so raw.

The moment your eyes lock with his, the world around you seems to disappear. There’s no sound, no city around you, no heartbeats echoing in your ears. There’s just the two of you. His presence is comforting, it’s like he’s healing your sorrows in a way you can’t explain. How can someone make you feel this way, so understood, so seen?

“Can you stay with me, please?” you finally ask as you try to control your voice. “I don’t want to stay alone today.”

His response is immediate, and his voice is reassuring, “Sure,” he nods. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

The gratitude in your chest is overwhelming, and you manage to offer him a small smile.

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

Jungkook pulls into the nearest parking space before cutting the engine. You sit there for a moment, neither of you speaking. The air is heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, he steps out of the car and moves around to your side, opening the door and offering you his hand. His touch is warm, and grounding, and you take it without hesitation.

Without removing your hand from his, you both walk to your apartment. Jungkook is very much tempted to intertwine his fingers with yours; to offer you some unspoken reassurance but he doesn’t do anything, too scared of crossing an invisible line. Even inside the elevator, your hands remain locked. Neither of you speaks, but the warmth of his palm against yours feels reassuring. You only separate your hands to open the door.  

When you get inside, you both strip off your coats and shoes. You look at him, and he is lingering near the door, unsure whether he should move further.

“Do you want to drink or eat something?” you ask out of politeness.

“No, thanks,” he shakes his head. His voice is calm, but there’s something in his eyes. There’s concern, guilt, and ache that he doesn’t try to hide.

You nod and move to the living room to sit on the couch. Jungkook hesitates for a moment before joining you, sitting close but not too close. However, you close the distance as you throw yourself in his arms. You don’t hold back any tears, now crying in his arms. You’ve only known him for two months, but nobody has ever made you feel like this. You can undoubtedly trust him.

You rest your head against his chest, tears spilling over. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around you, his hand gently rubbing your back. The warmth of his embrace melts some tension inside you, and for the first time today, you feel like you can breathe again.

None of you speaks, Jungkook just rubs your back while you cry in his arms. You deeply miss your parents and discovering what truly happened to them devastates you beyond comprehension. Will you ever be able to overcome this? Will you now be able to finally accept your parents’ death?

You’re not sure, but only time will tell.

However, now the biggest question is what will happen to you? You’re a hybrid. You’re not supposed to exist, let alone the life growing inside you. Will you have to terminate the pregnancy? Will you be executed like your parents were twenty years ago? Jungkook is the only one who can answer you. He’s the one who’ll have to make that decision.

And, then there are your grandparents. They believe that you’re dead, and you’d like to meet them. You’d like to tell them that you’re very much alive, that Mister Song protected you all this time, that he saved your life. You’d like to tell them that they don’t have to honor your memory anymore.  

But you aren’t even sure you can do that. You aren’t even sure that they’ll accept to meet you.

And there’s also your paternal grandparents. You’d also like to meet them. They are human, and their opinion of you might be pretty much different. Unless they know their son married a werewolf. Now that you know the truth, you desperately desire to meet your grandparents. The four of them.

You’d also like to know if you have uncles, aunts, and cousins. There is so much you want to know about your family, but let’s not rush anything. First, you need to digest what Sungmin revealed. There was a lot of information.

Slowly, but surely, your tears stop falling down, and the pain inside your heart seems to be a bit more bearable. But you still hold onto his embrace for a little more. You don’t want to let go of him just yet.

“Thanks a lot for your support,” you say while you put an end to the embrace and clean your face. “You’ve helped me so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smiles. “You were embarked in this by my fault. The least I can do is help you.”

“This was never your fault in the first place,” you shake your head.

Maybe the clinic’s mistake wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe, no matter who the father was, the pregnancy would have awakened your wolf blood. But, no matter what you have wolf blood in you, and sooner or later, something would have triggered it. The good part is that with the clinic’s mistake, you have Jungkook by your side.   

“But now we’ve discovered I’m a hybrid,” you continue.

Jungkook nods, his hand running through his hair. It’s the first time that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s completely lost because he’s starting to have feelings for you, and because it involves his child too. The rules are clear: hybrids can’t exist. But he never pictured himself falling for one, and having a child with one too. Your baby carries human blood; they aren’t of pure blood. How can such an heir exist? Nobody will ever accept to be ruled by the child of a hybrid.  

On top of that, this child is also the first one who isn’t fully a Blood. They have the blood of the Shadows running down their veins. Jungkook strongly believes that his blood will predominate, but there’s still a chance that they choose to be a Shadow. It will destabilize everything.

The thing with mixed-blood kids is that nature will choose to which pack they’ll belong. Nobody can belong to two packs. For sure, they’ll carry the heritage of both since their parents will be from two different packs. But we can’t know beforehand which pack they’ll be part of. It’ll only be found out at birth because once out of the womb, they’ll have the pack’s eye color for a couple of days.

There are so many unknowns now with this child.  

And he still has to reveal to his family he’s about to become a father. He was waiting to discover a bit more about your past before telling them about this wonderful news. But now, things are again complicated. His mother will tell him to put an end to both yours and the baby’s life. He’s not sure how his siblings might react to this, but he’s not expecting something positive.  

“What will happen to me?” you ask with a shaky voice.

His eyes meet yours, and they are glowing with something that gives you some hope.

“I’ll protect you,” he responds without hesitation. “Nobody is ever going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone touch you,” his tone is firm and assertive.  

Your heart now beats rapidly in your chest. It reassures you that he’ll protect you, and it means a lot since he’s a king. He’s supposed to be the one who leads by example, yet, he’ll be the first one breaking the rules. He’s going to protect a hybrid, a person that shouldn’t exist.

Jungkook gets closer, his hand delicately placing a strand of hair behind your ear. This simple gesture sends shivers down your spine. Your eyes get lost in his, and the world seems to disappear around you as his thumb lightly brushes against your cheek, leaving a warmth that spreads through your entire body.   

Time seems to pause, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. His face moves dangerously closer to yours until you feel his hot breath on your skin. Your heart hammers faster and faster in your chest, and for a brief moment, nothing else matters. There is no doubt that he’s about to kiss you, and truthfully, there’s nothing else you want more right now.

You know you wanted your first kiss to be deliberate, free from the chaos of emotions you’ve been swept into. But none of that matters now. The yearning you’ve buried rises to the surface, consuming you. All you care about is to taste his lips against yours. You want to know how they feel on yours. Those wild sex dreams have ignited something inside you, and you terribly desire to bring those dreams to life.  

His nose brushes against yours, the bare touch making you shiver. His proximity is intoxicating, and your lips are a breath away from meeting. When his eyes search yours, you know he’s silently asking for permission. And this time, you don’t pull away. Instead, your lips part slightly, and he sees the answer in your expression.

Then, he finally closes the distance. His lips press against yours with hesitation at first. The kiss is soft, and it feels like you’re discovering a part of yourself you never knew existed. His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, holding you while he deepens the kiss.

The world entirely disappears as his lips move against yours, guiding you, consuming you. Your body leans into his instinctively, your hands finding his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching beneath your fingers. When his tongue brushes your lower lip, your stomach flips, and you let him in.

The sensation is overwhelming and beautiful, a perfect blend of desire and intimacy as your tongues meet in a slow, sensual dance. He tastes like everything you’ve ever craved but never let yourself hope for. The kiss is tender as if he’s pouring all his emotions into this single moment.

When you break the kiss, you’re both breathless, foreheads resting against each other as your eyes meet once again. Jungkook’s fingers softly caress your face, his touch is so soft it almost makes you shiver. You close your eyes to savor this moment. 

It’s a victory—not his, not yours, but yours together. You’ve been fighting this connection, but there’s no denying it anymore. This kiss has unraveled something inside you, and now there’s no going back. Now that you’ve had a taste of him, you know one thing for sure: he’s become impossible to resist.

His lips meet yours once more, but this time, he’s kissing you with a fervent passion. While kissing you, his strong body pushes you, allowing you to lay on the couch, his body hovering over yours. Then, his lips slowly descend to your jaw, your neck, cleavage, and they stop right above your shirt.

His eyes look up to meet yours as if he’s asking permission to keep going down. You nod, giving him free will to do whatever he wants. Without wasting any more time, his hand pushes down your shirt with your bra, exposing your breasts to his hungry eyes. The coldness of the air sends shivers through your body, your nipples hardening instantly. His breathing gets heavier as his eyes are glued to your chest.  

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

Then, without any warning, his warm mouth meets your right nipple to torture it with his tongue and teeth. Instant moans fall out your lips, and your hands find their way to his hair, playing with some strands while he vigorously sucks on your nipple. It feels blissful. You never imagined a simple kiss could lead to this.  

His left hand assaults your other breast, louder moans escape your lips, loving the way he’s giving you pleasure with his mouth and fingers. Your hands slightly pull at his hair while your mind is completely lost in lust. You’re completely unable to think correctly. The man on top of you shows no mercy, torturing you in the most exquisite way possible.

Jungkook definitely knows how to use his fingers and mouth, and damn, it’s even better than any wild dreams you had involving him. You don’t even want to start thinking about how it must feel to have his dick inside you.

“Jungkook…” you whisper as you picture him naked again.

That sweet sound makes his shaft grow harder, the space slowly growing smaller inside his pants. The way you turn him on is unique, nobody holds such a powerful grip on him. His mouth moves then to your left nipple to treat it exactly like your other nipple. The wetness inside your underwear only grows bigger, you can feel it. The amount of pleasure he’s giving you right now is out of mind, and you know you’ll come quickly.   

His right hand snails down on your body, stopping when it reaches the hem of your trousers. Very carefully, he unbuttons and unzips them. The second his fingers brush your core through your panties, a deep guttural sound leaves your lips, and your hand pulls harder into his hair. That action causes him to moan against your nipple.

This is such a blissful torture, but if he keeps touching you like that and moaning against your body, you’ll come undone rapidly.

His fingers slowly rub your pussy through your underwear, making you slowly turn into a moaning mess. Your body is contorting with pleasure under his, and you can feel his half-hard dick brushing against your thighs. The feeling is marvelous as you get to sense how’s feeling about this too.

Then, without further notice, he slips his fingers under your panties. His hand cups your pussy whole, and you both moan at the sensation. Jungkook is instantly welcomed with your wetness on his hot palm. Another moan slips through his mouth which makes you whimper. There’s no way you’ll survive this.  

“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs.

Jungkook drags his fingers down your slit, purposely avoiding your clit. You close your eyes in order to feel this all even more profoundly, a deep breath escaping your lips. The coldness of his fingers against your core is electrifying. You’re getting addicted to this man as he gives you more and more pleasure. How have you been living this whole time without his touch?

You lick your lips as he slowly rubs you up and down, spreading your own wetness over your sensitive skin. This feels so good, and it pushes away all the terrible emotions you went through today. His eyes look up at you as he desires to picture your face while being consumed by pleasure.

Your hips twitch against the couch when the tip of his finger brushes on your clit. As he does so, you feel a pleasurable electricity rushing through your body. Jungkook’s mouth stops abusing your nipple, his eyes completely hypnotized on your sweet face. His hand runs up and down your core and he makes sure that his fingertip touches your clit.

“How does it feel?” he finally breaks the silence.

“So…” you try to speak while he never stops his ministrations. “So good,” you whimper.

His fingertip now draws circles into your hardened clit, your back arching off of the couch, and your hips meeting his hand. The friction of his hand against your pussy is beyond delightful, his fingers bringing you straight to heaven.

“Jungkook,” you moan his name on repeat.

Your orgasm is slowly growing inside you, you know you won’t last any longer. It’s just a matter of seconds now. The man above you senses it the second your legs start shaking more and more. His fingers work harder, helping you chase your own pleasure.  

Then, you let go and the wave of pleasure violently washes over you. Jungkook stops his movements when he feels your juices leaking all over his hand. A smirk grows on his face, proud of himself for giving you an orgasm.

Jungkook removes his hand from your panties and buckles back your pants. Your heavy breathing slowly gets back to normal and after a while, you open back your eyes. The man who just gave you an orgasm offers you the brightest smile on earth.

“Hope you like it,” he says.

“It was wooow,” you tell him as you sit back on the couch.

The man presses a soft kiss on your cheek before arranging your messy hair. He can’t help but find you extremely adorable.

“Next time,” he whispers in your ear. “My fingers won’t be the only thing giving you an orgasm,” his deep voice sends shivers down your spine. His tongue licks your ear, a deep moan leaving your mouth.

The two of you know that this is just the beginning of what is going on between you. This connection is only growing stronger, and sooner or later, he’ll be standing between your legs, thrusting deeply inside of you.

And honestly, you can’t wait for that day to happen.

Tonight, Jungkook has arranged a family dinner.

It’s about time he reveals yours and the child’s existence to his family members. He’s pretty much nervous about this, but he has to tell them. A new life will join this family very soon. The next heir is on the way, and he can’t hide this from them any longer.

His mother is the first one to arrive, and she takes him in her arms. Then, a couple of minutes later, his younger brothers Hyunjin and Mingi make their appearances. And finally, Dohee appears with her husband, Namjoon.

It’s been a while since the entire family has been reunited under this roof. Dohee left the house eight years ago when she married Namjoon. His mother, Hyunjin, and Mingi left after the passing of his father. Back then, Yuna was slowly moving in and they wanted to give them the space they needed. After the breakup, they didn’t come back; they felt like it wasn’t their home anymore.

Hyunjin is six years younger than Jungkook, and he’s been in a very serious relationship with Nari for five years. Jungkook is surprised he hasn’t proposed to her yet; she’s his soulmate after all. Then, there’s Mingi, the youngest Jeon. He’s ten years younger and he was the surprise baby; their parents weren’t trying to have a baby at that time. Out of the four of them, Mingi was the most spoiled.

Even though Jungkook is closer to Dohee, the four Jeon’s siblings have a strong bond. The oldest always made sure they’d get along because family is so damn important. Their father’s death brought them even closer, and they’ve always been by their mother’s side to ensure she doesn’t grieve alone.

“So,” Jungkook begins, his eyes looking at the five people around the table. “Thanks for coming,” he smiles at them.

Dohee smiles back at her brother, her hand rubbing her belly. She should soon give birth to her fourth and, most probably, last child.

“There is a new Jeon on the way,” Jungkook’s smile grows bigger as he breaks the news.  

Jisoo, Jungkook’s mother stands up to hold her oldest child in her arms. Jungkook embraces her with the same strength, a tear forming in his eyes as her reaction deeply moves him.

“I’m so happy, Kook,” she says, her cheek pressed against his chest.

While he hugs his mother, he sees his sister’s face. Although she’s smiling and seems happy, something in her expression unsettles him. He knows she’s thinking about the fact that the baby is a hybrid; she was the only one aware of it back then. But, so much has happened since he talked to her, events that she will know now.

His mother sits back in her chair while her hands clean the tears on her face. Another one of her children is about to make her a grandmother again. Dohee is the only one who has been giving her grandchildren, and she’s happy Jungkook is also going to give her another one. She can’t wait to have her house filled with grandchildren.

His siblings and Namjoon congratulate him on the fantastic news. Although their reactions make him happy, he knows this light mood will not last long. They most probably will hate him when he’ll tell them what you truly are.

“Have you already met the surrogate?” his mother asks out of curiosity.

“A surrogate?” Hyunjin asks.

“I sought the help of a fertility clinic to have a child,” Jungkook explains to his brother. “It was getting harder to be waiting to become a father.”

His eyes move back to his mother to answer her question.

“But there’s no surrogate, mom,” he tells her.

Everybody’s reaction is the same. They all widen their eyes, except his sister. She’s known this for a month already, but she’s now worried about why he’s revealing this to the family. He should know nobody will be happy about him being a father to a hybrid, especially their mother.

“Are you with somebody?” she asks. “Or is it Yuna?”

“It’s absolutely not Yuna,” he instantly answers. “And I’m not with anyone, at least, not yet,” he rants.

Jisoo seems to be happy about all of this, but she still wants to understand how on earth he’s about to be a father if there’s no girlfriend and no surrogate. She starts wondering if he slept with someone only to have a child.

“The fertility clinic made a big mistake,” he explains. “A woman was mistakenly impregnated with my material, and at first, I thought she was a human. Obviously, this wasn’t possible since the baby would then be a hybrid,” they all shake their heads.

Jungkook purposely omits that he didn’t convince you to abort; his mother would kill him if she ever found out. Dohee takes a deep breath and shifts on her chair to try to find a comfortable position.

“But then, I found out that she wasn’t human,” he proceeds. “And it changed everything, she could keep the baby.”

Dohee’s expression now fully changes. She wasn’t expecting that, so she’s now very happy for her brother to have a pure-blood kid. Jungkook notices her sincere smile, and it already hurts him to even think about what he’s about to say next.

“However, she didn’t know that she was a werewolf.”

Now, they all frown, confused by this sentence. It clearly doesn’t make any sense.  

“How’s that possible?” Mingi asks.

Jungkook’s heart stammers in his chest. How does he explain now who you truly are? He’s not even sure he wants to do it, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. His family needs to learn from him that you’re a hybrid. Not from someone else.

“Her parents left their hometown, cut ties with their families, never told her about her wolf side, and died when she was still a kid,” he summarizes. “She was then raised by a human and never found out the truth until she got pregnant.”

He hardly swallows before he continues to reveal what has been going on for the past nine weeks. Honestly, those past weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster.

“I’ve been trying to help her discover what happened because as you can imagine, it’s a lot to take in.”

His heart is going crazy in his chest, and he’s barely able to look at his family as he proceeds with the story.

“She’s part of the Shadows, and I reached out to Mister Song to help us unveil her past.”   

They remain in silence, letting Jungkook speak. The man takes then an unreadable expression on his face to protect himself from what is about to come. He hates that he has to do it with his family, but he has to.

“Mister Song told us that thirty years ago, a Shadow woman ran away with a human,” his heart beats faster. His eyes move to his mother, hoping that she recalls that incident.

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” she says. “The Shadows couldn’t find them so they reached out to your father. After ten years, they managed to find them and their child.”

Jungkook bites his lower lip and he’s not sure how to continue with the story. Does he say now that you’re a hybrid? Does he maintain the mystery any longer?

“Well, we found out that the child was never killed,” he explains while avoiding saying that Sungmin spared your life. “And that child is the mother of mine.”

For a moment, the room is filled with a sharping silence. Jungkook doesn’t look away, trying to understand their expressions. They are all speechless, but he can see anger forming in his mother’s eyes. He was expecting it; she has never messed with the rules. He admires her for following the rules, not everybody does it, but this time around, it will be hard for her. He’s not going to abandon you because of your true nature. 

Mingi and Hyunjin are surprised but seem intrigued by all of this. Jungkook can see that curious flicker in their eyes. Dohee seems utterly shocked, but her expression softens when her eyes meet her brother’s. Namjoon seems mind-blown. And Jisoo, the matriarch, looks angry.  

“What?” Namjoon is the first one to break the silence. “A hybrid has been living for thirty years and nobody ever found out.”

Jungkook nods. “Yep.”

“A hybrid?” Mingi says. “That’s cool,” he continues.

“Mingi,” the mother’s harsh voice echoes in the room. “Hybrids are forbidden, there’s absolutely nothing cool about them,” her eyes now move to Jungkook. “And you, my son,” she’s very angry. “You know what you have to do.”

As he hears her words, a strong feeling of protection grows in him. Even if she’s his mother, she can’t tell him what to do, especially when it includes you.  

“No,” his tone is firm. “There won’t be any killing.”

“Neither the baby nor her can exist, son,” she responds.

“Like I said, there won’t be any killing,” his voice is calm, but still very firm.

Dohee, Mingi, Hyunjin, and Namjoon watch in disbelief the scene displaying in front of their eyes. It’s the first time Jungkook is using that tone on their mother, and it’s also the very first time he’s not agreeing with her. It seems like an unrealistic moment.

“She’s a hybrid, for fuck’s sake,” she swears, catching everybody off guard. “She can’t exist! It’s already a miracle she managed to live up until now, but you have to end her life right now before anybody else ever finds out about her.”

“Do you hear yourself, mom?” he says. “You’re talking about killing someone like it’s the same as making a cake. We’re talking about a life. In this case, even about two lives.”

The king runs his fingers through his hair, a sign that he’s extremely nervous. He knew his mother wouldn’t accept any of this, but it’s harder than he imagined. He hates to be standing against her. She has always been by his side, supporting him whenever he needed it.   

“I’m not saying it like that, but the rules are the rules,” she says.

“Then, fuck the rules!” he swears.

Now, everybody is surprised by his words. This isn’t the Jungkook they used to know; he’s been always composed and now, it seems to be losing it.

“Jungkook,” Dohee tries to intervene.

“Don’t Jungkook me,” he says to his sister.

He’s trying to stay calm, but it’s getting harder. Nobody seems to understand what he’s feeling.

“It’s easy for everybody to follow the rules when it doesn’t involve your child,” his voice tone gets higher. “I got attached to that baby even if they’re not born yet. I constantly hear their heartbeat every time I’m around her, and I can’t put an end to their life. It’s a big no,” he’s very firm. “It’s my child we’re talking about.”  

Tears start forming in his eyes, and his mother’s heart breaks as she hears his words. It makes her realize the complexity of the situation. For a moment, she puts herself in his shoes, trying to understand him.

When she found out that she was pregnant with Jungkook, it was the most beautiful day of her life. She desired her entire life to become a mother, and after her marriage, that desire only grew bigger. Hearing her son’s faint heartbeat was such an appeasing sound, and it was the prettiest sound she ever heard.

So, imagining that she needed to terminate the pregnancy because that child is a hybrid breaks her heart. It’s a decision she’s not sure she’ll be able to make. But the rules are the rules. Even if her grandchild will have more wolf blood than human blood, that doesn’t change the fact that the mother is a hybrid. She shouldn’t even exist in the first place.

“And she’s my soulmate,” his voice breaks.

Jungkook has been pushing aside the nature of his feelings for you, but after yesterday’s events, he finally realized it. You’re his soulmate. You’re the person that destiny chose for him. You’re the person with whom he’s supposed to mate. It’s a powerful bond that nobody will ever be able to break.

“I will protect her at all costs,” he adds.

His mother closes her eyes in disbelief.

“There’s nothing we can say, then,” Dohee concludes. “Except for Mingi, we all know how it feels to be around your soulmate, how powerful the love is, how deep the connection is, and what we’ll do to save our soulmates. For sure, she’s not supposed to exist, but destiny bonded her to you, our king. You have all powers, and we all know you’ll put her safety first,” she quickly looks at her husband. “I can’t blame you, Kookie. In your shoes, I would do the same. I’d save and protect Namjoon even if he was a hybrid.”

Jungkook looks at his mother, expecting now a reaction from her. Like Dohee said, she should know how he feels. For sure, his situation is messy as hell, but there’s not much he can do. If he kills you, he’ll forever be dead on the inside. A soulmate is a one-time thing; he doesn’t get to have two soulmates. 

“This is like a movie, but better,” Mingi says with a playful smile on his face. “Our brother, known as the werewolf king, falls in love with a hybrid, a forbidden species in our world, and he got her pregnant.”

“Stop being silly, Ming,” Hyunjin strikes his elbow against Mongi’s. “This is serious.”

“Rooh,” Mingi says. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. I know it’s serious, but as Dohee said, there’s nothing we can do. The hybrid is Jk’s soulmate so we better accept the situation and help him. That’s it.”

Mingi makes everything sound so easy, as he always does. His chill, laid-back, and easygoing nature makes him the most relaxed of all the siblings, and in moments like this, it’s exactly what’s needed.

“The hybrid’s name is yn,” Jungkook says once he realizes he didn’t even say your name.

“Son,” Jisoo says as she opens her eyes. “In between us, we can accept it because we know what she represents for you. But how will the others react when they realize that yn, their possible future queen, is a hybrid, and that the next heir is not of pure blood?”

Hearing his mother say that you’ll probably be the next queen makes him feel weird, but in a good way. The words catch him off guard at first, a mix of surprise and uncertainty flickering through him. But the thought of having you by his side, not just as a partner but as his equal, makes his chest swell with a warmth he didn’t expect. Maybe, just maybe, the idea of you as queen is a future he wouldn’t mind embracing. 

“We all know how they will react,” she pauses for a moment. “They will try to kill her. Soulmate or not.”

“I don’t care,” he honestly replies. “I will protect her from everything and anything.”

No matter what people say, he’ll do whatever he can to keep you safe. He’s a king so he has the resources to protect you, and he also hopes that his authority as king might protect you as well.

“Okay,” the matriarch answers. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to meet her.”

A smile appears on her face. It’s not easy, but she’s ready to make an effort for her son. She’ll try to accept this all because you’re his soulmate. However, she needs to meet you first so she can see what kind of person you are.

“Okay,” he smiles. “I’ll arrange that.”

The tension slowly fades away and the family continues the dinner while talking of other things. Jungkook is aware of the fight waiting for him, and he knows it won’t be easy, but you’re worth it.

[zeyris-daydreams]

We had Mydei, but what about Phainon? He too is one of the Chrysos Heirs. Therefore he too has his wife chosen for him.

It was mostly for convenience rather than looking for any deeper bonds; logic propagated not by Phainon but Aglaea. Then again it only makes sense generally; traditional roles of a wife ease the Chrysos Heir's burdens to a degree, be it cooking or cleaning.

And Phainon was a fairly hard working man.

Despite this being arranged you felt a sense of anxiety as you waited with other women, it didn't help that he was a man of importance. What's the guarantee he'd like you anyway? You were chosen according to the conventionality of it, and other circumstances you didn't really understand. Then again, it was easier not to think of it.

The short formal ceremony was quite comfortable for Phainon, who seemed like too much of a social butterfly. While you were nervous about being married to a practical stranger, he spoke with ease as if he had not heard the concept of social anxiety.

Going back home was even scarier, at first.

Strangely enough — Phainon remained nice. It's not that he was a man with mean blood, but once all eyes weren't on you, a hint of understanding graced his face.

He was aware this situation was strange, not only for you but for him as well; it was a huge change from his daily status quo. While he was grateful for your presence, he rather early on established that you were to bear no responsibility here—no pressure to do things.

That didn't stop you from doing things, of course.

Arranged marriage wasn't something strange in this society by no means, most arranged couples lived on to become quite close as well overtime.

Subtle enough, it was the passing glances or asking how your day went. Lingering touch of his hand on yours on the counter.

Conversations and wrapping his arms around you while you were cooking, leaning to place his chin on your shoulder. Things snowballed slowly and comfortably over the months, as could be expected of a man and a woman living together.

Phainon decided they were right. A wife made his life a whole lot easier. And maybe the tug of emotions at his heartstrings was enough to confirm it, he did pick you after all—you didn't have to know that.

And you didn't have to know that the Chrysos' Heir's favourite activity in the past would be watching you go about your day. You were as sweet as he could've guessed from his observations.

Ah. He loved his wife.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Heritance

There's not much left for Tim in his parents' wills. Or, well, not much by his standards - the rest of the family, barring Bruce and Damian, think he is absolutely loaded and too full of himself to care. Which is maybe a little bit true; receiving about a dozen properties across the world, a trust fund and a wide collection of artifacts that his parents have accumulated through years of their archeological escapades is a lot by middle class standards.

But Tim knows how much money Drakes actually had, and a few old houses and an assembly of junk seems like not much in comparison.

In any case, it's all rather useless in Tim's position. He has no interest in traveling aside from when he has to for a mission, and he couldn't give less shits about archeology even if he tried. The trust fund is fine, he guesses, but it's not like he needs it, what with being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and one of the Wayne Wards.

So, as morbid as it is, the best reaction he can muster at his inheritance is a shrug and a mention in his mile-long list of 'things I need to figure out when I have time'. Which basically means he'll maybe get to it when he's old and retired, and not any sooner, because Tim Drake the CEO and Red Robin the vigilante are both very, very busy people who never have time.

Naturally, his life has other plans, and it's only two or three months later that Tim finds himself breaking through the balcony window of his own apartment in Praha.

It's at that moment, when he's lying on top of a soft persian rug, surrounded by glass shards and wondering if this move was enough to lose his tail that he realizes his inheritance might be slightly more than just a few properties and some boxes with old things.

Because, through his own heavy breathing, he hears a thoughtful, slightly sarcastic voice from inside the room, "I guess the door was too hard to figure out for you, wasn't it."

He sits up, turning his head so sharply it almost snaps. His eyes immediately fall on a boy not much older than him, sitting with one leg thrown over the other on the dark red couch near the wall. He looks like he clearly belongs here: white, vintage collar shirt and black, high-waist trousers, a silver ring on his thumb that looks too old to have been bought in this century, dark raven hair and perfect porcelain skin.

And he is reading a newspaper. Like a slightly bleeding costumed guy in a domino mask breaking the window and falling onto the carpet is just another Tuesday.

Hold on, this is Tim's house! He double-checked the address, there's no mistake!

"Who are you?" He demands, frowning, as his hands reach to the birdarangs out of habit.

"Keeper of Doors," the boy answers, not looking up and flipping the page, "And you're the Drakes' heir, I assume."

Tim blinks. The response provides no actual answers, it only creates more questions. "What doors?" He asks because the rest of the points can most likely be addressed later. Like the issue of his busted secret identity, right.

The boy sighs and closes the newspaper, folding it in half and uncrossing his legs to sit a bit straighter. "Doors, capital 'D'. The ones that lead everywhere you want."

"The what?.." Tim repeats, dumbfounded and lost in this unexpected nonsense. The boy gives him a truly unimpressed look, his eyebrow twitching. Then, he stands up - Tim's fingers close around the birdarang again - and steps towards the nearest door, grabbing the handle. His feet make absolutely no sound.

"Drake manor," the boy announces and pushes the door open. He doesn't step through, however, instead just standing in the doorway and turning back to Tim, gesturing for him to look.

Tim does.

Seeing the familiar hall, the one he's seen so many times, the one he walked through every day before he moved out, makes him realize a few things at once. One, he needs to revise the list of houses he inherited since it looks like they are not just properties but a map of teleportation points, most likely. Two, his parents knew full well he didn't need the trust fund, it wasn't for him, it was probably for this boy, who may or may not be the, well, gatekeeper. Three, if the first part of his inheritance turned out to be this, he is going to need to call in Zatanna to sort through the collection of his parents' artifacts lest something turns out to be actually cursed in there.

Four, he's been staring at the boy and gaping like a fish for longer than its socially acceptable.

"...What's your name?" He asks, suddenly conscious about the fact he was kind of rude before. The boy snorts, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he closes the door back.

"Danny," he introduces and snaps his fingers. The glass shards around Tim move all at once, rising from the ground and going back towards the window, like a reversed video recording. A second later, the balcony window looks as good as new, not a crack in the glass. "And you?"

"Red Ro-" Tim starts, but then pauses. Fuck it, he might as well, "Tim."

Danny waves his hand in the air, like snatching something out of nowhere, and, just like that, there's a box that looks suspiciously like a first-aid kit in his hands.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. Now, get over here and stop ruining my carpet with your blood."

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I find myself unable to stop thinking about fae Sirius, so here's another drabble about him as sort of a continuation to the first :)

cw: brief, vague allusion to sex

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

You’re scanning the earth for small, white flowers when there’s a rustle in the bushes nearby. You turn, expecting the orange streak of a fox vanishing into the brush or a bird taking flight, but you see nothing. The forest is quieter today, as it has been for you lately. Stiller. The sort of place with secrets. 

You draw in a breath as arms snake around your middle, catching you in their snare. 

“Hello, my little naïf,” says a familiar voice, smooth and lovely as the rock in your pocket. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”

You turn in Sirius’ arms. He grins down at you, and you press your smiles together in a gentle kiss hello as your own arms wind around his middle. He likes spending a lot of time pressed close together like this; you didn’t know you’d enjoy it so much until you did. 

“I’m looking for chickweed,” you answer him. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. Like most of him, they’re beautiful, finely shaped things; you reach up to trace your finger underneath one. Sirius very dignifiedly does not preen over it. “You’re not looking for me?” 

You shake your head, though you both know it’s a lie. You’ve always enjoyed this particular forest, but you visit twice as often since you met him. You’re never not thinking about Sirius, finding things for him, wishing to see him. It’d be embarrassing if he weren’t the same. 

“I was looking for you,” you confide to appease him. 

He tuts softly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. Sirius loves when you’re plain about your feelings for him. He doesn't always return the courtesy, but that’s alright; you can tell that they’re there whether he does or not. He wouldn’t have given you his name otherwise. 

“And what have you brought for me today, lovely thing?” 

“Do I always need to bring you something?” you ask, teasing. “Am I not enough by myself? You never give me anything.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicker with amusement, because this too is a lie. Sirius has given you many, many things. He’s taught you how to listen to the moods of the wind and shown you how to entice butterflies to rest in your palm and brought you unimaginable pleasure one long afternoon by the creek. Not least of all, he’s given you his devotion, proven in a thousand tiny ways. 

You’re unable to conceal your smile as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the rock you picked up this morning. It’s oval, worn to perfect smoothness by the rushing waters of the river you found it near, and a grayish blue that reminds you of Sirius’ eyes (when they stay still for a while, that is). 

Sirius takes the rock from you, studying it. He rubs his thumb across the top. “This is pretty.” 

“It is,” you agree, basking in your own private pleasure. You think he’d still say the same thing even if he did know why you chose it for him, but you enjoy keeping this to yourself. Sirius’ eyes slide to yours like he can tell you’re keeping secrets, but he doesn’t push. 

“Not,” he says, “as pretty as you, however.” His hold tightens without warning, drawing a surprised giggle from you as your bodies come flush together. “You’re more than enough of a gift.” 

You hear the sincerity in his tone and repay it in kind, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know.” 

Sirius’ eyes squint the way they tend to do when you particularly delight him. Just before he calls you strange or silly or my lovely little oddity. He doesn’t say any of those things now; only, “You won’t find chickweed around here, you know.” 

You frown. “If I knew, why would I be looking?” 

Sirius heaves a great sigh and presses his lips to your temple before loosening his hold on you. He guides you away from your little patch of bushes by your hand, moving with otherworldly grace. “There’s chickweed by the meadow. We’ll find it for you there. Do you use it for something?” 

You nod. “Pesto.” 

His brow furrows. 

“It’s food. I’ll bring some for you to try.” You give him a sweet look. “Thank you for showing me where to find it.” 

A low hum. “What would you do without me?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never have to find out.” 

“No,” he agrees, fingers winding between yours like vines, “you won’t.” 

[cute-little-fly]

Fuck, I relate so much to this it hurts, but seeing other people have this same experiences makes me feel not so alone on this. I realized I have never told my story so I will use this post to do it.

This is how I felt most of my school and high school years, except for a few friends that I managed to do until sixth grade of school and high school. So, in my case I have had friends, I have known what reciprocated friendship is like and that helped me so much. But I have also felt that sensation of being apart from everyone else by an invisible veil. Is very sad. I would really wish that we could be able to have better education as a society.

Even with all its problems for me school was better than high school. I managed to drag some people on my special interests like ants and insects. We fed them in school and got in trouble. I also managed to make everyone in school have a tamagotchi because I was obsessed with them. They sold them very cheap in the corner store near school. But I had to suffer so much before that, and even after that I struggled to maintain and have friends and still I felt appart sometimes. A lot of students came to my school only one year because their school flooded, then, they went away and I was alone again.

I remember I had this one friend in kinder garden whom I clung as if my life depended on it. Then, on first grade she told me she wanted to have more friends, to go and run and play and that basically she probably didn’t enjoy to spend time with me. I let her go, because she wasn’t forced to be with me all the time and I didn’t played like the other kids and I understood that. But I felt so broken. Even after that I expected that one day she would come back and I tried to. I had some friends during that time, short lived, only one was very close that was the queer guy everyone else bullied. I pretended to be his “girlfriend” sometimes, but we were really friends. Then he was put in other section so we could barely see each other and we started to have other friends, but still we kept in some touch and I didn’t felt the same trauma and rejection than with my other friend.

Then, in sixth grade of school I found my real and first girls friend group, they were all new girls that came from other schools for different life situations. They were trying to make me forget about thar friend (we never kept contact but for years, I still tried to befriend her again and again) until that moment I knew that she didn’t deserved me. My self steem was so low and I still clung to her so badly even if she barely talked to me, and I didn’t cared that she didn’t cared how I felt. My new friends made me see that, so I ended being loyal to them because they were the ones that actually cared for me and accepted me completely. They were the ones that supported me with my ants and tamagotchi. I think that was the best year of my childhood.

High school was ok I guess. At least I knew by that time that trying to be someone I wasn’t was not going to work, and that I could wait until I found my people. So I went alone to the high school library every day to read and play board games alone. I had some friend groups before them but didn’t worked, and they told me that I couldn’t hang up with them anymore. Just because I didn’t wanted to do some performance in class. Then, I met my new friends group there, in the next year, at the library. They were from another year, so I could only see them in breaks and after classes. But, it was ok, better than being alone 100% of the time.

I don’t use this blog for much personal stuff, but here I talk about autism sometimes so I figured that from my other blogs here is where it fits most :).

People underestimate how much it fucks you up to be subtly excluded as a kid. I would try to talk to my classmates and be met with disinterest or annoyance. The one friend I had, who I clung to and nodded along to his every word, had other friends he liked just as much or more. And his other friends didn’t care for me at all.

I look back at pictures from the time and see how separated I was from them. I remember knowing I was different. I remember posing questions about the world to the girls playing next to me and realizing that they had never asked the same ones to themselves. That the ways we thought couldn’t be more different.

I kept myself amused with my own fanatical stories and musings in my head. I would wander the playground on a circular path, imagining a friend and being sorely disappointed when it didn’t feel as real as I’d hoped.

There was a bubble separating me from everyone else, thin, and nearly invisible, but with a pearly sheen you could catch under the right conditions. I knew it was there, they knew it was there, and it changed me

[ssa-dado]

24 - Logos

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, SMUT Summary: A few weeks ago, Aaron had read a passage from Plato's Symposium - "And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself... the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment." He hadn’t fully understood it. Not until he found himself sitting on your couch at 3 a.m. Warnings: + 18 MINORS DNI (I will ground you) alcohol consumption, some cuss words here and there, VERY GRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE SEX because I'm a weirdo, it's basically porn with philosophy (not in the middle of it - of course - I'm not that weird), dirty talk, unprotected sex, piv, oral sex and a lot of pining. Hotch is a whore. Word Count: 18.9k Dado's Corner: I don’t know, I’m both proud and deeply insecure about posting this. It’s my first time writing smut. Ever. I have no idea if it’s good. No idea if it’s too much or too little - if I over-explained things or if I didn’t explain enough. It’s their first time actually sober, and they’re supposed to be a little cringe - uncertain, hesitant, not entirely sure what to do with each other or where they fit and that’s deliberate. I wanted it to feel real - flawed, messy, something that isn’t just perfect and seamless, but human. There’s good and bad, there’s laughter and uncertainty, there are tears of joy and tears of fear. And I just hope it feels like something.

masterlist ; mandatory first part because if you skip this, you'll be utterly lost and it's not my fault

In Stoic philosophy, logos represents the rational principle that governs the universe, uniting logic, physics, and ethics into a cohesive worldview. It is the divine reason permeating all existence, structuring nature according to order and necessity.

In Stoic logic, logos manifests as the foundation of rational thought, guiding human reasoning toward clarity and truth. Mastery of logic enables individuals to distinguish between valid judgments and deceptive impressions, ensuring alignment with reality.

In physics, logos is the active, organizing force (pneuma) that sustains and directs the cosmos. Everything unfolds according to its rational design, making the universe an interconnected, purposeful whole rather than a realm of randomness.

In ethics, living in accordance with logos means harmonizing one’s will with nature’s rational order. By cultivating wisdom, self-discipline, and virtue, individuals align their actions with universal reason, achieving tranquility and moral integrity in a world shaped by necessity and change.

Happiness is a complex concept - or at least, it became one once thinkers like Aristotle started overanalyzing it.

He distinguished between fleeting pleasure (hedonia) and deeper fulfillment (eudaimonia), and ever since, that debate has been stitched into the fabric of western culture.

Now, most people unknowingly follow this hierarchical model of happiness, never realizing it originated from a handful of bored, existentially troubled men desperately trying to intellectualize their own misery.

Maybe that’s why it’s considered completely normal to ask if someone is really happy - because centuries of philosophy decided that happiness alone isn’t enough – it had to be the right kind of happiness.

And yet, even you weren’t immune to that trap. Because standing there, dancing with Aaron, you admitted to yourself that you were, in fact, truly happy.

Not just for yourself, but for him - for the man who, for the first time since signing his divorce papers a few months ago finally looked light. Not weighed down. Not lost in some invisible battle in his mind. Just… happy.

And the moment felt so sweet, a microcosm where locking eyes with each other was ordinary conduct in such close proximity, where neither of you felt the need to temper that undeniable - if slightly terrifying - undercurrent of chemistry.

Just the understanding that this was safe, that this was allowed.

And somehow, that made it even sweeter.

Not just the warmth of it, not just the effortless way you fit into this tight space together, but the inescapable fact that your probably borderline-manipulative plan to drag him out of his self-imposed exile - had actually worked.

"Now you have to tell me how you managed to get not only Rossi but Hotch to join us tonight, sweet Teach - what kind of sorcery did you pull?" Penelope beamed, not even giving you a second to breathe after you’d opened the door to your apartment.

Ever since she got shot and still struggled with being alone in her house, the two of you had built this little ritual - getting ready together, spending a few hours just the two of you in your apartment before a night out.

A win-win, really, considering you also took your time settling into this place, figuring out how to make it feel like home. Penelope had even been the one to help you unpack your very last box, and now this little tradition had taken root.

She brought the wine, you experimented with vegan appetizers - some more successful than others - and the two of you would rant, gossip, and talk about everything and nothing. But, most importantly, Penelope took on the herculean mission of wrangling your ridiculously high-maintenance team into one place for a night out.

It was a diplomatic nightmare. The venue had to be quiet enough for Spencer but still have music good enough for Derek, serve whatever mocktail JJ was obsessed with that month, and somehow accommodate Emily’s inevitable last-minute curveballs - which, incidentally, was how Spencer found himself at a drag show for the first time.

Shockingly, he’d been asking to go back to that bar ever since.

You, meanwhile, were more like Penelope’s unpaid secretary. She desperately needed one, given the sheer level of effort it took to coordinate this mess.

"You asked, and I delivered," you said, shrugging. "Told Rossi that Hotch was coming, told Aaron that Rossi was coming too - he actually turned out to be much easier to persuade."

"I wonder why… oh, right," Penelope sing-songed, eyes gleaming. "Big Bossman has a soft spot for you, smiley little thing."

You rolled your eyes. "The fact that we’re friends doesn’t change that he is infuriatingly stubborn once he makes up his mind. So annoying."

"Nine years of ‘friendship’" Penelope quipped, stretching the word out suspiciously.

"Actually, it’s ten," you corrected, sipping your wine as you settled onto your kitchen stool.

Penelope gasped - full dramatic hand-to-chest gasp. "Oh my STARS and MOONS! Ten years?! And you didn’t tell me?! What did you do? What did he do? Just the two of you , alone somewhere private, existing in your natural secretive habitats like the little pretty, reserved, woodland creatures you two are… especially now that he’s divor-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Pen!" you cut her off before she could run that train straight off the rails. "How many times have I told you we're-"

But no. She didn’t let you finish.

"Oh, Teach!" she grinned, eyes sparkling enough to concern you. "I was just suggesting you two do something to celebrate… something you two love to do. You know, stay up all night bonding over files… bending over files…"

You choked.

Actually choked.

Wine went straight up your nose, burned your throat, and splattered all over you, going everywhere.

Your counter.

Your floor.

Your poor, innocent, pristine white pants.

Penelope screamed - but not in horror, in absolute, unhinged delight.

"OH MY GOD," she cackled, slapping a hand against your back like that would somehow help you breathe again. "I HAVE NEVER BROKEN YOU SO FAST."

You wheezed, still coughing. "Penelope-"

She wiped a fake tear from her eye, grinning. "Oh no, sweet pea. You absolutely just got - wait." She paused mid-celebration, tilting her head as if she had just made a discovery.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the amount of damage she was about to inflict - "Much like I imagine Aaron Hotchner could do."

A horrible, inhuman noise clawed its way out of your throat - your last dying breath, probably.

Penelope lost it. Full-body laughter, already snatching a towel but making zero effort to hide the criminal glint in her eyes.

"I’m just saying," she went on, barely containing herself, "you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed have this whole agonizingly slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they, tragic yearning thing going on, and you know I’m right."

You groaned, dabbing furiously at the stain. "There is nothing slow-burn about a decade-long friendship."

"Aha! So you admit it’s a burn!" Penelope beamed, pointing at you like she had just cracked a conspiracy wide open.

The more you dabbed, the worse it got - just like this conversation, apparently. "Oh, no, I never-”

"All I’m saying is," she steamrolled over you, completely unfazed, "the energy you two radiate is so thick I could slather it on a bagel. Toasted chemistry. Smothered in slow-burn spread. One time I saw him look at you like you personally hand-crafted happiness from scratch just for him. Like you reached into the fabric of the universe and said, ‘Here you go, Hotchner, a reason to believe in joy again.’"

You paused, glaring at her. "That is insane."

She ignored you, fully in the zone now. "And don’t even get me started on the way you look at him when he isn’t paying attention."

You looked at him completely normally. Totally neutral. A textbook, regulation-approved gaze.

Even Anderson looked at him with more fervor than you ever did - and as far as you knew, he wasn’t even into men.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And how exactly do I look at him, Penelope? Enlighten me."

She grinned - dangerously - and leaned in like she was about to drop the biggest bombshell of your life. "Like you already know what he looks like naked and are trying very, very hard not to think about it."

You froze.

For exactly half a second - which, unfortunately, was half a second too long.

Penelope’s entire face dropped. Eyes huge. Mouth hanging open. A moment of stunned silence. And then-

"OH. MY. GOD."

Your stomach plummeted. "Penelope, don’t-"

"OH MY GOD. YOU DID."

"Penelope," you tried again, desperately attempting to rein in the chaos - but, to your credit, you did at least try to keep your voice level.

"JESUS, MARY, AND EMILY PRENTISS, YOU TOTALLY DID THE HORIZONTAL TANGO WITH AARON HOTCHNER. YOU SNEAKY LITTLE MINX. HOW DARE YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME?!"

"Penelope, for the love of-" you started, but of course she chimed in again.

"WHEN?! WHERE?! HOW?! DETAILS, WOMAN!"

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face because there was no getting out of this.

"Once," you muttered. "Nine years ago."

Silence.

Then, with the most scandalized expression you've ever witnessed on her face, she shrieked, "ONLY ONCE?!"

You threw your hands up. "Yes, only once! And never again."

"WHY ONLY ONCE?!" she shrieked, as if you had just admitted to committing the single greatest injustice known to mankind.

You exhaled, bracing yourself, hoping that a little honesty might finally get her to calm down. "Because, at the time… I might have had a bit of a crush on him. And we were coworkers. And it wasn’t exactly… ethic-"

"FUCK THE ETHICAL!" she screamed, thrilled by the sheer scandal of it all.

You should have seen that coming."Penelope!"

She flailed her arms so violently she nearly knocked over her wine glass, eyes wide "You had a crush on him?! ON HOTCH?! AND YOU ONLY DID IT ONCE?! Oh, I cannot with you right now. You are so infuriating sometimes! You have the emotional restraint of a saint, and I do not mean that as a compliment."

"We were both drunk, and it was a mistake. It happened, we moved on, and that was the end of it. We’re friends, and that’s all it’s ever going to be." you said, unwavering. " Honestly, I don’t even think about it anymore - sometimes, I even laugh about it."

Penelope squinted, gears visibly turning in that devious head of hers, already cooking up something absolutely unhinged. "Mmm-hmm. Okay. Fine. Sure. Let’s pretend I accept that. But-"

Oh no.

"-if it were to happen again, hypothetically speaking, do you think it would be even better now that he’s aged like a fine, expensive, top-shelf wine? And, and, anddd - follow-up question - on a purely objective, scientific level - how would you rate him? You know, visually?"

"Penelope!" you groaned, but unfortunately, your traitorous brain had already started answering the question.

Yes.

And no comment.

"Okay, okay, fine, no ratings," she huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard you were surprised she didn't sprain something. "But-"

This was it. Your moment. Time to end this madness with a good old, firm, satisfying -"No."

But, of course, that would have been too good to be true.

She continued "-would you say he's more on the impressively sized side or-"

"Penelope, please." You were already suffering.

She waved you off like your dignity was a minor inconvenience to her scientific research. "Listen, I’m just saying," she went on, tone now fully deranged, "the man carries himself like he’s got something to be confident about. Big hands, big energy, big…"

You froze. "Do not finish that sentence."

"BIG, HUGE D-"

Time to draw the line.

You shot up so fast your chair went flying, rattling against the floor as you grabbed your phone.

Penelope screeched. "Wait - what are you doing?!"

You scrolled, thumb unwavering, and hit call. "Giving you a direct source."

Her soul left her body. "NO. NO, YOU WOULD NOT-"

You absolutely would.

And you did.

"Come on," you said, completely deadpan, as the dial tone rang. "It’s just Aaron."

Penelope malfunctioned. She glitched like a corrupted file. She stared at you, horrified, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"He’s just 'Aaron' to you?" she whispered, her hands flailed before slamming onto the table as if physically stabilizing herself. "No last name? No title? Just oh, you know, my casual little ex-lover, Aaron? Just ‘hello, this is a man I have been biblically familiar with, Aaron?’ Just ‘we had sex nine years ago, and now he’s simply Aaron, like we’re old college roommates and not two people who have seen each other naked’"

…Hmm. Well. Yes?

To be fair, you’d never really thought about it before. It just… happened. One day, he was Hotch, then - sometime after that night - he was Aaron. And after that, you never really stopped.

No big discussion, no conscious decision - just a shift so seamless that you hadn’t even registered it until right now, in this very moment, with Penelope practically having a full-body breakdown in your kitchen.

Not important. Moving on.

Because, frankly, you had bigger concerns - like how you were about to experience instant, irreversible consequences for your actions, since the call, after one, two, three rings-

Connected.

"Hello?" His voice came through the line - slightly huffed, a little breathless, like he’d just moved across the room.

"You took a while to pick up," you said casually - a joke, a throwaway comment.

There was a pause. A beat.

And then, in that deadly flat, unbothered tone of his, he answered, "I was still in the shower."

You froze.

Penelope froze.

Somewhere, on the opposite side of your living room wall, your elderly neighbor Mrs. Lee - who had been subtly not subtly eavesdropping through the thin drywall of your apartment - probably froze.

You could feel Penelope vibrating beside you, gripping your arm so tightly she was cutting off circulation, meanwhile, your brain was running in circles, slamming against metaphorical walls, and screaming into the void because-

Aaron in the shower.

Aaron, freshly out of the shower.

Aaron, picking up the phone, standing there, probably half-naked, hair wet-

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

You leaned back against the counter, schooling your expression into something completely unfazed. "Well, now I feel bad for interrupting."

"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. It’s just that Penelope had something very important to ask you," you said, glancing over at her with the most innocent, borderline sadistic smile you could muster.

"I - what - no, I don’t-" she sputtered, frantically shaking her head and waving her hands.

Aaron, still completely unaware of the impending disaster, said, "What is it, Penelope?"

Dead silence.

Garcia looked like she had been struck by divine retribution.

"Go on," you mouthed, biting back a grin. "Ask him."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

Just the sound of sheer existential regret.

"Garcia?" Aaron prompted, his tone patient, if slightly concerned.

"I - um - hi, sir Sir," she finally managed, voice several octaves higher than usual. "I - I just - well, you know - um. How was your shower?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

Aaron, completely unfazed, just answered like this was a normal human interaction,"It was fine."

"Good! That’s great!" Garcia blurted, nodding furiously at no one in particular. "Love a good shower! Love hygiene! So important! Huge fan of cleanliness! Showering - what a concept! Water? Incredible. Soap? Revolutionary. Scrubbing? Life-changing. Anyway, I have to go bye!"

And then she hung up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break the phone.

You just stared at her.

She just stared back.

Then, in perfect sync -

You both screamed, laughing.

"You traitor!" Penelope wheezed, still half-laughing, half-mortified.

"You were the one who wanted answers!" you gasped, nearly crying from laughter.

"Not from him directly!" she shrieked, burying her face in her hands like that could somehow reverse time - but she was laughing anyway, because this was, undeniably, the funniest and most horrifying thing that had ever happened.

"Well, I just saved you the effort," you teased.

She ripped her hands away from her face, wild-eyed. "You made me ask our boss about his shower."

"You made me listen to your entire dissertation on whether or not he’s impressively sized - I feel like we’re even."

You still somehow winced thinking back about it.

She groaned, collapsing against the counter. "I will never recover from this."

"Oh, I’m sure you absolutely will," you said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Do you want more wine?"

She lifted her head just enough to nod. Begrudgingly.

You poured, sliding her glass across the counter. Then, with the kind of magnanimous generosity only wine-fueled chaos could inspire, you added, "And - because I am a good friend - I will allow you one question about that night. One. With a detail."

Penelope snapped upright faster than the speed of light, gasping. "Oh, this is the best day of my life."

You chuckled, shaking your head, sipping from your own glass too. "Make it count."

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then, she leaned in and whispered- "Was it at least good enough that you'd do it sober?"

You nearly choked, again. "Penelope!"

She lifted a hand. "No, no, no, this is a very fair, very respectable question."

Sure, a question that required another sip of wine to be answered, especially because at this point you literally had nothing more to lose. "Penelope, I would do it sober, wide awake, fully caffeinated, after eight hours of sleep, in a well-lit room, with a legally binding contract ensuring I’d remember every single second."

Penelope screamed.

"OH MY GOD," she wailed, collapsing onto the counter. "THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE NIGHT."

You took another sip, completely unfazed, as she flailed so hard she nearly launched herself off the stool.

"I NEED TO LIE DOWN," she gasped, gripping onto the counter for support. "I NEED TO CALL EMILY. JJ – OH SWEET LITTLE JJ – SHE’S IN NEW ORLEANS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW”

"You need to calm down," you deadpanned.

She pointed at you, accusatory, still half-breathless from screaming. "You were gonna take this to the grave. You were gonna let me die not knowing this. ME. PENELOPE GARCIA. The person who has kept all of your secrets and asked for nothing in return except unfiltered chaos."

"I was absolutely going to take this to the grave," you confirmed, refilling your wine.

She let out a dramatic gasp. "YOU MONSTER."

You shrugged. "You survived."

She slammed a hand on the table. "You know who wouldn’t have survived?"

You tilted your head. "Who?"

She leaned in, eyes glinting. "Aaron Hotchner."

You made a low, strangled noise in the back of your throat.

"Oh, he absolutely wouldn’t have survived if he knew this just came out of your mouth," she continued, giddy, thriving off the absolute chaos she had unleashed. Then, dead serious - "Text him right now and tell him."

You slammed your wine down. "I am definetely not texting him that."

"Why not?!" she howled.

"Because I told you - I’m never doing that. Ever. I’m serious. If I could go back in time and relive that sober? Sure. But not. Now."

She narrowed her eyes, assessing, calculating.

"Okay, okay, alright then - next question." she said too fast, taking a sip like she was preparing for battle. "Do you think he’d do it sober?"

You opened your mouth - but nothing came out. Because you hadn’t actually thought about that before.

Penelope gasped so loudly that you were surprised the walls didn’t shake. "OH MY GOD, YOU DON’T KNOW."

"I-"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IF HE THINKS ABOUT IT, WHAT IF HE REGRETS NOT DOING IT AGAIN."

"Penelope," you said slowly, carefully, " you know what? I have reached my limit. This conversation is getting put away. We are going to the bathroom, I am curling your hair, and we are talking about something else."

"You know, Teach," she mused, stretching luxuriously as she grabbed her wine glass. "You have a really weird way of showing love."

You took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of your glass. “I agree - it’s because I hate you just as much as I love you, PG. Opposites aren’t really opposites, you know? They kind of fold into each other - love, hate… same fire, same burn. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”

You were actually proud of this philosophical pearl of wisdom. Penelope? Not so much.

She cut you off immediately. "Oh my GOD, this explains so much. This is exactly why you and Hotch looked like you were about to fuck in the middle of the bullpen yesterday."

"PENELOPE."

She pointed at you, completely unbothered. "OH NO NO NO - I was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly you two were arguing about the profile like you were in some kind of battle for dominance, standing way too close, talking way too low, making way too much direct eye contact."

"We were disagreeing about the profile."

"YOU WERE HAVING A MENTAL THREESOME WITH THE PROFILE BETWEEN YOU."

You let your head drop onto the counter.

She kept going. "It was totally foreplay - and then, mid-argument, he even took you to his office."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. "We went to his office to continue the discussion in private."

"Sure..." she grinned, skipping toward the bathroom. "Fine, fine. But just so you know," she threw a look over her shoulder, "if Hotch ever does take you to his office for anything other than work, I expect a full report."

Oh fucking hell.

"I hope your curls come out uneven," you muttered, grabbing the curling iron.

"I hope you get stuck in an elevator with him," she shot back.

You narrowed your eyes. "I hope you trip in your heels tonight."

She grinned wider. "I hope Hotch sits across from you at the bar and just stares at your lips the whole time."

You scoffed. "I hope your mascara smudges so bad you look like a raccoon by the end of the night."

She perked up. "I hope you two sneak away to the bathrooms at the bar, and you have to keep quiet while he-"

"PENELOPE."

She continued, undeterred, "I hope he backs you up against the bar, leans down all serious like he’s about to tell you something important - and then just whispers the filthiest thing you’ve ever heard."

"I hope you break a heel on the way there and have to borrow one of Morgan’s sneakers."

"I hope he offers you his jacket and you realize it still smells like his cologne and suddenly you’re thinking about it again."

"I hope you stub your toe so hard you rethink everything."

"I hope he says your name in that low voice of his, and for a split second, you remember exactly what he sounded like nine years ago-"

"I hope you spill something on your dress and have to go home early."

She cackled, victorious. "I hope you wake up in his bed and don't regret a single thing."

And maybe, exactly because the two of you had this conversation, you shouldn’t have agreed to go to the bar together in a single car – hers.

You should have seen this coming.

Indeed, as you and Aaron made your way back to the bar, drinks in hand, you spotted Derek and Penelope approaching with a very specific look on their faces.

Derek clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, "Teach - Babygirl had too many drinks to drive, I’m bringing her back home, can-"

Aaron didn’t even let him finish.

"I’ll give the professor a ride," he said immediately, smooth, confident, like he had already made up his mind before Derek even spoke. "You go, Morgan. See you tomorrow morning."

You barely had time to process how utterly inevitable this was - how there was no escaping the tension that had been building up all night until the very moment you stepped out of his car and reached your apartment door.

And then - Penelope smirked.

The smuggest, most self-satisfied, most evil little smirk in existence. You hoped, deeply and sincerely, that this wasn’t her plan all along - but judging by the way she waved so innocently as Derek dragged her away, eyes twinkling like the devil himself-

Yeah. You were doomed.

You were doomed the second you and Aaron stepped out of the bar and, with zero effort, he pushed open the massive, heavy wooden door like it weighed nothing at all. Casual. Effortless. Like he hadn’t even thought about it.

Just naturally stepped aside, one hand braced firmly on the doorframe, the other resting lightly against the door, waiting – watching - as you walked past him.

You were even more doomed when you reached his car and - of course - he opened the passenger seat for you too.

Didn’t even let you reach for it yourself.

Just beat you to it with ease, pulling it open - but instead of walking away immediately, he lingered for half a second longer, his hand still resting on the handle, holding it just firmly enough so he could be the one to shut you in himself.

Like this wasn’t already a lost art. Like this was just how things were supposed to be.

To top it all off, he got in, and as he backed out of the parking spot, his arm reached behind your headrest, fingers resting exactly there, his body leaning in just slightly closer as he turned to glance over his shoulder.

You had never wanted to fight for your life more.

Not because of the closeness.

Not because of the way his short-sleeved polo shifted, muscles tensing subtly, biceps flexing just enough as he turned the wheel -

No.

It was because he chose this exact moment to mutter, in that low, distracted, completely serious voice, something about the structural failures of public infrastructure.

"Parking lots aren’t properly illuminated," he murmured, half to himself, half to you, as he pulled out of the space - leaning in just enough for you to be wrapped in the warmth of his woody cologne. "Streetlamps are too far apart - against regulation. Visibility’s compromised."

You blinked.

It was so incredibly Hotchner of him to be thinking about streetlamp regulations at a time like this that you nearly lost your mind.

But you couldn’t even react, because then he turned on the car radio. And instead of some normal, pre-set station, it booted right into his most recent activity.

Which meant - of course - it immediately picked up in the middle of whatever custom CD he had been listening to on the way to the bar.

You had exactly one second to register the unfamiliar tune before it clicked - this was from whatever Broadway musical he was currently obsessed with.

Oh, he was such a loser.

You turned your head toward him, but Aaron - unfazed, unbothered - simply reached forward and turned the volume down to a casual, background level.

Like this was all perfectly normal.

Like you hadn’t just caught him.

"Aaron." You bit back a smirk.

He kept his eyes firmly on the road, expression unreadable. "Hmm?"

"Which one is this?" you asked, already knowing the answer but needing him to say it out loud.

"Wicked," he muttered. Then, quickly -"I can change it."

"Oh no, no, don’t you dare, Hotchner." You chuckled, settling in. "Always wondered what your music taste sounds like."

He exhaled deeply. "It is not only this-" he started, trying, truly trying to make you understand the complexity of his other music tastes, to defend his honor, but – they just started singing. And he knew.

He knew.

You were never going to let him live this down. Better off saving his breath.

Hilarious, and the best part? He didn’t even know he was.

Halfway through, you tilted your head, listening. "So this whole song is about two girls absolutely hating each other because they’re complete opposites, but they’re forced to be roommates?"

"Pretty much, yes." His answer a little too quiet, and - though he tried to hide it - deeply embarrassed.

You grinned. "It kinda sounds like they have a crush on each other," you commented, trying your best not to notice how his fingers tapped the wheel, completely in rhythm with the song, while his face remained perfectly composed - extremely normal about something he so clearly wasn't at all.

"That’s the whole point," he said, deadpan, keeping it short.

"Oh “ You blinked. “Do they get together at the end?"

"Unfortunately not." He sounded so genuinely bitter about it that you nearly laughed. "They become best friends, though."

Though, judging by the way his gaze flicked toward you for half a second, he wasn’t entirely sure if you were still talking about the musical - or something else entirely.

Especially when you simply hummed, turning to look out the window. "Best friends."

"Yes. Best friends." His fingers tightened on the wheel.

And damn if you didn’t let the silence linger just a beat too long.

"They don’t get together because they’re completely different, so they’re not compatible?" you asked, your voice just a little too earnest.

"Not because of that," he started. "It’s because one of them becomes a political fugitive and is declared a national threat, while the other is essentially forced into being the corrupt government’s PR puppet."

Ah. Okay.

There was no possible way to explain it in a way that didn’t completely kill the mood - impossible, really. But he tried anyway.

"Although," he added, keeping his voice even, measured, like this was not something he had many thoughts on, "they do have a really dramatic goodbye, where they sing about how much they changed each other’s lives and how they’ll never be the same again."

He felt you turn toward him, and though he kept his eyes on the road, he felt it - that shift in your attention, God knows on what, though.

"Best friends," you repeated.

He gripped the wheel just a little too tight. "Best friends," he confirmed, again.

A beat. A pause. Too long.

"And you think it would have been better if they had been together?" Your question landed way too heavy, like you knew exactly how much weight it carried.

Like you knew exactly how his mind worked, how he had spent far too long thinking about this, not just in the context of some musical, but in general.

He exhaled, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, but his grip tightened again.

And then-

"Fuck yes," the words left his mouth way too fast.

So fast that he heard you laugh before he even saw you smile from the rereview mirror of the car.

And God - that laugh.

It wrecked him.

Not because it was loud or sudden, but because it was yours. Because it was real. Unguarded. Effortless. Because it was him that pulled it from you - and it was then, in that moment, that he knew.

He was so, so fucked.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t some sudden realization, some reckless thought that had just wormed its way into his mind out of nowhere.

It had been there. For a long time. Ten whole years.

He had just never let himself look at it too closely.

Because if he did - if he let himself really think about it, about how he felt like he was burning alive every time you looked at him like that - it would be too much.

It would consume him.

And he could not, would not, risk this unless he was absolutely sure.

Unless he knew you wanted him too.

Unless he knew you burned for him the same way he was combusting for you in real time in this car.

And that terrified him, because he was not sure.

Because you laughed like it was just funny.

Because you smiled like this was just a conversation.

Because you did not look wrecked.

Not like he felt.

So instead, he cleared his throat, steadied his grip, and forced his voice into something casual, distant - yet still, somehow, not completely backing down. "You think they should have ended up together too, then?"

Not ‘do you think I’m wrong’.

Not ‘do you disagree’.

But  - you think so too.

Like some small, cowardly, pathetic part of him needed to hear you say it.

There was a pause - not a long one, not anything noticeable if he wasn’t paying attention. But he was.

He was paying attention to everything.

To the way your breath hitched just slightly, to the way your fingers twisted at the hem of your sleeve, to the way you turned your head to look at him.

“Obviously.” You gestured toward the radio. “You don’t harmonize so effortlessly with someone you’re just calling a ‘friend.’ That’s literally just denial with extra steps.”

He almost told you that harmonizing perfectly was the entire point of musical theater. That it was scripted, practiced, designed to fit together.

That it didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t, because he knew what you meant. “So you believe in that?” he asked, voice steady, casual, like this was just another discussion.

You raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

His fingers tapped against the wheel, once, twice – thoughtful - before he finally spoke. "That some people are just... deluding themselves."

The shift was small, but he felt it. Your smile didn’t falter. Your posture didn’t change. But something in your expression - in your eyes specifically - shifted.

It was dangerous, talking to you like this.

Because you noticed too much. Because you understood more than most. Because you saw through things - through people - with a clarity that was often unnerving.

Especially when it came to him.

Especially when he wasn’t sure he was ready to be understood like that.

It was your job, afterall.

"Oh, absolutely," you said easily, your tone way too light for his liking. "People are the most oblivious to themselves. We exist in a perpetual state of contradiction - endlessly chasing clarity while fiercely protecting the illusions that comfort us. We reshape our own realities, bending them to fit the narratives we can live with, refusing to confront the truths that feel too heavy - even when they’re staring right at us."

And didn’t he know - hadn’t he always known - how precise you could be with words in moments like this? The moments where he wasn’t, the only moments where he wasn’t precise at all.

How effortlessly you could thread meaning into silence, weaving it into something he could either acknowledge or ignore.

How your gaze lingered just a fraction too long, like you were offering him a choice.

And he didn’t know whether to turn away from it - or step straight into it.

Because for once, he couldn’t read you and that terrified him.

He had spent his entire life seeing through people, understanding them before they even understood themselves.

Yet here he was, in the quiet of his car, in the space between you, not entirely sure who you were talking about.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

So he did what he had always done.

He lived with it.

With the sound of his heart thundering louder than the music - louder than your occasional singing along when something familiar played, or the rhythm of your voice alternating with his as you both filled the car with conversation about everything and nothing.

Each block closer to your apartment building felt like a loss, something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it. He was already mourning the night before it was over.

And neither of you seemed to want it to end, given how relentlessly the talking continued, stretching time as far as it would allow.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that it even occurred to either of you that you were standing outside in the cold, leaning against the driver’s side door, your arms wrapped around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. He was still in the car, window rolled down, engine still running, caught between staying and leaving.

It made him ache, interrupting you mid-sentence to point it out. “You’re shivering,” he said quietly, apologetic, as though he were to blame for the biting chill in the air.

It made him ache even more when, instead of brushing it off or saying goodnight, you invited him upstairs, at how his jacket was discarded somewhere along the short path to your building’s entrance, now draped over your shoulders along with his arm, pulling you closer.

It was ridiculous how, even with two jackets on, the only thing keeping you from freezing was his arm.

What was even more ridiculous - hideous, really - was how he should have been the one freezing, left in nothing but short sleeves, yet somehow, standing there with you wrapped up in him, he’d never felt warmer in his life.

So warm that he didn’t even notice the chill of the night.

So warm, in fact, that he didn’t even need the blanket you handed him when you both settled into your living room, waiting for the heating to kick in. He let it drape over his lap out of politeness more than necessity, as if pretending to care about staying warm.

Now, you sat on opposite ends of your couch, shoes abandoned by the door, both of you leaning on the armrest closest to the other, legs angled toward one another, the space between you steadily narrowing. Distance itself felt like an insult, your arms resting along the back of the couch so you could still face each other, still hold onto the moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away.

And he didn’t dare lose sight of your eyes.

It was in that exact moment that a memory surfaced—some weeks ago, sitting alone in his living room, reading Symposium, a book he only picked up because he had seen you so engrossed in it on the jet. Because he had wanted to understand what had captured your mind so entirely.

And everything that followed - a whole night of texting, deep conversations neither of you ever brought up again, like always.

His eyes had analyzed the book twice, dissected its structure, its meaning. And yet, only now, in the absence of it but in your presence, did he finally understand that one passage.

"And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself… the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment."

He understood.

Because he couldn’t look away from you - not now, not ever.

The world outside was so quiet that every word exchanged between you felt magnified, as though the universe itself had leaned in to listen. And when even your whispers felt too loud, you shifted closer, scooching toward him on the couch.

Just a few inches at first.

And then he did the same.

You moved again. Then so did he.

And suddenly, your crossed leg was draped over his, the fabric of your tights brushing against his jeans as naturally as if it had always been there. His left hand settled somewhere near your knee - hesitant, not gripping, but resting. Shy.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only tether to the concept of time, because what he’d assumed to be ten, maybe fifteen minutes revealed itself to be a full hour.

3 A.M. And neither of you seemed to care.

By then, his hand had already found the courage to rest between your thighs, still safely on your knee. Though it didn’t take long before his thumb began moving on its own, tracing slow, idle patterns over the thin fabric of your tights.

He didn’t say anything about the way your foot brushed his calf, or how his name on your lips sounded softer in the early hours. Or at how all of this mutual care betrayed his mind, cracking open a small window to what it could have been.

Yet somehow, it felt far more like a glimpse of what it could be.

“Aaron,” your said, soft enough that it sounded more like a thought than a spoken word.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was just his name. Him.

And somehow, that made it all the more devastating.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested on your knee. He followed your gaze, and in that moment, even though he’d memorized every fleck of color in your irises, their absence felt like a loss.

So dull that his thumb stilled its movements across your knee under your inspection, as if the simple acknowledgment of the two of you now might shatter everything.

He braced himself for a shift - for the game you always played, where lines were drawn, and walls went back up. Where the closeness between you was something fleeting, fleeting enough to pretend it never existed.

But then, you looked back up.

And instead of retreat, instead of scolding or teasing or anything he expected, there was something else entirely. “I really don’t want this night to end.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard you right, but the look in your eyes left no room for doubt. You weren’t just talking about the night… and neither was he.

But he didn’t know how to give you the honesty you deserved without completely unraveling, not until his thumb resumed its gentle movements on your knee - more to selfishly steady himself than anything else.

“Neither do I,” he admitted finally, even if each second was daring him to say more, to close the space between you entirely. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not yet.

It was you who moved first.

Plato said that ‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Maybe he was right, because as your hand slid down his arm, it felt like a verse being written. The way your fingertips barely grazed the surface of his skin, tracing the map of his veins with a tenderness you hadn’t realized you possessed, pretending the warmth under your fingertips didn’t make your stomach tremble, until finally, your touch lingered on his knuckles.

A pause, hesitant. Then, almost instinctively, you laced your fingers with his. It felt... inevitable. Natural in a way that terrified you.

“Didn’t expect you to be this warm,” you murmured, your voice light, almost teasing, though you couldn’t hide the way it trembled.

You finally found the courage to meet his eyes. Hazel. Searching. Devastating.

And you weren’t afraid of what you saw, you already knew. What terrified you was that, with one touch, you might have unraveled something too fragile to survive.

His gaze fell to your joined hands, his thumb gliding softly over the back of yours, speaking in the ineffable language of touch.

“I didn’t expect to feel this… right,” he said, the words so quiet they felt more like a confession than a statement.

The smallest smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in just a little more. “Aaron…”

And that was it.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slipped away entirely. Before he could overthink it, his hand came to rest against your cheek, his calloused palm cradling the softness of your face.

Gentle. Steady. Tender.

The contrast was almost startling, culminating in the soft whimper that escaped your lips as the cold metal of his watch grazed your neck. And so, apologetically, his thumb began to move, tracing gentle patterns along your cheek, as though committing every curve, every subtle shift, to memory.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, your hand slid to his wrist, holding him there, your thumb tracing the same delicate patterns along his inner wrist, matching his movements with the same ease that echoed in the way you ordinarily mirrored each other’s posture, each other’s language.

His gaze flickered to your lips. “You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself here,” he just said, now without a hint of regret, not when your eyes searched his with the same intensity he felt pulling at his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached him, but he heard them as clearly as if you’d shouted.

His breath came shallow now, his gaze searching yours, as though looking for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the quiet, unspoken truth reflected back at him.

And so his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer - so close that, without thinking, you moved to straddle him, your knees settled on either side of his hips.

“I-” he stammered, as he looked at you wide-eyed tilting his head back slightly, before shaking his head, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

“Sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face as you realized just how intimate the position you’d claimed truly was – the cruelty of not having even thought about it once before moving, how it was the only way to still communicate with his eyes.

“No,” he said quickly, almost shy, but the way his thumbs brushed your sides betrayed how much he didn’t want you to move. “Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, though you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips more than once.

“…Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, his eyes wandering across your face.

It wasn’t just a question; it was a moment stretched taut, as if he was buying himself time, wanting to keep this moment balanced on the edge of the razor for just a little longer.

On this space of tenderness, where care outweighed desire, where everything still hung in the balance, where there was still time to hold back, to savor the precipice, waiting for one of you to risk it.

You nodded. “Very.”

The smallest, warmest smile flickered across his lips. “I’m happy you are,” he murmured.

How could he be even so sweet? How could he, in the middle of this - when your body was pressed so close to his - still be so considerate, so cautious, so Aaron?

How could his hands, now steady on your waist, have only settled there after he’d murmured a careful, overly-polite, “May I?”, the formality of it, juxtaposed with the intensity of his touch, was enough to make you giggle.

“Please don’t smile at me like that when you’re this close,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rasp, his gaze fixed on your lips.

You couldn’t help but grin wider. “Why not?” your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw.

“Because,” he began, his lips twitching up, “it makes me forget how to think.”

Crazy, really. The idea that Aaron Hotchner, the most precise and methodical man you’d ever met, could forget how to think. Thinking was practically the core of his being, wasn’t it?

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Because if forgetting how to think meant losing himself, then you were the cause. You had undone him.

Shaken the core of a man who had carved his entire existence around reason – or at least, tried to fool everyone into thinking so. And now, here he was - disarmed by nothing more than a smile, a touch, and the mere proximity of your lips.

If existence is rooted in thought, and Aaron’s thoughts were consumed entirely by you, did that mean his existence was yours to hold? Did that mean, right now, he existed only because you allowed him to? Couldn’t be that.

Still, how dizzying it was to consider how quickly you’d become his undoing – yet, perhaps what was even more terrifying was the way he seemed to welcome it.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, like a confession meant just for you. His dark eyes searched yours, their intensity almost overwhelming. “You do undo me.”

Your breath caught. “How did you even manage-”

But he didn’t let you finish. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his nose brushing yours in the faintest of touches.

And so your eyes closed together, as if the nearness alone was too much to bear, especially when his lips hovered so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

How paradoxical it was that you both desperately craved each other’s mouths, yet now, in this unbearable closeness, neither of you could summon the courage to take the last step.

How you continued lingering in the tension, your breaths mingling, your bodies pressed so close that those strong hands of his, still firmly on your waist, urged you even further onto him.

Neither of you wanted to bear the responsibility of what came next. What was about to happen. What was meant to happen. It wasn’t a game anymore. You were done waiting.

You wanted him. Now.

You were ready - to let it all go.

“Aaron,” you whispered, looking into him.

And as always, he seemed to be the only one who understood you, he began to trail kisses across your face, soft, slowly, taking his time.

Your temple.

The side of your right eye.

The curve of your cheek.

Down to your jawline.

Then, he traced his way back up, planting one final kiss at the very edge of your mouth.

When he pulled back, intoxicated, his eyes found yours - wet, shining, unguarded, just like his.

“Please, ask me to stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

“Aaron, I can’t,” you murmured, the words trembling on your lips as your breath mingled with his, the space between you growing thinner with every passing second.

The moment.

How do you measure a moment like this?

One tick of the clock. Two tears slipping free from both of you. Three uneven heartbeats, each louder than the last.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

You should have probably expected that your first kiss would taste like salt, the tears trailing down your faces mingling somewhere in between and masking the real sweetness of it. How the flavor of each other’s mouths was obscured, just as you’d both hidden your true feelings for so long.

It was so cruel in its irony, yet somehow, it fit so perfectly that neither of you could bring yourselves to care.

Because his lips were too soft against yours for your own good, the gentleness of his hand gripping the nape of your neck pulling you closer, while the other rested against your tear-streaked cheek, damp from both the lingering press of his lips moments before and your tears.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t to retreat - it was to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, even as his own streamed freely, unchecked.

And as much as you wanted to keep going, to lose yourself in the solace of his mouth, something greater pulled you both in.

Without hesitation, you collapsed into each other’s arms, clutching tightly as though the world around you was slipping away, tears soaking into the other’s shoulders.

Was it penance? For realizing too late how simple this could have been? For all the wasted years, the missed chances, and the pain endured in silence?

Or was it just acceptance -that only now were you both ready to bear the weight of this, to hold each other completely, to disappear into one another?

Maybe that was the point.

Because in that embrace, unplanned and unbidden, came a feeling so familiar it ached.

That same resonance in your chest, the same connection of that first time you ever held him like this, nine years ago in your old apartment, when his walls cracked just enough to let you in.

And so the memory bleeds into the present, and it’s almost unbearable how much has stayed the same, and yet, how utterly everything has changed.

That stupid Hegel wasn’t wrong: the synthesis always becomes a new thesis, a cycle repeating itself. The moment was reborn, again and again, every time.

But damn, how it changed with every turn.

The same, yet entirely different.

The weight of then. The depth of now.

It was all there, in that fleeting, aching embrace. Not just holding on to each other, but to every version of yourselves that had come before - and every one still waiting in the future.

Even as the moment began to fade, as you pulled back - both drawn by the undeniable hunger to find each other’s mouths again - the synthesis was already shifting, reshaping into something new.

Another storm, another struggle, another antithesis loomed ahead, but always, always, the cycle reached for a new synthesis. And Hegel, damn him, was right again.

The cycle never ends.

But neither, it seemed, did you.

Competing with each other, as always.

Neither of you willing to back down, both so eager to claim the other that it became impossible to tell who started the second kiss, it just… happened.

This time, there was no softness, no hesitation - just urgency. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right where you wanted him, while his hands gripped your lower back.

The moment your lips parted, offering him the faintest invitation, he deepened the kiss without even thinking it twice. His tongue slid against yours with so much hunger you were intoxicated, only for you to interrupt with a sharp bite to his bottom lip.

He growled at the challenge, he had to one-up you, returning the favor by sinking his teeth into your jawline, as if to stake his claim all over again, a sound so low and primal it seemed to vibrate straight into your skin, making you gasp and tighten your hold on him even more, eager to hear it again.

Damn him and his competitiveness.

You couldn’t help but meet it head-on, your hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back, feeling every shift, every flex as he moved against you.

He broke away briefly, not to stop, but to catch his breath as his lips found new territory. From your mouth to your jaw, and then down to your neck, your head tilting back reflexively, granting him even more access.

He smiled against your skin, insufferable even now, and when his lips returned to yours, that grin only widened. You kissed him again and again, but since his stupid smile kept getting in the way, you ended up kissing his teeth more than once.

Damn him.

And yet, you found yourself smiling like a fool, because how could you not? There was no way you could be making him feel this way, yet here you were - both of you lost in it, pushing and pulling, both refusing to surrender.

The more you had of each other, the more you wanted, never satisfied, never close enough, as though the only way to end this ache was to somehow crawl into each other’s skin.

And so, blame the position.

Blame the dress you’d chosen tonight, skimming your thighs, leaving so little to the imagination as it rode up with every shift against him.

Blame the way your kisses had shifted, growing hungrier, messier, more tongue than lips, more heavy breathing than words.

Or blame his new-found obsession to place wet kisses on the spot just behind your ear just to hear you gasp, while he had the audacity to hum into your neck, utterly satisfied with himself, like he was savoring your every reaction to the exquisite work of his mouth.

Blame his body, the way he pressed against you, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips, then lower, settling on your ass with a grip that didn’t make the things any easier.

Blame the way his growing bulge rubbed against you through the rough fabric of his jeans, the friction hitting exactly where the ache was blooming, pulling shudders from deep inside you.

Blame all of it - the kisses, the position, the maddening press of his body against yours - because it only made you more desperate.

The carnal realization of just how badly you wanted him, left you unable to stop. Your hips moved instinctively, grinding against his hardness, the rhythm of your kisses syncing with the desperate roll of your bodies.

Thank God his jeans were dark, because you were sure by now your arousal was leaving its mark on him, soaking into the fabric, leaving evidence of just how far gone you were – and if he noticed, if he felt it, the way his grip tightened on your waist told you he didn’t care.

If anything, it spurred him on, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, neither of you could stop moving.

The worst part? You didn’t want to. Not even a little.

What was even worse than this? The fact that Aaron, ever the master of timing, felt the need to comment on the obvious.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked breathless, lips flushed and slightly swollen from yours.

No shit, Sherlock.

You didn’t hesitate. “Aaron, do I look like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

That even managed to earn a chuckle from him – speaking of victories - “Just… wanted to make sure you’re alright with this pace. We’re not exactly taking it slow, you know?!” he rasped, as his hands slid up and down the sides of your hips.

No shit, Sherlock, part two.

Was he worrying about you or himself?

You tilted your head, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes softened as soon as they were met with yours. “Aaron,” you cupped his cheek. “Do you want to take it slow instead?”

Shit. What if you’d misread him? What if this hesitation wasn’t about concern for you but second thoughts about the entire thing? You hated yourself. How could you even think that-

“Not really,” he admitted, his lips curving into the most kissable smile. “I just… don’t want you to regret this. I’d wait forever if you asked me to, but right now…” His words faltered, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Right now, I don’t think I can. But only if you want it too.”

Oh God, how considerate he was.

Oh God, how much you never trusted anyone as him, how safe did he make you feel, how it almost brought tears to your eyes because you’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at, cared for, wanted like this.

Oh God, how much you didn’t want to respond with words, to just take his hand, guide it between your legs, and let him feel exactly how much you needed him.

But words it was, then.

“I do, Aaron,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. I want this. I want you. But…” Your lips curled up. “Not on my couch. Could we maybe hold out until the bedroom?”

Ah, yes. Turning 30 had officially made you someone who prioritized the longevity of their furniture over their sex life.

How responsible.

How tragic.

And yet, neither of you moved. It took a second - or two, or three - for both of you to gather the energy to even try standing after spending what felt like an eternity tangled up on your poor, overworked second-hand couch…

…a poor overworked second-hand. Hm. Now there was a pattern.

You hated yourself a little for how evil the thought was. Poor couch, poor him.

Not that it wasn’t true. But still - evil.

Still nearly as evil as the absolute disaster you’d made of his hair with your hands while you were making out. A fitting match for the flush on his face and the state of his half-untucked polo, which you’d been yanking at so fervently it was a miracle it hadn’t come off entirely.

Speaking of things you couldn’t stop noticing, the sight before you now was definitely a huge… huge walk with him to your bedroom. Because surely your hallway hadn’t been this long before.

Or maybe he was thinking the same thing, because just as you reached the doorway to your bedroom, he turned you, your back pressing against the wall before you even had time to push the door open.

You didn’t expect him to be this passionate – and desperate, when his mouth was back on yours, claiming you in a kiss so hot and wet it that the wetness surely wasn’t exactly isolated to your mouth at all.

You gasped, caught completely off guard, and that was apparently all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, and it was so good that you barely managed to catch your breath, let alone remember the damn bedroom door.

“Aaron-” you managed between breathless kisses, barely stringing the words together.

As if you could talk.

As if you could pretend to hold any moral high ground here when your leg was already wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. And oh, he was there - all of him. Thick, hard, and pressing against you.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass, “I know,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your skin. “I know. The door.”

Oh, but why did his voice have to sound like that - so low, so wrecked… so unfair.

Anyway, the door.

Not that it mattered, apparently, because he didn’t move. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re not exactly working on it,” you managed to gasp, and oh, you were so proud of yourself for having the strength to bicker with him even now, even like this.

Of course, Aaron, being Aaron, couldn’t resist biting back.

You felt the curve of his lips against your neck, he chuckled as his teeth grazed the hollow of your throat. “Well,” he murmured, returning to nip at your earlobe. “What about you?”

The man was infuriating. And hot. And so completely overwhelming you could barely think straight.

“I’m very busy right now,” you managed to counter, though what you really meant was that your back was far too occupied arching into him, practically begging for more.

At least he somehow found the self-control to pull back after what you could most graciously describe as an obscene amount of very enthusiastic dry humping. You were both so doomed. His hands steadied you just long enough for him to fumble for the doorknob.

And then the second you crossed the threshold, all bets were off.

His lips - no, his mouth - were on yours again, the kiss so heated it was more teeth and tongue than finesse. Probably because it hit you both at the same time - the realization of just how painfully simple it would be to strip the other bare.

His polo? A quick tug away from being tossed aside. Your dress? One little zipper stood between it and the floor. No barriers. No obstacles. That was all it would take.

And it was as if he read your mind because without a word, his hands found your waist and spun you around, pulling you back against him.

You barely had time to gasp before his head dipped to your neck, as his fingers found the zipper of your dress way too easily without even having to look. Just before he moved it, he paused. “I might’ve left a mark.”

Oh no, what a pity…

“Make it two,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand slid into his hair, pressing his head right where you wanted it.

And because Aaron apparently took instructions very well when they suited him, he bit down, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver, the sharpness of it immediately soothed by the warm drag of his tongue.

The sound you made was embarrassing - breathless and high-pitched – that only seemed to spur him on, since in less than a second, the dress was pooling at your feet, leaving you bare save for your tights and underwear.

Mismatched underwear.

A good lace bra - at least there was that - with the most comfortable white cotton grandma pants you could have pulled from the depths of a multipack that were, by how the things have been going now, almost certainly transparent. Perfect.

Not that any of this was supposed to happen, of course.

You hadn’t exactly planned on getting laid by your… what even was he? Your best friend? Your boss?

An objectively gorgeous man with dark eyes that burned into you, whose voice could make your knees completely weak? The person you’d been quietly, stubbornly, and stupidly in sexual tension hell with for a decade?

He was all of that. He was none of that. He was Aaron, and whatever Aaron Hotchner was to you, you hadn’t planned on getting laid tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever ungodly hour it was now.

But plans didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Not when his hands were sliding over your body like you were something he’d wanted for so long that touching you now felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Not when his lips found yours again, claiming them in a way that made you wonder how either of you had ever survived without tasting each other.

And certainly not when the moment your back hit the mattress of your bed, his full weight pressing into you fully, how your legs opened instinctively, welcoming him, pulling him closer, your body arching into him like it was chasing something only he could soothe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere.

“God, you’re so clothed,” you shot back without thinking, your quick wit betraying you yet again, unsure whether to curse yourself for ruining the moment or to thank your sarcasm for always wanting to keep things… balanced.

But instead of appreciating your humor or giving you the satisfaction of stripping him, the insufferable man had the audacity to bypass your comment entirely.

With a swift motion, his hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it somewhere into the abyss of the room without so much as a second glance.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, a flush creeping up your neck at the brazenness of it. “I was referring to you, Hotchner.”

“Eventually,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before capturing them again in a kiss that effectively cut off any protest you might’ve had. Clever man.

And so he started his descent, a study in patience, still hopelessly romantic about it, as if the situation weren’t already infuriating. Because even though you knew for sure he could feel the way your nipples had hardened against him, he still took his time.

Kissing his way down your throat, spending far too long mapping out the curve of your collarbone with his mouth, fingers just hovering - like he wasn’t already touching you everywhere.

And then, finally, his hands moved. Possessively. His palms covered your breasts, kneading them in a way that sent sparks ricocheting through you, his lips pressing a single, scorching kiss right in the middle of your sternum.

That did it. That had your thighs clenching on instinct, a desperate attempt to manage the growing fire low in your belly.

But you refused to let a sound escape.

Oh no. You weren’t about to give him that satisfaction. Especially not when he got to enjoy the full view of you laid out beneath him while you were left with only the delicious flex of his biceps.

Biceps, which, while spectacular, were not the bare expanse of his back. Not the firm ridges of muscle you knew were under that godforsaken polo, the one thing keeping things uneven between you.

He seemed to catch on to the game you were playing, though, because without warning, his mouth closed over one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak so perfectly that it had your breath catching in your throat.

At the same time, his fingers found the other, pinching, rolling, teasing - the combination so damn lethal when paired with the languid flicks of his tongue, sending shocks straight to your clit.

Still, you bit your lip, stubbornly holding back the sounds he so clearly wanted to pull from you, even if the ache between your thighs was unbearable now - a dull, insistent throb that begged, no, pleaded for attention.

Attention that the insufferable man was withholding.

Or, unlike you, he simply didn’t want to rush… damn him. He was making it impossible to keep up the charade.

Because every flick of that damned talented mouth of his - now moving onto your other breast - every brush of his fingers, every sound he made against your skin that revealed just how hungry he was of your flesh, was undoubtedly designed to unravel you, piece by piece.

Every piece, that is, except for your poor, neglected, throbbing clit.

And of course, he was enjoying every second of it. Smug bastard.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his lips still grazing your nipple, “sounds are appreciated.” …Oh, fuck him.

“So is nudity,” you managed to snap, though your voice trembled, betraying just how close you were to falling apart.

He stilled. Lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. And then he smirked.

Ah. That smirk. Never a good sign.

Especially not when paired with the way his hands started working your tights down - so slowit was almost unbearable. Always careful, always considerate Aaron. But God, right now, you wanted him ripping them off you.

His gaze swept over you, his eyes instantly darkened as they dettled on the on the damp patch at the center of your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rougher, as his thumb grazed over the edge of the fabric.

Before you could process how pleased he was with himself, he spread your legs further, settling himself between them. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you down, and he started trailing kisses along your inner thigh.

From the knee.

Oh, come on.

Still, you hissed at the contact, at the way his mouth devoured your thighs like he was savoring every inch of them.

Like this, this was what he lived for. Worshipping you.

And the way his lips moved, how drunk he looked as he worked his way upward, kissing, sucking, biting - just enough to make you twitch, the way his breath shook when he exhaled against your thigh - it only made it worse.

The closer he got, the more impossible it became to hold back the sounds slipping from your lips.

And then - one last kiss, right there, where your thigh met your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmured, and before you could even think about responding, his tongue flicked out, tasting the arousal that had trailed up to where his mouth lingered.

Oh. What a whore.

“You’re such a who-” you began, but the words barely escaped before he bit down lightly on your clothed clit, sharp enough to send a jolt through your entire body and rip a strangled cry from your throat.

Your reaction must have been exactly what he wanted, because his fingers replaced his teeth immediately, pressing against you through the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, there you are,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down the length of your slit. “For a second, I thought I wasn’t doing it right.”

You scoffed, or at least you tried to. The sound barely made it past your lips before breaking into another sharp, breathless cry as his fingers rode back up, pressing against your clit in slow circles, the cotton barrier dulling the sensation just enough to drive you insane.

One, two, three strokes - then you stopped counting, too caught up in the feeling of him until he finally tossed the fabric aside, making you feel the cool air against the wet heat of your core, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t touch.

Just -

"You're a goddess."

He stared for so long that you started to wonder if he was waiting for you to say please, some kind of power play. 

Your lips curled slightly as you lifted your chin. "If you think I’m going to beg you now, Hotchner, I’m absolutely not.

Apparently, you had never been more wrong in your life.

Because his head snapped up so fast it was almost comical - except for the way his entire face flushed. Not just with arousal - well, yes, definitely with arousal - but with something else.

The way his mouth parted slightly before he swallowed, his throat bobbing, his gaze flicking away for half a second like he had to collect himself, undoubtedly made you think-

"I was actually…" he cleared his throat, "asking for permission."

Oh. Oh. Apparently, someone couldn’t hide being a bottom for more than a few minutes.

Aaron ‘Attitude’ Hotchner? Gone. Reduced to sheepish glances and waiting for permission like a damn Victorian gentleman the second he actually looked at your cunt.

Hilarious.

"You have it," you murmured.

That was delicious.

And because he was so whipped, he didn’t just dive in immediately. No. Of course not. He had to come all the way back up first, had to kiss you before anything else.

And then he was gone. Gone from your mouth, gone from your chest, gone from anywhere but exactly where you wanted him most.

The very first swipe of his tongue across your folds obliterated any coherent thought, reduced your world to this - to the wet heat of his mouth, to the steady press of his hands holding you open, to the obscene sounds of him devouring you.

There was nothing but him, the way his tongue curled against you, the way his lips closed around your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the way his name tumbled from your lips and melted into the deep, guttural moan he let out as he first tasted you.

And honestly, you couldn’t decide what was hotter - the way his sounds came in perfect harmony with your own cries, or the fact that he was so vocal while eating you out, like it brought him just as much pleasure as it did you.

And it probably did.

Because he lapped at your dripping cunt like a man starved, frantic, desperate, moving with such a hunger that made your fingers dig into his hair, gripping tight like you could somehow hold on to reality through him.

But he didn’t want space. Didn’t need it. If anything, he leaned in further, groaning low against your soaked, swollen cunt, letting you drip down his chin as if he loved the way your arousal was entirely coating his flushed face.

Loved being drenched in you. Loved ruining himself on you.

“Aaron-” your voice broke, your hips jerking up into him, needy. “God, your tongue is unreal.”

And oh, he heard you, loud and clear.

Because his immediate response? Teeth. A quick, sharp graze of his teeth against your clit, followed by a suction so deep, so overwhelming, it ripped a scream straight from your throat.

Fuck him.

“Your-your mouth is unreal,” you stammered, correcting yourself, because apparently, he wasn’t letting you off the hook without acknowledging his full range of talents.

Smiling against your skin - as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he had a praise kink, too.

“Sorry,” he said with a kiss to your inner thigh as his thumb kept working on your clit. “I just thought you were a thorough one, Professor.”

What a whore.

“Oh, fuck you for calling me ‘Professor’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” you shot back.

 “Oh, it does,” he admitted with no shame whatsoever. “I just wish you could feel how much.” His gaze flicked down, daring you to follow it - to the thick, aching bulge straining against his pants, so hard it had to hurt, so obvious it made you clench around nothing.

How cruel of him.

“Keep talking to me like that, Aaron, and I’ll crush your head with my thighs,” you warned, voice shaking, hands fisting into the sheets because he was still teasing, still circling with his thumb instead of putting his damn mouth back where you needed it most.

“Please do,” he said.

And then he gave you exactly what you wanted. His tongue plunged into you, pushing past the unbearable emptiness, giving you something to clench around, something to grind against, something to drown in.

And because he was, apparently, crafted to be the most infuriatingly perfect thing to ever exist - his nose pressed against your clit with every movement, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you so intense your legs tried to snap shut around his head.

He was faster. Stronger. Hands tightening against your thighs, keeping them spread as he pressed you further, pinning you down so he could devour you properly. And when your thighs twitched again, reflexive, desperate-

"Stay open for me."

That awful, awful sound. That little flick of his tongue against his teeth, a wordless tsk of disapproval - he did it every time, every single time, and it should have pissed you off but instead, shot straight through you, coiling low in your belly, leaving you breathless, made you arch into his mouth, made you-

"Still, please," he growled, more desperate now, fingers tightening like the control freak he so obviously was. Apparently, the man simply could not function if his so-called work space wasn’t perfectly in order.

Some things never changed.

“You’re such a hypocrite, it was-” Your breath caught on another roll of his tongue, hips jerking up against his face. “It was you who begged me to-”

"Mm," he hummed against you like he was thinking about it, his mouth hot and slick as he pressed deeper, let his tongue flatten. "And?"

…And then his lips closed around you, sucking just right, and you broke. You felt it coiling, tighter, tighter, low deep in your stomach.

"Aaron, I'm so close."

"I got you," he murmured, suddenly warm, suddenly gentle - because despite all the arrogance, the smug little smirks, he was nothing but a softie. All bark, no bite. Well… except for the other kinds of bites. "Don’t worry. Let go."

Then his tongue flicked - once, twice… and you were gone.

Shattered apart, trembling beneath his mouth, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking, desperate. The pleasure hit sharp and fast, so intense it almost hurt, your muscles locking up as wave after wave crashed through you.

But he didn’t stop. Not until you’d come on his face just one more time.

So his tongue was back on you before you could even recover, dragging you higher, keeping you there, refusing to let you go. His mouth was relentless, but his fingers - God, his fingers.

How many times had you daydreamed about them? How many nights had you imagined the way they’d feel sinking inside you, stretching you open, fucking you deep and slow until you couldn’t think?

A reasonable number of times. That’s what you told yourself.

So it only made sense that you were impatient now, desperate to feel them inside you instead of just ghosting along your soaked folds, teasing, tracing, dipping in just enough to have you thinking, finally -

Only for him to pull away again, just as fast.

“Need some help finding it, Hotchner?” you bit out breathlessly, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the whimper it ended on. “Don’t be embarrassed. I can guide you if-”

Before you could finish, one thick finger thrust deep inside you, cutting off your words with a strangled moan.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said smugly… oh, he definitely did.

The stretch of just one finger had you reeling, but then he added a second without hesitation, the fullness making you gasp. Two of his fingers felt like three of yours, stretching you perfectly, pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you moaned, gripping the sheets as he started to move faster, stroking that perfect spot again and again until your vision blurred.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice so low and rough that made your toes curl, unable to respond if not with a whimper.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured, his lips brushing your thigh as his fingers curled deeper, pressed just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips, his own voice dark with approval. "God, you’re so wet."

Your cheeks burned because well, wasn’t he right?!

The evidence of it was everywhere - slicking his fingers, his hand, his face, and the way he said it, so casually, like he was just stating a fact, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

"Damn, you’re so fucking good," you gasped between shattered breaths.

“Mm, so is this cunt,” he shot back between licks, groaning as he felt you flutter around his fingers.

What a dirty, dirty mouth. And damn, if he did he put it to use.

It didn’t take long. Barely a few more thrusts of his fingers into your slick, throbbing cunt, barely a few more drags of his tongue against your clit - before he had you unraveling completely.

Your body seized, back arching clean off the bed, a sharp, helpless cry ripping from your throat as you came so hard you almost sobbed.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers kept fucking into you, curling just right, stroking deep, drawing out every last shudder, every last desperate moan. His tongue never left your clit, flicking, sucking, keeping you there, forcing you to take every wave, every aftershock, dragging you through it until your thighs trembled around his head, until you were whimpering, pleading, too overstimulated to handle another second.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips gliding up your body, dragging sticky, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until his weight was pressing you into the mattress again, until you were surrounded by him, the scent of sex thick in the air, his mouth still hot and wet against your skin.

"God, you’re a fucking vision when you come," he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing over your jaw as his hand slid up to cradle your face.

And then he kissed you.

Deep, filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation, letting you taste yourself on him, letting you feel the slick mess he’d made of you, the evidence of how thoroughly he had devoured you.

Romanticism truly was dead.

“Still too clothed,” you whispered, voice low, teasing, as your fingers trailed from his jaw down to his chest, nails scratching lightly over the fabric of his polo, feeling the heat of him beneath it. Annoyingly in the way.

“You’re very welcome to change that now,” he huffed, smirking, giving you another quick, teasing kiss, the barest brush of his lips over yours.

Who were you to refuse?

Your hands moved swiftly, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, over his head, before tossing it somewhere behind you - who cared where? That would be his problem in a few hours anyways.

And oh damn-

If you thought the polo highlighted his frame, without it he looked absolutely massive. His chest, his shoulders, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin - it was almost unfair how goodlooking he was.

You leaned in to kiss him, letting your fingers roam all over him - probably lingering a little too long on those broad, perfect shoulders. Honestly, you were doing your best not to bite them.

Mostly. A little nip didn’t count, right? Surely it was allowed. To test. It wasn’t your fault they looked like they could carry the weight of the world - and you - without breaking a sweat. But of course, he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know that his shoulders alone were making you go feral.

So you distracted him the best way you knew how - your lips pressing against his neck, soft at first, teasing, before nipping lightly at his pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to earn you a sharp inhale.

Still, even as your lips worked to keep him occupied, your thoughts betrayed you.

You were sure you’d implode the moment you saw his back - the way those muscles would shift and flex. Just the thought of it had your pulse racing. Thankfully, he was still facing you, so you had a little more time to live. But not much, considering the way your mind still found a way to betray you.

Because now all you could picture was his weight on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down with no way out. Now all you could feel was the phantom stretch of him, the way he’d fill-

Right. His jeans. Still in the way. Still ruining your life.

You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to move lower, fumbling with his belt and zipper. If your hands trembled, you’d blame it on how hard you were trying not to stare at the thick bulge beneath the denim. Trying being the keyword, because at this point - you weren’t better than a man.

His jeans hit the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, making it quite difficult to ignore the outline of him anymore - thick, hard, already straining against the fabric, the damp spot at the tip teasing at just how ready he was.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you glanced up, silently asking if you could take things further. He gave a small nod, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

Your hands turned momentarily shy as you hooked your fingers into the band, slowly tugging them down. He sprang free, thick and hard, flushed at the tip, already glistening with slick arousal, and God, you swore your mouth went dry and then wet all in the span of a heartbeat.

You couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, “God,” as your fingers wrapped around him, thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head, smearing the wetness there, spreading it over the burning skin.

The reaction was immediate.

His head tipped back, his grip on your hips tightening, trying hard not to just rut into your fist like some desperate, touch-starved needy thing. But he was trembling , his self-control fraying one slow stroke at a time as you worked him over, your fingers squeezing around the slick head before dragging back down his length.

"Fuck," he muttered, the sound wrecking you, shooting straight between your legs.

“You’re so-” you started, but the words failed you. What could you even say? You were too distracted by the weight of him in your hand, the way he twitched against your palm and the way the thick vein along his shaft throbbed with every stroke of your hand.

All you knew was that you wanted him in your mouth. Wanted to drag your tongue along that vein, wanted to feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, wanted to take him down until tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The need burned in your gut, tight and relentless, but still, it wasn’t enough. Because as much as your mouth ached for him, the fire between your thighs was worse. So much worse.

“Aaron,” you breathed, voice shaking as you looked up at him, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, still stroking him, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell with every movement of your hand.

His eyes - dark, heavy-lidded - met yours, his breath coming uneven, jagged, as he rasped, desperate, "Take whatever you want."

“I want you.”

Aaron groaned, his lips twitching into something that might have been a smile if he wasn’t so wrecked with desire. “Come here,” he murmured, as he leaned down and kissed you. And God, what a kiss.

Before you knew it, he had you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his broad shoulders framing your view of him. He settled himself between your legs, his mouth moving to your jaw, then down to your neck, at the point there was no doubt in a few hours you’d wear a turtleneck to work.

Still, he paused, hovering just above you, his lips brushing against yours as he asked one more time, “Are you sure?”

At this point, if you weren’t aching for him, you might’ve had the patience to be sarcastic. Something like, No, actually, I’m not sure. Let’s both get dressed again and see if that helps.

“Aaron, I’m literally begging you,” you said, exasperated, though you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes – if he just wanted you to beg him he could have simply asked. You would have never said it out loud but at least he could have tried…

“Just making sure,” he said so softly his voice seemed even deeper than it already was, but his hand slid between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds, and the way he groaned when he felt how wet you were made you shudder.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if confirming what he already knew.

You didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on, but apparently, Aaron Hotchner could always prove you wrong.

And ever the hopeless romantic - because apparently, he was so much of a kisser - he kissed you again. It wasn’t fair, honestly, how good he was at this, how much intention he poured into every press of his lips , every flick of his tongue, every sharp little pull at your bottom lip that had your hips rolling up against him. It was infuriating.

"I’m on the pill," you gasped between kisses, cutting straight to the point because at this rate, you were about two seconds away from losing your mind.

"Good," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours again. "That’s good."

Of course it’s good, Aaron. As if you were trying to create another insufferable Hotchner. One man who could argue his way out of anything was already more than enough for the world.

He shifted, aligning himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against you, dragging through your slick folds with just the slightest roll of his hips. The stretch, even in just the promise of it, had you gasping into his mouth.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, still searching for any sign of hesitation. Classic Aaron.

And because he was Aaron, of course he kissed you again, stealing what little breath you had left as he began to push inside.

Holy fucking-

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filling you inch by inch, his cock sinking in with a slow, thick glide that made your head tilt back into the pillow, your mouth falling open as sounds escaped your lips - a moan, then a gasp, and a whimper.

When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach, you swore you might break, and you loved every second of it. How the hell did he even feel this good?

"Jesus Christ," he gritted out, breath hot against your jaw.

He paused, his cock throbbing inside you as he let you adjust, his lips ghosting over your jawline with kisses so soft they felt almost reverent, as though the slight ache of the stretch was something he needed to apologize for.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You involuntarily clenched down around him in response, "Fucking Christ," he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours for a moment. “You’re going to kill me.”

And fuck, if the second he started moving you weren’t utterly determined to hear every name of every deity from his long-lost religion tumble from his lips, as long as it meant he kept thrusting so deep inside you – making your breath catch from the mere drag of him pulling his entire length out before pushing it back in.

“Fuck Aaron, you feel so good,” you gasped, your hands tightening on his biceps.

And damn him, because he loved it - loved your praise so much that a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, even as his breath came uneven, ragged. “Fuck, you look so beautiful from here,”

He leaned in, his hips still moving, his lips brushing against yours just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, to taste the promise of his kiss. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, making your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper.

The shift in angle made his next thrust hit you in a way that tore a cry from your lips. He must’ve felt it - the way your body tightened around him, the way your nails sank into the strong muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake - because his pace quickened, each thrust better than the last.

And damn it if he didn’t fuck you so good.

“Right there,” you gasped, arching your back as the head of his cock hit that spot “Oh, Aaron-”

“God, I love how you say my name,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as he planted a kiss on your temple between thrusts.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the dark, thick strands of his hair that clung to his face, his brows furrowed all concentrated, his cheeks flushed, jaw tight, and God, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

How stupid, how utterly reckless, it was to feel yourself falling for him all over again. And not just falling - but plummeting, freefalling into the abyss of him. Exactly now, exactly like this - when he was buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was carving himself into your soul.

How shallow, how ridiculous, to let your pupils blow wide with hunger, to let your chest ache with something too tender, too raw, while your body burned for him like this.

Because it wasn’t just the way his hips buckled into yours, wasn’t just the rhythm of his thrusts, wasn’t just the stretch and fullness that made you gasp. No, it was the way his name tumbled from your lips like it was the only word you knew, and the way he rasped your name back, hoarse and desperate, like it was his prayer.

The wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the creak of the bed beneath you - it was way too loud for the early hours, you knew that. Too wild, too shameless, probably waking every neighbor you had, giving them the privilege of hearing his name tumble from your lips and yours from his.

But how could you care? How could you even think about anything beyond him, especially when he shifted suddenly, leaning back and lifting your legs over his shoulders?

“Like this,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His hands gripped your thighs, steady, holding you in place as he adjusted himself, his cock driving deeper - God, how was it even possible to feel this full?

His next thrust stole the breath from your lungs, and the one after that made your vision blur, leaving you gripping the sheets, then the bedframe, his arms - anything you could reach.

“I got you,” he rasped, his tone softer now, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was absolutely wrecking you, you might’ve laughed at how he said it. So casual, so reassuring, like he wasn’t currently fucking you out of your mind.

And then, just to make sure you were well and truly destroyed, Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your trembling leg. A kiss. Soft and lingering, like he wasn’t simultaneously driving into you with enough force to make you think about it for days. A true gentleman, really. Absolutely chivalrous.

“Oh, fuck you,” you managed to gasp, your voice shaking as your nails dug into his arms.

He smirked, his hips snapping forward harder, making your back arch off the bed.

“I believe I already am,” he shot back smoothly, and damn him - despite the situation, or maybe because of it - you laughed.

The sound made him pause for a fraction of a second, his brow quirking as his lips twitched into something softer, something that could almost be called tender if he wasn’t currently wrecking you.

He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss you - except you were still laughing, leaving him kissing your teeth instead of your lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice filled with faux exasperation, as if it weren’t entirely his fault. But the way he looked at you, his eyes soft and sweet despite the hunger blazing behind them, made it clear he wasn’t serious at all.

“I really hate you,” you managed to say, still laughing, the words breathless and shaky.

“Liar,” he countered smoothly, his lips curving into a grin of his own before he kissed you properly this time, slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs. “You’ve never hated me at all.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the next thrust silenced you, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, leaving you gasping instead of speaking.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice thick, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Bastard. Oh, how he’d pay for this. Just… not now. Not when the heat in your stomach was building too quickly, you could already feel your toes curling, your legs trembling where they rested on his shoulders.

“Aaron-” His name spilled from your lips in a broken cry, your hands clutching at him desperately, your body trembling beneath him.

“I know,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven as it fanned over your lips. “You’re close. I can feel it. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.”

And then, just to destroy you completely, he spat on his fingers. The sound alone sent a shiver through you, but watching him, seeing the way he reached down and slid his slick finger to your clit, circling it, left you utterly wrecked.

That alone was so unfairly hot you were surprised you didn’t come on the spot just from seeing it.

“God,” he groaned, his hips keeping the same rhythm as his fingers worked you over, the combination of his cock driving into you and his fingers basically breaking you apart. “I’m close too. Come for me. I want to feel it - I need to feel you.”

And there was no stopping it. The pressure snapped all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your body clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm ripped through you.

“Aaron,” you cried out, his name falling from your lips in a broken, desperate plea as your cunt clenched around him so tightly that it pulled a guttural groan from his chest.

His movements stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep one last time, his head tipping back, lips shaping into your name.

You felt him spill inside you, the hot rush of him filling you, the heat prolonging the throbbing waves of your own climax, as your body convulsed with the lingering echoes of pleasure. It was too much. Too raw. Too perfect. The kind of climax that left you completely destroyed, your mouth falling open as you tried and failed to even catch your breath.

Your limbs felt boneless, your heart was about to burst out of your chest, a haze in your head. Wow.

Aaron’s thrusts slowed, his movements becoming languid as he guided you both through the final waves of pleasure, his hips rocking into you softly.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside you, his body collapsing onto yours, every muscle undone, spent, his breath hot against your neck. His skin was slick with sweat, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and fuck, you never wanted him to move.

A slow, lazy kiss landed on your shoulder, his lips lingering there for a second before he murmured, "Are you okay?"

Really?

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, as your fingers threaded through his beautiful damp hair. “Okay?” you echoed, still struggling to breathe, still feeling the aftershocks of him inside you. “Aaron, I think you might’ve just killed me.”

He huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh if he had the energy, and just because he was perfectly positioned - completely wrecked, head buried against your shoulder, practically melting into you - you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It felt almost paternalistic, sure, the kind of kiss that came with the smug satisfaction of having him completely undone over you, like he might fall apart if he even tried to move. The salt of his sweat clung to your lips, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of the tears you’d swallowed earlier. It felt better - so much better.

Aaron sighed against your skin, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but was too exhausted to bother, he pulled out, leaving you wincing at the sudden emptiness.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze dropping to the mess he’d made of you, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost proud. But, of course, because Aaron fucking Hotchner couldn’t let you have five uninterrupted minutes of post-orgasmic bliss without switching into Mr. Practical, he tilted his head and said, “You should probably clean yourself up.”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Wow. Romance is truly alive and well.”

He grinned just enough to make you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “Where do you keep your towels?” he asked.

“Wow,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed. “Absolutely fantastic. I give you my soul, and in return, you turn into a housekeeper.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple before standing and stretching.

And, of course, because the universe hated you, he looked absurdly good doing it. Broad shoulders, sweat-slicked skin, and the faint red lines your nails had left down his back. God, his back. Huge. Muscular. You really wanted to-

“Dramatic?” you scoffed, snapping yourself out of the borderline feral train of thought. “I just had the best orgasm of my life, and now you’re asking me about towels. What’s next, changing my bedsheets?”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. “Best?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mock surprise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

You groaned, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“No, no,” he continued, turning back toward you, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. “Say it again. Best orgasm of your life? Because I recall giving you three - you might need to pluralize that.”

Oh, how cocky he was. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him, unfortunately the man also had perfect reflects. “So, where are these towels?”

“In the bathroom,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “Third drawer on the left. Please, by all means, go do your very important post-coital housekeeping.”

He chuckled as he made his way to the bathroom, and you watched him go, biting your lip as your gaze drifted lower. Because of course you looked. How could you not? The way his muscles moved as he walked, the strong lines of his back leading down to that quite flat yet perfectly sculpted-

“Stop staring,” he called over his shoulder without even looking back.

You scowled, sitting up and grabbing the other pillow to hurl at the bathroom doorway. “I wasn’t staring!”

He was no fun.

“You know,” you called after him, unable to help yourself, “it’s a shame you’re so good in bed, because you are the single most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Funny,” he shot back from the bathroom, his voice echoing slightly. “You didn’t seem too annoyed about it five minutes ago.”

Not that you had been even a little annoyed when you woke up right into his arms - despite the fact that you distinctly remembered falling asleep holding him.

“How much time do we have?” you murmured, your words muffled as your head stayed nestled against his chest.

“You’ve got 1 hour... I got half” he chuckled, then continued “I need to head home and get changed.”

But his arms instinctively tightened around you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. Like he could pretend, just for a little longer, that there was still time.

“How amazing would Agent Hotchner be if he just called to say we had the weekend off?” you said, tracing patterns of his flexed bicep tighetened around you.

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it rumbling beneath your cheek. “I doubt Agent Hotchner even has the strength to get up and take his phone from his jacket.”

“Well, since I’m feeling so generous, I could go and hand it to him,” you offered with faux magnanimity, but before you could move, his hand slid to the back of your head, pressing you back into him, while the other hand gripped your waist.

“Stay,” he said too softly for your own good.

You smiled against him. “I could stay longer if we didn’t have to go to work, you know...”

He chuckled again, this time shaking his head in amusement. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raised. “Sweetheart?”

And there it was.

Fuck.

Was this the time to tell you? That if he’d been smitten before, now he was utterly undone? That despite making a living solving puzzles, he couldn’t think of a single scenario in which he wasn’t yours?

It was logic, wasn’t it? A proposition is true if it’s reflected in reality.

And this was his truth: he was yours. Irrevocably, undeniably yours.

There wouldn’t be a more evident fact - not until the marks you’d left on his neck and chest faded away. But even then? He would still belong to you.

Damn the stoics for being right.

“Sorry,” he said, as though the endearment had slipped past his guard.

Before he could say more, you tilted your head up and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His startled expression was so genuine that you couldn’t help yourself - you kissed him again, determined to wipe it off his face.

His lips curled into a smile against yours, and when you finally pulled back true to form, he couldn’t resist deflecting. “If you’re trying to charm me into giving the day off, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s not going to work. Even if you keep kissing me.”

You laughed and leaned up to give him another kiss. But this time, you didn’t stop there. You moved down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “I just want to make sure you understand the opportunity you’re blowing here,” you murmured into his skin, your lips ghosting over his pulse.

“The reports aren’t going to fill themselves,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Oh, neither was your cu-

“You sure about that?” you teased, nibbling gently at his collarbone as your hand trailed lower, brushing over where something was definetely starting to grow in between his boxers, making him hiss.

“What’s the matter?” you asked innocently, your hand now resting over his hardening cock, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’re devouring my neck at seven in the morning,” he managed.

“Devouring? Not yet.” Your lips descended again, this time grazing over his collarbones, the faint scrape of your teeth dragging along his skin. When you bit lightly at his chest, his sharp inhale was all the reward you needed. “But don’t worry, I plan to.”

His mouth opened like he was about to fire back, but before he could, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the slick head, smearing the precum as if you had all the time in the world. “So,” you started lightly, as he cussed at your touch, “what are you going to do with the hour we have left?”

He tried to respond, he really did.

“I-” His breath hitched when your tongue darted out to trace just above his lower stomach.

“Well?” you pressed, lifting your head to look at him, your grin so sweet it could’ve killed him. “Breakfast? A shower? Or, you know, something else?”

“Breakfast sounds…” He barely managed to get the words out before his voice broke entirely, his body jerking slightly when your tongue flicked out to tease the tip of his cock.

“…like a good idea,” he finished weakly, though you weren’t convinced he even knew what he was saying at this point… better like this anyways.

“Good,” you hummed, dragging wet kisses along his length, while your hand kept moving, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his cock twitched in your hand. “So, Aaron, what do you feel like having for breakfast?”

His head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping him as his fingers tangled in your hair. “God,” he rasped, the word dragged out of him so pitifully it was almost tragic.

You grinned against his skin, looking up at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s not in my fridge,” you replied deadpan.

“Sweetheart…” He was absolutely desperate as your kisses moved lower, your tongue tracing a path along the underside of his cock.

“Hmm?” you hummed innocently, as if you didn’t notice the way his grip tightened in your hair or the slight tremble in his thighs.

He didn’t answer - but his phone did instead.

The sharp buzzing from the pocket of his discarded jacket in the living room shattered the moment.

Both of you jerked back, adrenaline ripping through the haze, already halfway off the bed before you even thought about it.

It was clumsy, both of you scrambling, bumping into each other as you stumbled toward the sound, breathless for entirely different reasons now.

Aaron got to it first, answering with the efficiency of a man who had switched back to work mode in an instant.

The call clicked on, and a voice - male, urgent - filled the room. "…The two bodies. The man died from a gunshot to the head, though he was stabbed multiple times post-mortem. The woman died from stab wounds."

You stilled.

Aaron’s face hardened. Rocher’s victims.

The ones he had been taunting you with.

"Agent Hotchner, there’s one thing…" the agent on the other end hesitated.

Aaron’s eyes sharpened. "What?"

"These bodies were killed exactly fifteen days ago," he said.

Aaron froze, you felt it at the same time he did - fifteen days ago.

You and Aaron had been interrogating Rocher exactly fifteen days ago.

He hadn’t killed them himself. He couldn’t have.

You were both there.

Your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you spoke.

“He had a partner,” Aaron said, his arm sliding around you instinctively, pulling you closer before you even realized you were starting to breathe too fast.

“Did you manage to identify the victims?” he asked.

“Yes - the man’s name is Michael Fowler, 34, a lawyer, junior associate at Madison & Green. The woman is Renee Hudson, 22, student at Columbia University, enrolled in the faculty of…”

You didn’t even know why you tensed so much.

The answer was obvious before he even said it.

“…philosophy.”

The call ended, but the silence left behind was louder than the voice on the line had been.

And in that silence, you could hear everything - the inevitability of it, tangled with the sound of the tears slipping down both of your faces.

And when your gaze flicked to Aaron, when his arm instinctively pulled you closer, you knew - without a word, without a glance – you’ve been both staring at the exact same spot on the wall.

Because it wasn’t just the age gap.

It wasn’t just the coincidence of numbers.

It was what made it undeniable.

A lawyer.

And a philosopher.

And the way your broken voices found each other in the quiet, harmonizing each other’s names in perfect, unintentional sync, just a few rushed heartbeats later.

Almost like in the musicals.

Almost sweet.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

I sincerely apologize - but the cockblocking was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, they'd never keep their hands to themselves. Honestly, with a job like this, interruptions are basically a given. If I had a nickel for every time these two got cockblocked by a phone call, I’d have two nickels - which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happeend twice.

Ahem... so, uh, let me know what you think... of this. All of this. I need your feedback because I am currently gnawing at the edges of my enclosure

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)