#exhibit a his mom

[celestialtitania]

wait i just realized, adrien got off the train alone. when nathalie and marinette go to get him from the station, kagami isn't there. neither are amelie and felix. that means that adrien made that journey all by himself, both feeling figuratively alone in the world and literally being alone, because this time, he didn't even have plagg with him. and letting alone that the two people he loves most right now are lying to him, i worry about his mental state. he's going to be a mess. he'll be clingy and paranoid about where his friends are, especially considering how every time he isn't around, one of his loved ones either is about to die or DOES die. being both outside and inside is going to be anxiety season.

aka i want to see adrien unconsciously resemble his dad, because those are the sort of behaviors you can't help but pick up and then need to unlearn. let gabriel's failing as a parent haunt the narrative into adrien's every action

[florallylly]

i've seen model steve harrington aus. i've seen child steve harrington aus. i present: child model steve harrington

note: this came from my own desperate need to see this conceptualized and i SWEAR i've searched, i just can't find any content with child model steve so. :(

bc little steve harrington was remarkably cherub-like. his large brown eyes and soft pout ensured endless cooing and fussing from his mom's friends. and when he blushed and ducked his head in shyness, they only complimented him more. when he got home that day, his mom smiled at him.

so steve decided that he would put up with the cheek pinching and the squealing. he sat upright in his chair, sitting on his hands so he wouldn't fidget and ruin the image. because he'd do anything to keep his mom smiling at him. if he was being particularly good that day, she'd let him lay his head on her lap on the drive back home.

but everything changed at his father's birthday gala. a nearly eight year old steve harrington sat prim and proper in his seat, but a smile lit up his face--his cheeks round and his dimples showing up. he raised his hand up to cover his giggle, but he couldn't help but laugh at some silly old man with a loose toupee. then he sees his mom approaching, and his face quickly smooths over, going back to the more polite smile he usually adopted when it came to these events.

he'd ruined it. he hadn't continued being the sweet boy his mom wanted. but then, she smiles at him. and introduces him to the man behind her, who says he's a designer. the man holds out his hand, but when steve puts his hand into his palm, he doesn't shake it. the man simply holds his hand, his eyes scanning steve's face. steve tries not to squirm under the attention. but the man nods and smiles at his mom, and he gives two brief cheek kisses to steve, whispering in his ear "you're going to be a star, darling." steve looks at his mom, confused, but she waves him off to continue talking to the man.

a few months later, steve's mom whisks him off on a trip to france. and steve is so excited to go, nearly vibrating in his seat as the airplane prepares to take off. but instead of the eiffel tower and the seine, steve is taken to a studio. he's posed and changed. once again, he's being fussed over, but instead of wealthy socialites, gossiping make-up artists squeal over him. he's "perfect for the shoot" and "the most darling little boy." steve doesn't understand, but his mom is still smiling, so he lets the nice ladies brush powder over his face.

and he looks in the mirror. his hair is a little more tousled and his lips have a slight tint to them and his eyes seem to take up much of his face. he's put into new clothes, and he feels like a doll in their hands. and when he's put in front of the camera, he simply follows the photographer's directions. afterwards, he's bundled into the car and his mom can't stop gushing about how good he was.

apparently, he's a natural. and then she goes back to fussing over him, focusing more on appearance than his behavior now. but she takes him out shopping and they eat at an upscale restaurant along the champs-elysses. and steve is happy.

and then they go back home, and his mom is so much stricter than before. she has him try out all kinds of different hair products, determined to find the best combination to keep it looking shiny and soft. she controls his food intake and what he wears and makes him use weird creams and serums on his face. but this is what makes his mom happy, so he's happy to let her.

his mom is also on the phone a lot more lately, whispering harshly about the quality of brands and steve just assumes she's being picky about the clothes she buys. later, his mom picks him up and holds him, and asks if he'd like to move to italy. she looks at him intently and it's obvious what answer she wants, so steve nods. she smiles and holds him close, and it's the most loved steve has felt in a while.

so they move to italy, and suddenly steve is a lot more busy. he's put in front of more cameras for more people he doesn't know. but he's smiling and pouting and doing whatever they want him to do. his compliant attitude and polite nature have photographers and designers alike singing his praises, and steve always looks to his mom for approval. but she's been arguing with his dad a lot lately, so she's upset more often than not. but that's okay, the make-up artists are always kind to him.

but then one day, his mom takes a phone call in the middle of the shoot. and when it finishes, she's gone. steve goes back in, close to tears, but the make-up artists still hanging around look after him until a car is sent to pick him up. this becomes a trend. and eventually, steve goes alone to his shoots. he's always taken care of by the crew and someone is always there to pick him up, but it's not fun without his mom there.

but he knows that she's always enjoyed him taking pictures, so he continues to do so, hoping that she'll come watch him again sometime soon. and he busies himself with befriending the chatty make-up artists and the bossy photographers and the eccentric designers. and he's such a cute little thing that they can't help but dote on him.

steve is never catapulted into child stardom, as his mom is picky with his jobs, only choosing luxury brands and well known designers for him. but within the industry, they call him the "little prince."

and then steve is catapulted into puberty, but his intense skin regimen prevents him from getting acne, save for the occasional zit. and his diet and religious exercise schedule help maintain his look. and he's still doing remarkably well, especially now that he's fully aware that he is a Model.

and steve has truly grown into his looks. with time, he's grown more comfortable in front of the camera and made numerous friends. nearly all of them are older than him, but they're fun and loud and it fills up the space that normally surrounds him. and they're the ones who get him hooked on american movies. steve remembers living in america, but he's been in milan so long that everything he recalls is vague.

but he watches them and falls in love with the american high school experience. so when he finally catches his mom off the phone and actually in the house, steve asks if he can go to school in america. and his mom laughs. but steve keeps asking, which devolves into begging. and his mother snaps, slapping him across the face and calling him ungrateful. she cries and begs for forgiveness, cowed into shame by steve's desperate attempt to hold back tears.

and so she lets him go to school in hawkins, indiana. an odd choice, but his parents just so happened to own a property there. (in truth, both of his parents expected him to change his mind within the year). but steve finds his place at hawkins high, because even though nobody in hawkins has ever heard of versace, steve is pretty. he's pretty and charming and he knows the right thing to say. after all, he's spent his whole life perfecting his mask.

and even if his mom ended up moving back home with his dad, leaving steve all alone in that big empty house, steve is happy. he's finally hanging out with people his age and high school is so far removed from the glitz and glam of the fashion industry. and he's settled and content with tommy and carol by his side. while he misses his friends back in milan, steve finds himself longing for the clothes more often. hawkins was certainly the opposite of milan, what with the nearest mall being two hours away and only equipped with a macy's and jcpenny.

through it all, steve is determined to be normal. he laughs along with jokes he doesn't quite get and rolls his eyes at carol's cue, and he joins the swim team. and he joins the basketball team. and he goes to parties and kisses girls and wears dumb little polos with his letterman jacket and does everything that he saw in the movies.

but nancy wheeler is different. steve can't forget his time in italy and who he is and was, and he's reminded of his old life in everyone and everything in hawkins. but not nancy wheeler. she's all hawkins and all his. and then the upside down happens.

and then nancy wheeler breaks his heart.

even after three years, his parents continue to ask when he'll go back to modeling, but he's different now. the upside down and billy hargrove beat that starry eyed little kid who thrived in the spotlight. and nancy wheeler proved that adoration and love is fleeting, so what would even be the point of trying anymore? his dad was a little more approving of steve's retirement/hiatus, saying that steve must want to go to college so he can take over the family business.

but when steve doesn't get into college, he's once again badgered by his mom to go back. but he's grown and changed and he's not sure that he can pretend anymore, so he says no. and they cut him off. enter: scoops era.

the measly scoops salary is not nearly enough to cover all of the new bills and expenses steve has, but he's not willing to leave hawkins. so he reaches out to his friends back in italy, and they refer him to their american connections. steve doesn't model at the same level as before, but he poses for a couple of zines and one artist who got a little too handsy at his exhibition. but he's able to make it through until the mall blows up.

this routine continues and he starts working at family video with robin at his side, but he keeps his side job a secret from the kids, using the excuse of visiting his parents to leave town for his shoots. he's not ashamed, but he knows he wouldn't "be normal" anymore if they found out.

but how does he explain his near mental breakdown at the sight of his healing demobat scars. they're raised and ugly, ruining what should have been a perfect body. and even though he uses scar cream everyday, they refuse to fade away completely. and how could anyone stand to be near such an ugly thing when all his life, steve was meant to be pretty? after all, love and adoration is fleeting.

[bonefall]

Did Brambleclaw actually disown the Three when the secret is revealed? I don't remember this happening (then again, it's been a while) but it does bug me how all three go "Poor brambleclaw :(( He was such a good dad to us and he has to learn we're not even his biokits :(((( poor guy" while simultaneously shitting on Leafpool and Squirrelflight despite them showing them more care and affection before AND after the reveal. If he does disown them, then.... WOW is the double standard real here.

In-canon? It's something you have to approximate. They don't seem to have a concept of ""disowning"" because blood relation is taken as such an insurmountable, FUNDAMENTAL fact of life. He doesn't write them out of his little kitty will and testament, but his actions ARE disowning.

It's as if the fact he is not their biological father is an automatic disowning. From the reveal onwards, he is immediately cold, distant, and the "betrayal" is mentioned often. The Three also explicitly don't blame him for his behavior, like it's just to be expected that he's Not Their Dad anymore.

Lionblaze in particular stares longingly at him several times, really missing him. And like... that's kinda what gets my goat so much

I do believe Brambleclaw is entitled to his feelings of betrayal. I believe Squilf was ultimately in the right to lie, actually, but he's still allowed to be upset and angry that she didn't trust him enough to tell him something so important. THAT SAID, YOU ARE NEVER ENTITLED TO TREAT OTHERS POORLY.

And that's what GETS me. He isn't upset that it was all revealed in such a painful and embarassing way when this could have been avoided, or that his lover struggled with this lie for so long without him, or that he feels he's lost his children. Squilf points it out in The Last Hope-- He's so ANGRY at Squilf that he will THROW HIS FAMILY AWAY

Lionblaze seems desperate to be his son again. Hollyleaf is gone for months, and Brambleclaw is still huffing about the secret when she comes back from the dead. Squilf is fawning in the hopes it makes him talk to her again. Doesn't matter. Brambleclaw Is Upsetti Spaghetti so the narrative will never examine his role in hurting this family he apparently loved so much.

(Narrative seems to understand full well that when Squilf lies for a good reason, that doesn't invalidate the hurt Brambleclaw felt... but when Brambleclaw is upset for a good reason, it actually DOES validate what he put her and his kids through)

In BB it is explicitly a disowning. He cuts them off as his children, and they reciprocate. BB!Lionblaze does so in a ball of fury, vowing that he has ONLY a mother.

[groppy]

mfw i can draw parallels between indoctrination theory and mesmerizer. mfw fuuta is the one to attack shidou instead of amane because he so desperately wants to be seen with approval. does anyone get it

[murdockparkour]

went to the smithsonian american history museum today and look at who i found

[willowcrowned]

they should let me write Aquaman 3: White House Visit where Joe Biden is forced by virtue of international diplomacy to shake Aquaman's hand

[menthol-innocence]

family friends, pt.1

you're at a family friend's house for new year's eve. it's an intimate gathering--your parents brought you to see your mom's college friend, whose daughter ella is your age, and her husband, david. besides the six of you, the only other person present is ella's boyfriend. but somehow, there just aren't enough seats at the dinner table.

at first, you and your mom share a seat. your dad volunteers to sit on the couch, and david and his wife take turns sitting and bringing dishes to and from the table. when dinner is over, your mom leaps out of her seat, insisting on helping her friend do the dishes. but just as quickly as she leaves her seat, somebody else takes it--david.

the first thing that you notice is how big he is. he's tall and broad, and takes up much more space than your mom on the seat you two share. though there's still a little space between him and you, you can feel the heat of him through his crisp dress shirt.

the next thing you notice is his smell. he has on an expensive-smelling, woody cologne, but the most prominent scent is the white wine on his breath. he's more talkative than normal, joking with your dad, who has moved to the spare seat at the table. he's gesturing excitedly with his hands, his face a little flushed. with each gesture, he closes the gap between you two, until you're completely pressed up against his side.

he finishes his conversation with your dad and turns to you, asking you about your classes and your plans for college. you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushing at the thought, before responding. as you tell him, he lifts his arm up, as if to give you a fatherly clap on the shoulder. but instead, his arm snakes around you, caressing the ribs underneath your breast and the curve of your hip before settling on your lower back. you shiver, equal parts aroused by his touch, terrified of what might happen next, and humiliated at the thought of other people seeing this unfold right in front of their eyes.

your dad is, thankfully, oblivious to the scene. but across the table, ella and her boyfriend watch in quiet discomfort. ella decides to speak up.

"papa, do you want to sit together so she can have her own chair?"

david barely acknowledges her, brushing off the question before continuing his conversation with you. you shoot her a grateful smile before turning your attention back to him.

before you can pick up where you left off, your dad takes the interruption as an opportunity to leave. he gets up, saying something about going to the grocery store to get dessert. but even though there's now a seat for everyone, david remains next to you.

~~~tbc~~~

[hunsa-jars]

Bnuuys

[lavahu]

.

[deepspaceclawstation]

I have to visit the great uncle (grand uncle technically but english kinship terms are weird that way) who doesn't like me (and once tried to convince me (a 25 year old) that a high-pitched sound has a low frequency) today so wish me luck I guess

[thewritingpossum]

Went to see a street photos exhibit with my mom the other day, which led to her reminding me of that time we met ex strongman and local eccentric Antonio Barichievich a good 25+ years ago and now I need to make a post about this man because he was such a fascinating figure imo and also because I genuinely think he would have loved social medias and would have want to be on them as much as possible so I feel it's my duty to contribute to it a little bit

[psychoticallytrans]

I think one of the most profound forms of love is "I'll try that, for you. I may not like it, but I'll try it."

It's a confused middle-aged man in a pottery class, whose daughter is helping him with his clay's plasticity. It's a kid scrunching up their brow while listening to their mom's favorite music, trying to figure out why she likes it. It's a girlfriend who says "Yes, I'll go with you" and her girlfriend cheering and buying a second ticket for a con. It's a friend half dragging another friend through an aquarium, the one being dragged laughing and calling out "Wait, wait, I know we're here for the exhibit, but I haven't been here! Slow down!"

It's being willing to spend some of your time trying something new because it makes someone you love happy.

[holeforzenin]

QUIET <3

Tw - Mommy kink, slight exhibition kink, this is so funny bc I was planning on writing about dom!choso today but end up writing this?? Not proofread

ꕀ ₊⋆ ⤸

“Shhh, gotta be quiet Cho” you tantalizingly whispered to his ear, smiling at his hazed-out, innocent expression as you bounced yourself up and down his cock, dragging your sweet cunt that's he's so so addicted to, on his lengthy dick, spreading your creamy slick all around it—your hands gripped and squeeze both of his muscular biceps during the process, feeling the raw strength beneath your touch as his head slightly leans against the wooden headboard.

You quickly hastened your pace—trying to get the both of you to cum as soon as possible before his mom comes back to check up on you again. It was your first ever sleepover today so what better way to make it an unforgetful memory then to tease and take advantage of your sweet, doting boyfriend who would do anything for you, as long as it made you happy.

His fingers greedily dug into the soft flesh of your plump ass, grasping your curves possessively as he stared up at you—eyes filled with desire and lust as he captured your lewd expression as his angry cockhead furiously jabs against your g-spot over and over again. Bullyingly impaling your pretty pussy opened around him.

He’s trying his very best to stifle the desperate urges to moan and whimper too much but he just can’t help it—feeling the intoxicating pleasure of his seductive, horny little girlfriend manipulating his poor cock and body and using him as a fucktoy for your pleasure drove him crazy, just like this.

He loves it when you use him as your personal little toy to fuck. He was made for it—hell, he’d even let you use him while he’s asleep if you need to, He doesn’t care. He loves it.

He wouldn’t ever admit it but the dirty thought of even getting caught in such a lewd situation like this made his hardened dick throbbed excitedly against your tight soppy walls—that were two seconds away from milking him dry. No one has ever seen this side of Choso other than you, so the thought of even partially getting caught sent shockwaves through his mind.

He bit his lips and lets out a string of curses under his breath when he notices the streaks of cum coating his pulsating cock every time his cock disappears into your core and appears again and there was even more cum overlaying it, driving him sooo fucking crazy. The sight pushed him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He was so so close to stuffing you full of his seed.

“Your pussy is s’good” he whimpered out of breath. A mischievous smirk tugged at your lips as you adjusted your hips, grinding your ass against him at a better angle—coaxing a loud, unrestrained moan out of him.

“Nghh—fuck, m’so close Mommyy!” he lets out a low, guttural moan, his hands now gripping onto your waist, desperately trying his best to keep up with your pace as his gaze fixated on the rhythmic bounce of your breast which only further fuels his ardor.

He almost got a heart attack after hearing the next door slamming open. The sudden noise startled him, sending his heart racing with fear. You moaned out deliciously as you excitedly bounced faster, giggling at his scared expression. He’s so adorable, who knew a big, strong man could be this cute and vulnerable?

Your tight walls hugged his cock so snugly and warm inside of you, you felt like heaven. You grind your hips back and forth on his lap, causing a ripple of pleasure that made your muscles clench even tighter, making his head fall back while he fought the urge to release a moan that threatened to escape his lips.

“Gon-naa cum! Hahhh!” He quickly announced, before shooting his seed right up into your sloppy pussy—making your head fall back as your back arched slightly, you satisfyingly laughed at the pleasure of your insides slowly being filled up by him. You quickly stuffed two fingers in his mouth to quiet him as you drained more and more cum from his thick balls.

The door swings open with a sudden force, "Heyy kiddos! do you guys need anything? If so let me know and you should get some sleep soon!!" Choso's mom enthusiastically calls out by the door.

You smirked wickedly, pressing your soft boobs against his chest, causing a surge of desire to pulse through him. Before leaning your face into his neck, “Be a good boy and answer her for me, Choso” you whispered in a teasing tone before licking a long stripe of his sensitive neck—making his cock jolted with arousal against your gummy walls, you can literally feel it beating rapidly inside of you with his seed still stuffed inside of you as you cockwarmed him.

“I—ye-yes! We’re ohh!- okay~” he stammered—it was all he could make out before his eyes rolled back from the sudden pleasure overwhelming his senses. His head thumped loudly against the headboard as you sucked on his neck, sending shivers down his spine and causing him to lose himself in the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that consumed him.

“Choso, sweetie are you okay?” His mom questioned worriedly, trying to make out what was happening but couldn’t see one bit because she didn’t have her glasses with her.

“Ye-yes! Please juuust go!” His voice cracked as tears prickled from his eyes, his heart pounding with a crescendo of fear and desperation.

“Okay! If you say so…” she replied with a tinge of uncertainty in her voice, casting a quick glance back before gently closing the door behind her with a soft click.

You slowly pulled away, a smirk played on your lips as you took in the sight of how utterly fucked out he looked. So fluttered and adorable.

You cradled his face in your hand, tenderly caressing his cheeks before pushing it deep into your boobs, gently patting the back of his head as he inhaled your scent with a groan. “Shhh Cho, I got you baby. You’re such a gooddd boy” you cooed comfortingly at him.

You giggled excitedly, feeling his cock rock solid again.

[trashytracktales]

Miami heat | OP⁸¹

🟤 summary ──── Winning the Miami Grand Prix was the second-best thing that happened to Oscar. The first? Saying yes to Logan’s invitation to celebrate.

🟤 pairing ──── Oscar Piastri x she/her reader

🟤 rating ──── explicit

🟤 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, drinking, smut, swearing, public setting, thigh riding, unprotected sex, manhandling, hair pulling, light dominance, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, mirror play, possessiveness and marking, Logan cameo.

🟤 word count ──── 5.6k

🟤 date ──���─ May 21, 2025

🟤 a/n ──── Hi lovelies! Since it was my birthday today (surprise 🥳🥳) I HAD to treat myself with this one. If you know me, you know I am absolutely obsessed with Oscar’s thighs [exhibit ONE, TWO, THREE...]. I fear it’s not just a phase, mom, this is who I am. I’ll go back to your requests now & we’ll read each other soon ♥︎

“JUST A COUPLE of drinks,” said Logan and, apparently, that’s all it took for Oscar to postpone a date with his hotel bed.

It would’ve been quite lame, he thought, to go to sleep after winning a Grand Prix on American soil.

With that in mind, half an hour after he finished all his duties at the track, the aussie sat nestled into a booth, shoulders relaxed and fingers curled around a chilled glass of something sweet and citrusy.

Logan had gathered a group of friends, already half-tipsy by the time Oscar arrived. As usual, he was quieter than the rest, laughing when he should, content to let the buzz of conversation pass over him.

Until she caught his eye.

He watched her slipping into the booth, sitting next to Logan with such an ease that made it feel like the night had been waiting for her to actually start. His first impression was that she is stunning, and not just physically speaking, though that alone made Oscar forget how to sit properly. There was more to it, something about her presence that made everything else fade. Because from the moment she turned her eyes on him and smiled, everybody else simply blurred into the background.

And now, Oscar can’t stop looking at her.

Not even when someone at the table congratulates him on tonight’s win.

Not even when Logan throws an arm around his shoulders and asks for more drinks.

There’s an undeniable glow to her that has him in complete trance, some effortless kind of beauty wrapped in softness and pure femininity. It hits him all at once, starting with the irrational need to know her, and the urge to keep her attention, to make sure he’s the one she remembers when they’ll part at the end of the night.

When the next round of drinks lands, she slips in beside Oscar to congratulate him in a whisper, which draws his attention to her full lips. But that doesn’t last long. The heat of her thigh presses now flush against his, bare skin to bare skin, and that almost terminates him. The girl doesn’t wait for him to thank her, instead, her palm brushes over his arm, a small touch that lasts no more than a second.

For that one second, Oscar’s lounging casually with his drink in hand, but the next, he’s shifting in his seat like the air’s gone too hot around him. He downs the rest of his drink in order to cool himself from the inside out, then tugs nervously at the hem of his shorts, while trying to adjust himself discreetly under the table. Still, she notices, and it makes her lips twitch, like she’s hiding a secret only they know about.

What is certain is that his pulse blooms in his chest, and without thinking, Oscar drapes his arm over the back of the booth, claiming the space behind her. It makes his heart race, even though he knows how silly it is to get protective over someone he just met.

His fingers lightly brush her shoulder, and though he’s still, in theory, paying attention to the others, the gesture catches her attention, and she understands what it means in no time: mine, for now.

In this new position, they’re close enough to feel each other’s scent, and her perfume coils into his senses. A sweet smell that reminds him of Fantales, some caramel candies Oscar used to sneak from the kitchen cupboard as a kid. The memory makes him smile, taken aback by the unexpected trip to the past.

Her fingers skim the base of her glass.

His leg starts bouncing slightly.

Her laugh curls warm around his ribs when someone makes a joke.

And when his knee bumps hers under the table, they both go still.

Oscar looks at her, happy to find out that she’s already looking at him. Their eyes lock, and everything else falls away.

Until Logan decides to get up like a whirlwind of noise and glittering eyes, drunk enough to grab Oscar by the wrist and her by the hand, dragging both of them after him.

“Come on,” he slurs, “Let’s shake our asses.”

They follow him, laughing, weaving through the crowd, with the bass vibrating beneath their feet and neon lights spinning lazy halos above their heads. The music is loud, atmosphere inviting, making it impossible not to move.

Somewhere between the second and the third song, Logan disappears from their sight into the mass of bodies, and they’re left behind in the middle of the dance floor. They don’t even notice until they start to dance side by side. Separate at first. Just enough space to feel like they aren’t doing anything dangerous.

But the crowd pushes closer, the bass gets heavier, and with each second, the gap between them evaporates. With that, eyes find each other in the dark and smiles linger a second longer than they should.

At this point, it’s only natural to let it happen.

They collide, soft but inevitable, and Oscar’s hands go to her waist like it’s instinct. His grip is firm, and it pulls a gasp from her lips before she can catch it.

The girl doesn’t pull away. She likes the way she fits there, right against him, as if it’s something her body already knew. Her hands drift without conscious thought, her palms pressing flat against his abdomen, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. Then higher, across his chest, up to his shoulders, and finally down his arms.

Oscar’s biceps flex under her touch, strong and taut, and his grip on her tightens in response.

Before they realize, she’s wrapped around him entirely, her body molded to his, moving with him to the music. Her scent is dizzying, driving Oscar straight out of his mind. As if he’s controlled by some external force, he ducks his head without thinking, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like he needs it to survive.

She shudders, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against her skin. It drives her mad that she can’t hear him properly because of the music, but she feels the low vibration, and something inside her snaps.

Or maybe it finally clicks.

Oscar’s hands slide lower, down her sides, around her hips, then firmly palm her ass, pulling her with him in his inviting, heated personal space. The sudden pressure draws another moan from her, right into his ear, and her reaction lights him up from the inside out. It also encourages Oscar to keep his hands on her, shamelessly, their faces so close they’re basically breathing each other in. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes flick to his mouth, lingering for just a fraction, then dart back up.

She wants to kiss him.

He looks like he wants it, too.

But slowly, the girl ends up shaking her head. It’s not a no per se. It’s rather a we shouldn’t.

Luckily, Oscar couldn’t care less. His eyes are already begging, full of lust and that want she saw in him earlier. He’s not pushing, but he’s insistent, asking a stupid question without words: why not?

As expected, she doesn’t have an answer, yet she’s looking at his lips again like they’re already hers. She could die in order to find out how he kisses. Where his hands go when he’s not holding back. What kind of sounds he makes when he’s diving all in. How long it lasts. How deep. How wet.

It doesn’t take her long to glance around the club, just enough to think. Then, without a word, she laces her fingers through his and tugs him behind her as if she’s on a mission.

Oscar follows like he’s still in a trance, heart pounding in his ears with every step he takes behind her.

The bathrooms are hidden near the back, sleek and modern, far quieter than the rest of the place. The lighting here is cooler, silvery, and the stalls are private, each one with a full mirror and its own sink, separated by thick doors and expensive privacy.

She pulls him into the last one, the lock clicks and, in a blink of an eye, he’s on her.

Oscar presses her back against the door with a firm heat, hands braced on either side of her face as his mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss is hungry, open-mouthed and curious, all tongue and breath and need. She tastes like everything he imagined she would: sweet and impossibly addictive.

Her hands are already under his shirt, palms exploring the planes of his stomach, the rise of muscle, and everything she can reach, really.

His knee wedges between her legs for support, and she arches into him with a quiet whimper, mouth breaking from his for long enough to breathe it out. At that, Oscar groans low in his throat, a delicious sound that will haunt her dreams from now on. His hands slide down to her waist, holding her in place while he’s studying her face, searching for any trace of hesitation. There’s none.

Because he’s a tall man, she’s forced onto her tiptoes just to stay with him at the same level as they kiss, but the strain catches up quickly, and when she finally lowers herself, her hips settle onto the firm pressure of his thigh.

Oscar freezes for a beat, then leans in close, “You smell so good,” he says dumbly, just as his body presses more into hers in order to make her whimper again, only for him.

As if he’s done this so many times before, his fingers trail down her side, tracing the curve of her waist with so much intent that makes her shiver. When his hands dip lower, ghosting over the hem of her skirt, she catches his arms lightly, but doesn’t stop him.

Oscar pauses, eyes flicking up to meet hers, asking a silent question and thinking already that this became quickly their way of communicating. Her response is equally quiet, but clear: she shifts nervously, spreading her legs just enough for him to access her with ease.

The girl braces herself against the door, knuckles white as she fists the front of his shirt, breath stuttering out of her lungs. And it doesn’t last long. Not when she’s perched on his thigh, the thin fabric of her underwear barely a barrier between them.

She closes her eyes as she moves slightly, testing the limits of what she can do in a position that doesn’t help her height. And without a doubt, the press of muscle beneath her is firm, and the sensation ripples through her, forcing her to continue her seductive dance, without assistance.

“Oscar,” her voice is just a whispered plea.

He gets the memo, his hand traveling instinctively from her waist, brushing down to her hip. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and tug them gently down her thighs, making her gasp in anticipation. The cool air against her skin gives her chills and, suddenly, Oscar is all heat.

“You’re okay?” he asks curiously, breathing against her temple.

She nods, pressing in closer. “Yes. Just…” her voice trails off, brain shutting down as her bare skin drags against his thigh, core aching, her fingers curling into his shirt.

She barely manages a desperate roll of her hips, when her hesitation makes Oscar chuckle gently.

“Are you okay?” he repeats the question more demanding.

She nods against his neck this time, but she doesn’t say anything. Her hips twitch in response, like her body wants it more than she’s willing to admit out loud.

“What is it?” Oscar insists, lips curving into a smirk; he knows what it is, just wants to hear her speaking her mind.

She bites her lip, both embarrassed and frustrated, still grinding against him as if she has no willpower to stop. Shaking her head in disbelief at how her own body betrays her, she whispers, “I don’t know.”

“Then show me,” he says softly, his accent dripping like honey from her ears. “Let me help. We can stop if it doesn’t feel right.”

The girl hesitates only for half a second before moving again, the friction sending a rush of heat up her spine. It’s ridiculous how easily her body responds, how quickly she’s sweating, flushed, soaked, and yet it doesn’t matter. Not when his hands are steady on her hips, not when he’s humming in unison with her sharp breathing, shutting down every rational thought in her head.

“That’s it,” Oscar encourages her, “Use me. Take what you need.”

She lets out a soft whimper, eyes closing as the words melt straight into her stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” he adds, continuing to guide her. “Feels food, doesn’t it?”

“So…” she tries to reply, but she has to swallow the moan that threatens to spill out, her whole body trembling with how turned on she is.

The thickness of Oscar’s thigh fits perfectly between her legs, parting her folds with every slow grind, the pressure against her clit maddeningly good and so, so right, like he was made for her to ride it. Every movement lights up the atoms in her body one by one, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from how deliciously he fills the space between her thighs.

All this time, Oscar watches her face closely, feeding off her expressions. He flexes his thigh beneath her, just to see her reaction, and when she gasps, he starts moving, lifting and shifting to meet her grind.

Soon enough, he can feel the subtle, desperate throb of her clit through the damp heat between them, and his voice drops low. “Ride it harder, sweetheart,” he says, fingers digging into her hips. “Don’t shy away.”

Her senses explode all at once, like someone struck a match inside her. The fabric of his shorts rides up with her, the heat of his skin burning on hers. Her nerves are buzzing, overwhelmed by the drag of her slick folds against the muscle of his thigh. The speed at which she loses herself is embarrassing, her rhythm faltering already, breath catching in her throat; she would be mortified if it didn’t feel this goddamn good.

She can’t protest much, though. Oscar’s thigh itself is a sin: thick and solid beneath her, strong from years of training, and just soft enough in the right places. It might be the euphoria talking, but she wishes that she could use him like this whenever she wants, ride his body until she forgets her own name. And the way he flexes beneath her, patient and ready to take the lead if necesarry, makes it all too easy to imagine just that.

His jaw flexes the moment he feels her losing it. Her slick heat leaves a trail on his thigh with every slow grind, and the sensation shoots straight to his gut. His mind races, wild with thoughts of what it would feel like to sink his fingers into her, to taste her desperation on his tongue, to bury himself deep in that warmth she’s giving so freely now. He squeezes her harder without realizing, fingers digging in, lifting her just slightly off the ground as he rocks her against him.

“See how perfect you are?” he asks, feeling the way her hips stutter. “Come on, baby, soak me. Show me what I do to you.”

“Osc…ar,” she pants, clinging to him, hands fisting into the back of his shirt, face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent envelops her, clean and dizzying, and her breath comes fast and wet against his skin.

The friction, the rhythm, the pressure, it’s all too much.

Oscar watches her, mesmerized. “Right here, beautiful,” he assures her softly, but the tension in his voice betrays how affected he is only from seeing her so lost in pleasure.

“I’m…”

Oscar’s hand goes up her thigh, his thumb finding the sensitive spot at the apex with practiced ease. She jolts when he touches her there, the motion instinctive. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the rhythm steady and precise, and it sends a rush of heat spiraling through her spine. She sees stars behind her eyes, every nerve ending sparking as more pleasure builds too fast for her mind to catch up.

“There you go,” he breathes against her ear. “I feel you.”

He does. The way her hips start to tremble, the small stuttering jerks of movement that speak louder than words. She’s a mess, pulsing under his fingertips, and the way she grips with every wave of pleasure makes him nearly lose it, too. His fingers hover just shy of slipping inside her pussy, and the thought alone, that all it would take is one tiny push to fill her, to ease that aching need, drives him insane.

“Fuck, you’re so desperate,” he points out in awe. “You need more, don’t you?”

She whimpers in response, hips faltering, and he feels her heat start to coat him, warm, all over his thigh. His jaw goes slack for a second, mind spiraling with the image of what it would feel like to actually slide his fingers into her, his tongue, his cock — anything, everything — just to feel that perfect pull around him the exact moment when she comes.

Her hips stutter again, bringing him back to the present moment, and Oscar swears under his breath as he feels the shiver roll through her body. All around him, her body tenses, clings, and the only thing she can do is hold on, lost in the mess of a sensation so superficial, and the sound of his voice, his scent, him. Just him.

“I’ve never…,” she begins, trying her best to catch her breath. “Never did that before,” she ends up saying, a small laugh escaping her lips.

She surges up to kiss him as a thank you, messy and breathless, her lips trembling as the aftershocks roll through her. His hands fly everywhere, until she finally slows, head resting against his chest.

When she looks up again, Oscar is watching her with the same fire in his eyes. Holding his piercing gaze, her hand darts down to the waistband of his shorts, intent yet impulsive.

But he catches her wrist, stopping her.

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice low but conflicted.

She smirks. “Why not? You look like a guy with good reflexes,” the girl purrs, leaning in.

Oscar’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “I am,” he agrees, smiling politely. “But you don’t have to,” he repeats, thumb brushing over her soft skin.

“No, I know,” she insists. “I mean, it’s fine. Unless you talked to Logan—”

In one smooth motion, Oscar spins her around and bends her over the marble sink, the cool surface biting into her skin. She whimpers at the sudden position change, lifting her gaze to the mirror, only to catch the reflection of them both: her flushed and excited, him looming behind her, all heat and tension.

Oscar’s eyes meet hers in the mirror, unreadable for a moment, but his voice is calm. “Did anything ever happen? With you and Logan, I mean.”

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice.

Oscar watches everything from the way her lashes flutter to how her body reacts to his question. Pleased with her answer, his palm skims slowly down the curve of her back, then to her hips, where his touch grows firmer.

“Good,” he nods, his knee pressing between hers, nudging her legs apart.

Moments later, her hands grip the edge of the sink, her skirt hiked up. She arches her back slightly, giving him a clear invitation with the way she rolls her hips, a playful gleam in her eyes. Behind her, Oscar moves like a man possessed, pushing down his shorts, enough to pull himself out. Calculated, he fits himself against her, one hand braced on her lower back, the other guiding himself. And when he’s inside, they both breathe out in relief: her at the fullness, him at the slick heat that welcomes him like she was meant for this.

She starts meeting him thrust for thrust once he begins to move, her moans echoing against the cold tile, the mirror fogging up as the air thickens with heat and desire.

“Good, you have his permission to fuck me,” she breathes heavily, “Or good, you’ll fuck me without even telling him?”

Oscar chuckles, pace deepening. “Good, I only need your permission,” he clarifies. “And I’m pretty sure I got it the second you dragged me in here.”

At that, her head dips forward, between her shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the sound of their bodies moving together, and the raw heat that surrounds them. But Oscar isn’t letting her disappear into sensation. Not this fast.

His fingers wind gently through her hair, a firm but tender hold as he pulls her head up. “Up,” he orders in a gentle voice. “Let me see you, yeah?”

Their eyes meet again in the mirror as she tries to nod, but she can’t, thanks to his strong grip.

“Yes,” she says instead, without looking away.

She can see the flex of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches with restraint, the way his eyes lock on hers like he has something to prove to her.

With that thought in mind, Oscar lets go of her hair only to grip her hips with renewed purpose, fingers digging in with hunger. She feels his desire and need for control in every part of her body, and she likes it. It makes her push back into him, begging for more, meeting him with equal intensity.

Oscar’s chest rises with every breath, sweat beading at his temple, muscles flexing as he moves inside her. He looks like he is restraint personified, where every ounce of him is burning, yet held just barely in check for her.

It becomes messier in no time, the rhythm unraveling as control gives way to need. He spreads her wider with a low groan, and the sound alone sends another pulse of fire through her. But instead of protesting, she moans his name again, her body pushing against the pressure. Again and again.

“Fuck, Oscar,” she whimpers, closing her eyes just to focus on the way he fucks into her from behind. “That’s so good, please. Please, don’t stop.”

Exhaling in spasms, Oscar is able to find that spot inside her again — the one that makes everything tilt sideways. The one that breaks her piece by piece, and puts it together the same exact way. He’s not just ruthless in his movements. He’s precise, and every snap of his hips is a calculated promise.

“Yes,” she keeps echoing, her voice going higher, only to crack at the intensity.

“Keep going, you sound unreal,” he leans in, brushing his lips to the shell of her ear.

She pushes back into him, needing much more. “Harder,” she breathes.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, the word punched out of him like her command knocked the air from his lungs. “Since you asked so fucking nicely,” he adds sarcastically, but he gives it to her almost instinctively.

After that, Oscar’s movements grow more unrelenting, until every thrust seems to echo with the tension built up all night. His hands smooth up her back, then down again, gripping her like he’s terrified she’ll break under his force.

“You feel…” he groans, watching the way he sinks into her, “Ah, heavenly,” Oscar continues. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

She gasps, and he presses in deeper, then slows while dragging his cock out, letting her feel every inch of him before snapping his hips forward again.

“Oscar—” she chokes out.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me,” he whispers, “Tell me what you need.”

Truth is, she doesn’t even know anymore. She just knows it’s him. All of him. Everywhere. All the time.

She looks at him through the mirror, eyes glassy, lips trembling, and thinks she’s never seen anything as heartbreakingly hot as Oscar in this exact moment.

His hands trail up her spine again as if it’s already muscle memory, wanting to feel the way she shivers underneath him. Then he brings them beneath her shirt, palms gliding along her stomach before cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra, his thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks that make her gasp and arch into his touch with her entire body.

The slip takes both of them by surprise, his cock sliding free of her slick heat, making them groan in disagreement at the sudden emptiness.

“Hold on,” Oscar instructs, already grabbing her.

She barely has time to blink before he’s spun her around, back hitting the cool tile wall, his hands under her thighs. He lifted her so effortlessly, and now her legs lock around his waist just as he thrusts back into her. The new angle’s different, way deeper, and her head falls back with a loud moan.

“God, Oscar,” she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders, then burying into the hair at the back of his head. “I feel you in my fucking throat.”

He lets a small laugh against her neck, lips brushing her jaw as he speaks, “‘Cause you’re so fucking tight,” he fires back proudly. “Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you like this.”

In her defense, she can’t either. Can’t even come up with a lie, let alone a good excuse. But her body does it for her anyway: convulsing in pleasure, fluttering around his thickness as her climax crashes over her. She clutches at him, lips parted in a silent cry, lost to everything but the sound of his voice praising her, and the way he fills her completely. Her entire body is clenching as the orgasm rips through her, hot and blinding, hips rolling without rhythm, unable to stop herself from grinding into every inch of him as she comes.

Oscar is so close, and he has to still deep inside her, a strained moan escaping his throat as he feels her grip his length repeatedly. She’s swollen, sensitive in all the right places, and he swears he can feel her pulse around him, velvet heat dragging him to the edge.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice cracking. “This is fucking torture.”

She feels him throb against her walls, hard, the tension in his body barely restrained. And just as her legs begin to tremble and the aftershocks ripple through her, Oscar pulls out in a desperate motion. He doesn’t trust himself to stay inside longer than that. Not when she feels that good. Not when she just coated him in the pleasure that he gave her and made it nearly impossible to think.

Dizzy, the girl slides down his body to her feet, barely steady, but her hand finds him easily. He’s hot, slick, straining. Without even thinking, she wraps her fingers around his cock, firm but tender, her thumb pressing to his tip and circling through the wetness gathered there.

His breath shudders out of him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears, forehead dropping on hers, hips twitching against her palm.

Somehow, she’s stroking him with just the right pressure, enough to make Oscar whimper as if he’s in pain.

Their mouths find their way back to each other, parted but not kissing, breath blending in that hazy space they’ve built. He thrusts into her palm, muscles pulled taut, chasing the edge she’s holding him on with such frustrating, perfect control.

In no time, his body goes rigid and then Oscar exhales a delicious sound that’s barely audible, but full of release, white heat spilling over her fingers and dripping down her hand. His own moves to gently push hers away, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she kisses him, her lips finally catching his with a lazy kind of gesture.

“Let me,” she whispers, brushing her thumb along his skin. “That’s so hot.”

“You’re hot,” Oscar shoots back, as if it’s just a silly game for kids.

Looking for some support, he leans in, bracing one palm against the wall beside her head, while his other hand slides down her stomach with purpose. She’s taken aback when his fingers find her hole again, still aching, still swollen with need.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. Two fingers sink into her, curling in just the right way that makes her eyes roll back and her knees nearly buckle.

“I like odd numbers,” he explains, breathing hoarsely into her skin. “Come on, one more.”

“Oh, shi—” she whimpers, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

She cries out, the sensitivity making her jolt, but she doesn’t pull away — wouldn’t ever dream of it. Not when Oscar holds her steady with one arm around her waist, the other working between her thighs, patient but purposeful. She buries her face in his neck, breathing fast, tasting salt and skin and something that feels dangerously close to a tenderness she won’t be introduced to.

Not tonight, at least.

In the mirror across from them, she catches a glimpse of their reflection, and she likes what she sees, maybe too much: the broad muscles of his back shifting beneath his shirt, arms braced to keep her upright, his body completely encompassing hers. The sight of it and how small she looks in his hold, how thoroughly he’s taken over every inch of her, sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through her.

His shirt is damp against his chest, biceps flexing with every motion of his hand. He’s methodical, and the control in Oscar is intoxicating, all steady strength and relentless focus on her.

“Is there something you can’t do?” she jokes.

His eyes close for a moment, playful yet annoyed, in a way. “Yeah,” he replies. “I can’t take you home and fuck you properly.”

Her back arches against the wall, mouth open in a silent cry as she comes for the third time. Her pussy clenches around his fingers, thighs trembling, heart pounding. And he holds her there, breathing calmly while he helps her riding it out.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

When her breathing steadies too, he gently withdraws his fingers, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist. She’s still reeling when he brushes a strand of hair off her face, and then lowers to a crouch.

Without breaking eye contact, Oscar picks up her panties from the floor, the damp lace curled in his palm. Initially, she reaches for them, but he pulls back at the last moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Oscar,” she warns.

He smirks and tucks them into his pocket, pulling his shorts up from where they were hanging around his thighs. “Mine.”

She frowns. “Not fair. I have nothing to keep from you.”

“Nonsense,” he leans in, presses his lips just below her jaw, and sucks gently, until her skin blooms under his mouth. “That count?”

She sighes, eyes bright. “Maybe a—”

But before she can finish, a toilet flushes in a nearby stall, and the sound freezes them both. Their eyes meet instantly, making them laugh at the timing, the kind of laughter that shakes their shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Oscar lets his head fall against hers, grinning like a fool. “Fuck,” he whispers, “Thank you for… this.”

“Team effort,” she says, placing a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth, sweet like a promise. “When do you leave?”

Oscar lifts a brow. “Why? Miss me already?”

The girl rolls her eyes with a small snort. “Just curious.”

He looks in her direction suspiciously as they try to fix their clothes in silence, still buzzing with the weight of everything that just happened inside the small space. Her fingers tremble slightly as she smooths her skirt, and Oscar’s watching her in the mirror, eyes soft but studying.

Maybe she does. Maybe it’s stupid, but the thought of waking up tomorrow and not having this gnaws at her more than she wants to admit. Because suddenly, the night feels like it’s slipping away too fast, and she doesn’t know how to ask for more without sounding like she’s asking for too much.

Oscar can feel the switch in her behavior, and before she can reach for the door handle, he steps closer, stopping her.

“Hey,” he says in a gentle voice, almost like he’s trying not to scare the thought from her mind.

She looks up, and before she can say anything, he kisses her. Soft and lazy and sweet and with no rush. Nothing like before. His lips move slowly over hers, and he exhales into her mouth like he’s been holding his breath. His tongue brushes hers with such delicate care that makes her knees weak all over again.

When they finally part, she’s breathless in a whole new way.

“If, God forbid, you do end up missing me,” he teases lightly, but he sounds so honest, “I’d like to see you again.” He hesitates, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to hers. “Not just for… you know,” he says, heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, that was woah! But, you know.”

She smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’d like that, too,” she agrees. “Now let’s go back. Logan probably thinks we’re fucking in here.”

Oscar looks at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably?” he repeats.

“Well,” she shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet his, “He’s a smart cookie, and Miami heat does tend to enhance the senses.”

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[butchniqabi]

Situations where you exhibited cruelty?

I don’t know if it would be cruelty, but anger, rage, certain desires that would have never exhibited in my brother. There was a moment when I was 15 — I’ve been trying to articulate this for so long, and your question is putting me down the slippery slope. I’ve been trying to articulate it, because it’s important, but I’ve been ashamed. People ask me, why did you become a writer? I give the answer that makes sense: I went to Pace University, I tried business school because I wanted to help my mother. I couldn’t do it, and I went to Brooklyn College and to an English department, and then I became a writer. That’s not untrue, although I don’t know if it’s honest, and your question is now bringing me to this idea of cruelty and goodness. There was this one event when I was 15 that I think altered the course of my life, although at that time it was not an epiphanic moment. But the desire to be a writer probably started with the desire to commit myself to understanding suffering. What was the moment?

I’m trying to be eloquent. I don’t know if I will be. I’ll say it first, then describe it. When I was 15, I decided to kill somebody. Oh, my God.

I didn’t do it. Ah, my God. [Long pause.] I was working on the tobacco farm, and I rode my bike every day. It was five miles out. You wake up at 6 in the morning. I rode my bike, and I went to work mostly with migrant farmers. You’d get paid under the table, and if you show up every day, you get a $1,000 bonus at the end of the season. It was this hot July evening. I was in my room and I look out the window and see that someone has stolen my bike. It was someone I knew in our neighborhood. He was a drug dealer. You would put your bike outside on the stoop when you’re running in and out, and this guy was known to grab your bike, and there’s nothing you could do about it. But I snapped that day. I saw him, and I was so angry, because I knew: I’m not going to get this back, I’m going to lose my $1,000. For context: My mom made $13,000. I go outside and say, “Give me back my bike.” And essentially he said, “Eff off.” I lost it. I went across the street to my friend Big Joe’s house. I knocked on his window. I remember putting both of my hands on the windowsill. I have no shirt on. I’m sweating, I’m so angry, and I said, “Please let me borrow your gun.” [Vuong begins to cry.] I’m so sorry. Can I give you a hug? [Vuong and I embrace.] I appreciate that you’re being honest, but if it’s too much, we can stop. OK?

I think what I’m trying to get at is that I didn’t become an author to have a photo in the back of a book. Writing became a medium for me to try to understand what goodness is. Because when I was begging my friend, “Please give me your gun,” he said: “Ocean, I’m not going to do that. You need to go home.” What was so touching to me is that I was not responsible for that. Someone else’s better sense saved me.

[ssahotchnerr]

okay but when the team actually starts calling the reader and aaron mom and dad behind their backs and one day someone lets it slip out in front of them??

i just… aaron’s reaction?????

the parentals

i love this dynamic SO MUCH cw; fem!bau!reader, established relationship, fluff <3

as you and aaron entered the bullpen, you were both quick to notice the others huddled around spencer's desk, surely for a new session of physics magic.

a smile immediately twitched at aaron's lips, tossing you a mischievous look. as long as it didn't make a mess, or a disruption - per his and reid's previous discussions - he really didn't mind the recurring demonstrations.

but would he ever miss an opportunity to get the blood rushing in this scenario - never.

"be nice." you teased, laughing softly under your breath as you followed him over.

"i'm always nice." aaron playfully insisted, those brown eyes flickering in that way that just melted your heart. "what do you mean?"

"better be careful," emily's warning came into earshot as you neared, completely oblivious to the two of you - the timing just perfect. "or else dad's gonna ground you."

aaron's expression quirked at the title, his eyebrows lightly furrowing.

"oh please," spencer said, his fingers making quick work of whatever the experiment happened to be. "he's too busy with mom-"

jj's eyes happened to lift right at mom, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately choked back a laugh. some horror timidly filled her eyes, and she didn't cover up her sound too adequately. it caused the others to instantly look up too, and freeze.

"busted." jj mumbled, her gaze finding the ground.

aaron's smile resurfaced, crossing his arms. his tone was playful, yet confused and utterly amused nonetheless. "dad?"

spencer flushed. "uh..."

"oh c'mon. cut the crap." emily interrupted with an eye roll, looking between the two of you. "like it's not shocking at this point. just look at what the two of you were about to do, lecture us-"

"hey no," with a laugh you cut in, arching an eyebrow. "i don't lecture."

"exactly. he does," emily crossed her arms also with a smitten smirk - her point thoroughly exhibited. "you're the flexible one. see, mom and dad."

"i always thought rossi was dad." aaron expressed openly, a small chuckle shaking through his chest.

"no, you were always dad," jj shook her head, "rossi was mom, until," once again, her eyes found yours, smiling softly this time. "until someone else came around, and took on the role wholeheartedly."

you grinned, exchanging a quick, loving glance with aaron. "what's dave now, then?"

"old."