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tobiosbbyghorl · 1 day ago

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Hoodie Thief | psh 🔞

pairing: roommate!sunghoon x reader

You weren’t sure when it became a habit—stealing Park Sunghoon’s hoodies. Maybe it was the night you came home late from a party, heels in one hand and a headache blooming behind your eyes, and he tossed you his oversized black one without even looking up from his laptop. Or maybe it was because they always smelled faintly of cinnamon and clean laundry, like comfort itself.

Whatever the reason, you were wearing one again. This time it was gray, soft, and swallowed you whole. Sunghoon was seated on the living room floor, laptop open, knees drawn up, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he squinted at some code on the screen.

“You know,” he said, voice casual but laced with amusement, “at this point, I’m not even sure which hoodies are mine anymore.”

You sank onto the couch beside him, tugging the sleeve over your hand. “Well, technically, they’re community property now. Roommate rules.”

“That so?” he asked, glancing up at you over the rim of his glasses. His eyes lingered on your frame, his gaze unhurried as it dropped to the hoodie you wore. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You tried not to grin, but your cheeks betrayed you. “Flattery, Park?”

“Observation,” he replied smoothly, returning to his screen.

The teasing between you two had always been like this slow, drawn-out, never quite tipping over the edge. He’d brush past you in the kitchen, hand resting on your lower back just a second too long. You’d find excuses to fix his crooked tie when he got ready for class presentations, fingers grazing his collarbone just because. The tension was a thread stretched taut but never snapped.

You leaned in slightly, your knee pressing lightly against his. “You know what would really seal the roommate bond?”

He raised a brow, not looking up. “What’s that?”

“You letting me keep this one,” you said, tugging at the hoodie like it was a prize.

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a smirk, subtle and dangerous. He closed his laptop slowly, setting it aside.

“That depends,” he said, voice low, “on what I get in return.”

Your breath caught, but your smile didn’t falter. “Oh? You charging a fee now?”

He shifted just a little closer, the space between your knees gone. “Just thinking… maybe you owe me dinner. Or..” his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up “a study session. You, me, one of my hoodies, and absolutely no distractions.”

You huffed a laugh. “Sounds like a trap.”

“Maybe.” He leaned in a fraction. “But I think you’d look good in all of them. Might as well make it official.”

Your fingers played with the drawstring of the hoodie, heartbeat ticking just a little faster.

“We’re still talking about clothes, right?”

He gave you a look. “Sure.”

But neither of you moved. The line was still there drawn faintly in the space between your breaths, in the ghost of his smile. And maybe it would stay there a while longer.

Maybe not.

You had one rule living with Sunghoon: do not thirst after your roommate.

It was a rule you followed diligently. Mostly. Despite the flirty banter and hoodie theft, you’d never crossed that line—because he never gave you the chance to. He was always in those oversized hoodies and loose sweats, glasses low on his nose, hair constantly ruffled like he just rolled out of bed (which, annoyingly, made him even hotter). His appeal was subtle—nerdy, quiet, maddeningly soft.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for what you walked in on that Wednesday afternoon.

You pushed open the apartment door mid-call, rambling into your phone, “I swear if he left his ramen bowls in the sink again, I’m gonna—”

And then you stopped.

Dead in your tracks.

Sunghoon was in the living room. Not in a hoodie. Not in any sort of baggy fabric, actually. Instead, he was standing in front of the open window, sipping water from a bottle, wearing a black tank top that hugged his toned chest and grey sweatpants that did dangerous things to your attention span.

He looked over when he heard you, and the way his biceps flexed slightly as he twisted the cap back on the bottle had you gripping your phone like a lifeline.

“Oh. Hey,” he said casually, like he wasn’t currently breaking the internet. “You’re home early.”

You blinked. Your phone beeped. You’d accidentally hung up.

“I—yeah.” You were proud you even managed words. “I… am.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow as he walked over, towel slung around his neck. He was glistening slightly—post-workout, apparently—and his hair was a little damp.

“I was just finishing a quick workout. Didn’t think you’d be back for another hour,” he said, stepping past you to grab something from the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you squeaked, eyes very much not okay as they followed the flex of his back muscles beneath the thin tank top.

He looked like a completely different person. Still nerdy. Still Sunghoon. Just… cursed with forearms now.

You finally tore your gaze away and flopped onto the couch like your soul had left your body. “I’m fine. Totally normal. Regular day. You just—uh—changed your outfit game without warning.”

He smirked as he opened the fridge. “What, the hoodie empire falling apart for you?”

“I just wasn’t expecting…” You gestured vaguely in his direction, cheeks heating. “That.”

Sunghoon leaned against the counter and quirked a brow. “You mean the tank top? Didn’t know it would have such an effect.”

You glared. “It doesn’t.”

He crossed the room slowly, stopping right in front of you. “Your face is red.”

“I’m warm.”

He bent down slightly, his face hovering closer to yours. “You want me to go change back into a hoodie?”

You swallowed. Your hands were very much not behaving, already fisting the hem of his tank like they had a mind of their own. You weren’t even sure when you’d stood up. His scent—clean sweat, citrus, and something entirely him—was clouding your judgment.

“Don’t,” you said quietly, fingers still clutching his shirt.

He looked down at where you were touching him, then back up at you, his voice lower. “You sure?”

That line—the one you two danced around for months—was right there. So close. So fragile.

You looked up at him, heart racing. “No. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to cross it.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, then your hand. And when he leaned in just slightly, the heat between you burned bright and slow, like something inevitable finally unraveling.

Since the tank top incident, something changed.

No, scratch that—Sunghoon changed.

The very next day, he emerged from his room wearing another fitted black tee. Not a hoodie. Not even a crewneck. It clung to his chest just enough to make you pause mid-bite of your cereal, spoon hovering in the air like gravity forgot to exist.

You thought it might be a one-time thing, but the days kept coming—and so did the outfits. Sunghoon in slim joggers, Sunghoon in soft, clingy tees that rolled up just slightly at the arms, Sunghoon walking around the kitchen post-shower with a towel slung around his shoulders and that same tank top clinging to his skin like it had no shame.

He was weaponizing himself. There was no other explanation.

And worse? He knew.

“Laundry day?” you asked innocently one morning, nodding toward the fitted navy tee he wore as he poured coffee into two mugs.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, setting a mug in front of you. “Nope. Just thought I’d mix it up. You don’t mind, do you?”

You took the mug and muttered, “Not even a little bit.”

He chuckled, brushing past you to grab something from the fridge, his hand grazing your waist in that way he did sometimes—just long enough to leave sparks behind.

It kept happening. His touches were still subtle—always plausible, never overt—but now they lingered. His hand on your back as you reached for a mug. Fingers brushing yours when you both reached for the remote. His knee pressed against yours on the couch and never moving away.

And you? You were slowly unraveling.

That Sunday night, it nearly broke you.

You came out of your room, sleepy and disoriented, in search of water. The apartment was dim, quiet, save for the soft hum of music from the living room.

And there he was.

Sunghoon, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, wearing a white tank top and black sweatpants, hair slightly damp, fingers tapping lazily on his laptop.

You paused in the doorway like some unprepared victim in a slow-burn romcom.

He looked up and saw you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Mmhm,” you managed, forcing your legs to move. You grabbed a glass of water, hoping the cold would slap some sense back into you.

“C’mere,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Why?”

He patted the floor beside him. “Just sit. You look like you’re one hoodie away from losing it.”

You hesitated, then walked over and lowered yourself beside him. Close enough that your thighs touched. Of course.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you muttered.

He didn’t look away from his screen. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured at him with a wave of your hand. “The… arms. The fitted shirts. The lack of hoodies. I’m barely hanging on here, and you’re out here being a thirst trap with glasses.”

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh—quiet, amused. He finally looked at you, and his eyes were dangerous in the low light.

“You’re the one who kept stealing my hoodies,” he murmured, voice low and full of teasing. “I figured I’d give you something else to lose your mind over.”

You stared at him. “So you admit it.”

“Oh, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

Your heart was in your throat now, pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “And now?”

He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to your lips. “Still doing it.”

You should’ve kissed him. Should’ve dragged him down onto the floor and ruined the tension once and for all. But instead, you just exhaled, shaky, and leaned your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Just let you rest there, warm and solid.

And the line between you both?

Still unbroken. But trembling.

You decided it was time for revenge.

If Park Sunghoon was going to spend his days parading around in tank tops and fitted clothes like he didn’t know what he was doing to your sanity, then fine. Two could play this game.

So that’s how you found yourself in the living room on Saturday morning, casually stretching on the yoga mat in the center of the room—wearing nothing but one of his hoodies (slightly cropped from how you’d tucked it up) and tight Calvin Klein bike shorts that hugged you like a second skin.

You didn’t acknowledge his presence at first. Just stretched with exaggerated slowness, arms over your head as the hoodie rose—high enough to show off the sliver of your waist and the underside of your chest with every movement.

You knew he was watching. He was always up by now, usually making his precious pour-over coffee in the kitchen. And sure enough, you heard it—the shift of the kettle, the sudden clatter of a spoon, and then silence.

You smirked to yourself as you leaned forward in a deep stretch, back arching just slightly, your position giving him a full view of your curves.

“Didn’t know you were up,” you said sweetly, still not turning around.

“I—I wasn’t,” came his voice from behind you. Rough. Caught off guard. Like he’d swallowed air wrong. “I mean—I just woke up.”

You slowly straightened, finally glancing over your shoulder.

“Oh?” you blinked innocently, lips curling. “Hope I didn’t distract you.”

Sunghoon was standing by the counter, coffee mug forgotten in his hand, his gaze locked on you like you were an equation he couldn’t solve.

His hoodie on you was driving him insane—you could see it in the way his jaw ticked, in the way his eyes trailed down to your exposed waist and back up with a slow drag.

“New shorts?” he asked, voice notably lower.

You stretched your arms above your head again, feigning a yawn. “Mmhm. Comfortable, right?”

“They look…” He cleared his throat. “Tight.”

You smiled. “Flattering, you mean?”

He stepped closer, slowly, like his body was moving without permission.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” he murmured.

You turned fully to face him now, still sitting on your knees, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “I’m just stretching, Sunghoon.”

He stared at you, and something flickered in his eyes—like he was this close to crossing that line you’d both danced around for months.

Then he leaned down, just slightly, meeting your gaze head-on.

“If I lose my mind,” he whispered, “just know it’s your fault.”

You tilted your head, heart thundering in your chest. “Who says you haven’t already?”

The tension was electric, heavy in the space between your lips.

But then, like always, it hovered. Close enough to taste—but not enough to break.

Not yet

Sunghoon exhaled, straightened, and turned back to his coffee like nothing happened.

And you?

You grinned, wicked and satisfied.

Game on.

It was late. Past midnight. The kind of quiet that only happened when the city slept and the apartment dimmed into that safe cocoon of shadows and soft hums.

You hadn’t meant to test fate tonight. You were just thirsty, literally. Woke up parched and wandered into the kitchen half-asleep, wearing one of Sunghoon’s zip-up hoodies. No shorts. No bra. Just that oversized hoodie zipped halfway, loose and dangerously low from tossing and turning in bed.

You were barefoot. Hair messy. Eyes squinting at the fridge light as you grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed you.

Sunghoon stood frozen by the hallway, bathed in low light, eyes glued to you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And maybe he couldn’t. Because the zipper of his hoodie had slipped just a little lower—low enough to reveal the swell of your bare chest, the delicate dip of your waist, your skin glowing under the fridge’s light like you were meant to be seen in that moment.

You turned, bottle at your lips, and jumped when you saw him.

“Shit—you scared me,” you laughed softly, not thinking, not realizing what you looked like yet.

But Sunghoon didn’t laugh.

He just stared.

His voice came low. Tense.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

You blinked. Finally glanced down.

Oh.

Your heart skipped. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I just came out for water, I didn’t think anyone was—”

He stepped closer.

Each step slow. Controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back and losing the battle by the second.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he said, voice rough, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wearing my hoodies. Stealing my space. Touching me like you know I want more.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening on the bottle. “Sunghoon—”

“You come out here,” he went on, “dressed like that… at midnight… looking like that—and you still expect me to stay quiet?”

You stepped back instinctively, but you hit the counter.

He kept walking.

Now he was right in front of you, towering, chest rising and falling fast. One hand braced against the counter beside your waist, the other hovering just an inch from the zipper hanging so precariously low on your chest.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I think I do now,” you whispered, breath shallow.

His fingers finally touched the zipper. Tugged it just enough for your breath to hitch. Not fully unzipping—just a threat. Just a taste of the danger you’d both tiptoed around for too long.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely more than a growl.

But you didn’t.

You tilted your chin, met his gaze, and whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

That was it.

The line you drew? Gone.

He crashed into you like the tension had been a match waiting for a spark—hands gripping your waist, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was months in the making. Hot. Desperate. Hungry.

And you kissed him back like you’d been holding your breath for this exact moment.

The hoodie slipped.

The water bottle hit the floor.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon finally stopped pretending.

Your back hit the kitchen counter with a soft thud, the cool surface contrasting the fire suddenly burning under your skin.

Sunghoon’s hands were on your waist, sliding under the hoodie like he’d been dying to touch you. His mouth was still on yours, tongue teasing, devouring every gasp and moan that spilled from your lips like he needed them to breathe.

And then—he pulled back just a little.

His eyes dropped to the hoodie, to the way it barely clung to your shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it. His fingers caught the zipper again, this time pulling it all the way down.

The fabric parted.

His breath hitched.

“No bra,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice husky and ragged.

You watched the way his eyes darkened—like something snapped completely inside him.

He dipped his head instantly, lips ghosting down your throat. “You’re so unfair,” he groaned, mouth brushing your collarbone. “You know I have a thing for boobs.”

You gasped out a breathy laugh, hand tangling in his hair. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Well,” he murmured, kissing down the swell of your chest, “you do now.”

And then his mouth was there—hot and open and obsessed, worshipping every inch he could reach. His hands cupped you, thumbs brushing gently, then firmly, then teasing—his lips trailing lazy, wet kisses across your skin like he’d been starved and this was his first meal.

You moaned, soft and high, hips shifting against the counter as he sucked lightly at a sensitive spot. His fingers gripped your thighs, dragging you closer, so your knees spread around his hips and you were fully pinned, fully his.

“God, Sunghoon,” you whispered, breathless.

He looked up at you from your chest, eyes blown wide, lips red and swollen.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “I’ve been dying to do this since the first time you walked out of your room in my clothes. You were always just... there, tempting me, touching me, looking at me like that.”

You swallowed hard, your hands now sliding under his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his torso. “Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to cross the line,” he said, kissing you again—deep, slow, possessive. “But baby… you broke it first.”

His lips were back on your chest before you could respond, sucking and kissing like he was making up for lost time, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every sound you made. The hoodie slipped off your shoulders entirely now, pooling behind you on the counter.

And he made no move to stop.

Not when your head fell back.

Not when your thighs tightened around his waist.

Not when you whimpered his name, and he groaned like it was the only thing he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

Sunghoon’s mouth was obsessed—hungry, slow, and dangerously focused.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses across your chest, dragging his tongue deliberately over the soft swell of your breast before closing his lips around your nipple. He groaned at the contact, deep and guttural, like he’d finally gotten the one thing he’d been fantasizing about for months.

“Fuck, I knew they’d feel this good,” he muttered between kisses, hand splaying over your waist to keep you close. “I think about them way too much.”

You gasped, arching your back as his tongue flicked and swirled, switching sides with a low, satisfied sound. His hand moved to cup your other breast, thumb brushing over the peak, and when he sucked again—harder this time—you nearly lost it.

“S-Sunghoon—”

“I’m not stopping,” he mumbled against your skin. “Not when you look like this… sound like that.”

He licked back up the valley between your breasts, teeth grazing lightly. “You wore this hoodie knowing I’d see you, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when his mouth was doing sinful things to you.

He chuckled darkly. “No bra. Just this. Like you wanted me to snap.”

And then, without warning, his hands were under your thighs—lifting you off the counter like you weighed nothing.

You gasped and instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hoodie falling completely off in the motion. His grip tightened under you, fingers digging into your skin as he walked you down the hall, kissing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone with reckless affection.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your ear. “No more teasing. No more pretending.”

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, not bothering to turn on the lights, letting the soft glow from the hallway bathe you both in shadow.

The second your back hit the bed, he was over you again—pressing hot kisses down your chest, your ribs, your stomach.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging, anchoring yourself as his lips found your breast again, sucking harder this time. His hips rolled against yours with just enough friction to make you whimper his name.

“I love these,” he murmured like a confession, voice low and rough as he licked across your nipple. “I could spend hoursright here.”

You arched under him, heat pooling deep in your core. “Then do it,” you whispered, eyes wild and breathless.

He looked up at you through his lashes, smirk tugging at the corner of his kiss-swollen lips.

“Say less.”

And he did.

He kissed his way down, took his time, made sure every inch of you knew just how badly he’d wanted this. Every flick of his tongue, every bite, every graze of his teeth was slow and sinful and filled with months of held-back tension that was now unraveling between the sheets.

Your breaths turned to moans.

Moans to gasps.

And gasps into pleas.

By the time he finally stripped you bare and joined you in the sheets, it wasn’t just about want—it was about need. About all the nights you brushed hands in the kitchen, the mornings you wore his hoodies, the way his eyes always lingered just a second too long.

He took his time, but when he moved inside you for the first time, slow and deep, both of you lost all words—just soft curses, broken kisses, and the kind of moans that only came from finally, finally giving in.

And still, even in the heat of it all—his hands found their way back to your chest, mouth pressing against your skin like he was claiming it.

“Mine,” he breathed against your skin. “All fucking mine.”

The sheets were tangled around your legs, your skin warm and slick, heart still racing from the first time. You lay there in the dark, chest rising and falling fast, trying to catch your breath—trying to process what just happened.

But Sunghoon… he didn’t move much.

He hovered just above you, gaze roaming over your flushed face, your swollen lips, your body stretched beneath him like a dream. His hand was on your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin, but his eyes kept dipping back down to your chest—still heaving, glistening faintly with sweat.

“You okay?” he asked softly, a slight rasp in his voice.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Very okay.”

He smiled, just a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes—not because he wasn’t happy, but because the look on his face said something else entirely:

He wasn’t done.

Not even close.

His fingers slid up your waist, brushing between the valley of your breasts before he leaned down again, placing a kiss just above your sternum.

You sighed softly, running your fingers through his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, mouth trailing down again. “I’m not over these.”

He kissed one breast, then the other—soft, slow, reverent.

“You’ve already had your fun,” you teased, voice low.

He looked up at you, eyes dark. “Yeah. Once. That’s not enough.”

Before you could respond, he wrapped his lips around your nipple again, sucking gently—then deeper, hungrier—until your back arched right off the bed and a soft cry slipped from your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together.

He smirked against your skin.

“Still sensitive?” he asked, fingers ghosting down your hips.

You barely managed a nod. “Yes. But also… don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers teasing, already finding you wet again—still soaked for him. He groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. You’re unreal.”

You whimpered when his fingers dipped inside you, slow and precise, the pads of them curling just right while his mouth stayed fixed on your chest—licking, sucking, marking you.

You were already unraveling again, body twitching under his touch.

“Sunghoon,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet every movement. “Please—”

He kissed up to your neck, whispering against your ear. “You want me again?”

“God, yes.”

He kissed your jaw. “Then get on top.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to see you,” he murmured. “Wanna see those pretty tits bounce while I’m inside you.”

Your breath caught. You scrambled to climb over him, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest as he looked up at you like you were a fucking goddess.

His hands slid up your thighs, settling at your hips before he guided you down slowly—inch by inch—until he was fully inside you again.

The both of you gasped.

You rocked your hips once—experimentally—and his head fell back against the pillows, jaw clenched.

“Just like that,” he groaned. “Keep going. Fuck, ride me, baby.”

You did.

You moved with him, chasing that dizzy, desperate high all over again, and he watched everything—his hands never leaving your waist or your breasts, gripping and teasing and obsessing the way he had since the very start.

Every time your hips met his, you felt yourself melt further—into the heat, into the rhythm, into him.

And when you came again, clenched around him with a cry of his name, he followed soon after—hands gripping your ass, thrusting up deep one last time as he spilled into you with a shudder and a curse.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you shaking, breathless, spent.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight, still inside you, still warm and pulsing and wrecked.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

But when you finally looked up at him, messy hair in your face, cheeks flushed—

He just smirked and whispered, “Still stealing my hoodies after this?”

You smiled, slow and sweet. “Every single one.”

Your legs still trembled, curled over his hips, when Sunghoon gently kissed your temple.

“You did so good,” he murmured into your hair, voice worn raw and honey-sweet. “But I think you need a bath, baby.”

You groaned something incoherent against his shoulder. “I need new legs.”

He chuckled, low and breathless, then slid his arms under you again. Without warning, he stood—effortlessly lifting you bridal-style, your bare body pressed against his chest, the hoodie still tangled somewhere in the sheets.

“Sunghoon—” you squeaked.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your forehead as he padded toward the bathroom. “I’ve got you.”

The bathroom lights were dim—just the warm ambient glow of the under-counter lighting—and the air was already humid by the time he knelt by the tub, one arm still keeping you close while the other twisted the knobs.

Warm water started to fill the space, steam curling up like the start of something sacred.

He set you on the edge of the tub gently and leaned over to pour in something from a bottle—lavender and vanilla, by the smell—and you just sat there watching him, dazed and still pulsing between your legs.

Sunghoon looked up at you from under his lashes, hair messy and lips swollen. “You okay?”

You nodded, still breathless. “You’re… ridiculous.”

He smirked. “You’ve said that twice now.”

“I mean it more this time.”

When the tub was full, he helped you in first, easing your body into the water, then slid in behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His hands roamed lazily—down your arms, around your waist, fingers playing just beneath the surface.

And then his lips pressed to your shoulder.

You tilted your head slightly. “You’re not gonna let me relax, are you?”

He nipped gently at your neck. “I was trying to. You’re the one pressing that pretty ass against me.”

You grinned, hips shifting just enough to hear him hiss.

“Okay,” he growled, arms tightening around your waist. “That’s it.”

He turned you gently in the water until you were facing him, your thighs straddling his lap again beneath the surface. The heat of the water mixed with the slow burn returning in your gut. His chest glistened, wet and warm under your hands.

You dragged your palms up his torso slowly, admiring the cut of his collarbone, the sharp lines of his pecs. Then, without warning, you leaned down and pressed your lips just above his heart.

Sunghoon inhaled sharply.

Your teeth grazed him lightly, followed by your tongue, and then your mouth again—sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

He groaned, head falling back against the edge of the tub. “Fuck.”

You licked across the red blotch, then moved a few inches over and did it again. His fingers gripped your hips beneath the water now, holding you in place, twitching slightly with every kiss you left on his chest.

“You like when I mark you up, don’t you?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “You have no idea how hot that is.”

You kissed lower, right over his sternum. “Wanna be covered in them?”

His breath hitched. “Only if I get to return the favor.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, eyes wicked. “Then you better sit still.”

You kept going—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into suckling marks across his chest, down the dip of his abs, making sure every moan he gave you echoed off the tiled walls.

And when you finally shifted your hips and sank down onto him again—warm, wet, slick from water and need—he nearly lost it.

“God, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, head falling forward, forehead resting against yours.

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as you rode him again—slow this time, deliberately teasing, your hands braced on his shoulders as you whispered sinful little things into his ear and left even more hickeys along his collarbones.

You were in no rush.

You both dragged it out—bodies tangled under the water, teeth grazing skin, low moans bouncing off the foggy mirrors—until he gripped your ass and came with a deep, guttural sound, burying his face into your shoulder.

You followed with a soft gasp, body trembling for the third time, mouth pressed to his neck as your nails dug into his back.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You just sat there, still connected, chests rising and falling together, bathwater lukewarm and covered in steam.

Then Sunghoon kissed your cheek and whispered, hoarse and completely blissed out, “You’re never getting this hoodie back.”

The water had cooled enough to make you both shiver a little. Sunghoon noticed first, of course. He always did.

“Okay,” he murmured against your temple. “Up you go, pretty girl.”

You were barely responsive, dazed and boneless in his lap, but you let out a tiny hum as he helped you stand, the water cascading down both your bodies.

He stepped out after you and grabbed one of the oversized towels from the rack. Without a word, he wrapped it around your body from behind, tucking the edges carefully under your arms before pulling you into his chest, your back flush against his warmth.

You felt his lips press to your shoulder, featherlight.

“I should probably dry you off,” he said softly. “But I just wanna hold you for a minute.”

You melted into him instantly, eyes fluttering closed, head resting against his collarbone. “Mmm. You smell good.”

He laughed under his breath. “You smell like me. That’s my body wash.”

“And your hoodie.”

“Exactly. You’re basically mine now.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Basically?”

His grip on your waist tightened, just enough to make you feel it.

“Unless you’ve got a reason not to be,” he said, voice low, sincere.

You didn’t answer him right away—not with words. You turned around in his arms and wrapped your own around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Not frantic this time. Just soft and warm and unhurried, your lips moving with his like they already belonged there.

When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “No reason.”

That made him smile—wide and genuine. “Good.”

He reached for another towel and gently ran it over your legs, your arms, drying you with care. When he reached your chest, he hesitated—smirked—and kissed the bruised skin reverently before patting it dry.

“Still my favorite part,” he mumbled.

“Such a menace.”

Once you were dry, he carried you—again—to the bed, laying you down gently. He tugged on a soft sleep shirt and boxers for himself, then rummaged around until he found a clean hoodie.

He paused.

“You wanna wear this?” he asked, holding it up.

You sat up on your elbows. “Thought you said I wasn’t getting your hoodies anymore.”

“I lied. You can have all of them.”

He pulled it over your head, helping you into it like you were made of glass, then kissed your forehead before climbing in beside you and tugging you against his chest.

It was quiet for a while, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.

His fingers traced slow lines down your spine beneath the hoodie. “You tired?”

You nodded, mumbling into his neck. “A little.”

“Wanna sleep?”

You shrugged. “Kind of.”

He shifted slightly, his thigh slipping between yours, his hand settling low on your waist—dangerously close to temptation again.

You tilted your head and whispered, “Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…”

He tensed a little, worried. “What?”

You grinned sleepily. “But I’m definitely stealing another hoodie tomorrow.”

He laughed, pulling you in closer until your leg was hooked around his hip and your bodies pressed flush again.

“I’ll just take my revenge in the morning,” he murmured against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Round four, babe. You better stretch.”

You woke up to the feel of warmth—heavy, solid, draped entirely around you.

Sunghoon’s chest was pressed to your back, one arm tucked under your neck like a pillow, the other curled tightly around your waist. His hoodie was oversized on you, but your bare legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, and you were acutely aware of something hard nudging against the curve of your ass.

You blinked slowly, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Sunghoon,” you murmured sleepily.

He groaned low in his throat, face buried in your hair. “Mmnn?”

“Are you…?”

Another sleepy shift. The thick press of him grinding instinctively against your backside made your breath hitch. You froze, and he stilled too.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice hoarse with sleep. “Sorry—morning wood. Can’t help it.”

You smirked. “I’m not exactly complaining.”

He laughed quietly, but you felt his hips rock against you again, slower this time, deliberate. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck. “You’re evil. You know that, right?”

You rolled your hips just slightly, teasing, letting the hem of his hoodie ride up your thighs as you pressed back into him.

“Me?” you whispered, feigning innocence. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

Sunghoon growled softly and rolled you onto your back, slipping between your legs in one fluid motion. The bulge in his boxers pressed right against your center now, only the thin fabric separating you.

“You’re really gonna keep playing in my hoodie, no panties,” he said, eyes dark with hunger, “and act like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted. “I just like how it smells.”

His jaw clenched, and the way his hips bucked forward told you everything.

“Yeah?” he rasped, leaning in close, lips brushing yours. “You like how I smell?”

You nodded, one hand slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie to palm at his lower abs. “You smell like sex. Like me.”

His breath hitched.

You slid your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around him slowly. He was hot, hard, twitching against your palm.

“Baby…” he warned.

But you stroked him gently, thumb brushing his tip.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Since you’re already awake…”

He didn’t need any more convincing.

With one hand, he pulled his boxers down just enough. The other hand slid your hoodie up to your waist, revealing the soaked mess between your thighs.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes fixated. “Wet already, just from waking up next to me.”

You smirked. “You’re not exactly subtle with that thing pressed against me all night.”

He pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, slowly easing in. You both gasped—your body already welcoming him, warm and wet and soft around him.

His hands slid under your thighs, pushing them up, pressing your knees to your chest so he could sink deeper. The stretch was dizzying.

“Fuck, baby—” he whispered, biting his lip. “You feel unreal like this.”

Your nails scraped at his back, your head falling back against the pillows as he rocked into you with lazy, morning hunger. Deep, slow strokes. No rush. Just the steady rhythm of his body pushing into yours, skin slapping softly, lips finding each other in between gasps.

“You always gonna wake me up like this?” he asked, voice ragged.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Only if you keep wearing those boxers.”

His laugh turned into a groan as he thrust harder, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth again—his hips relentless now, chasing that high you both knew was coming quick.

You moaned into his neck, legs wrapping around his waist.

And when you came—again—Sunghoon held you through it, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough, like you were still wearing his hoodie and nothing else for the rest of his life.

Because maybe you would.

You sat across from him at the little breakfast table, legs tucked under you, hoodie still slipping off one shoulder. Sunghoon had his fork in his hand, but his eyes were not—absolutely not—on the eggs.

They were on you.

Specifically, the way his hoodie dipped low across your chest every time you leaned forward to take a bite.

You bit into your toast slowly, watching his gaze drop. Again.

And then smirked. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “You’re teasing.”

You feigned innocence, licking a crumb off your lower lip. “I’m just eating breakfast.”

He tilted his head, squinting at you. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You leaned forward on your elbows just a little more—enough that the neckline of the hoodie dipped a few extra inches, revealing the bare curve underneath.

“What, this?” you said, blinking up at him sweetly. “The hoodie rides low. Not my fault.”

Sunghoon visibly swallowed, dropping his fork. “Babe…”

You tilted your head. “What?”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

You pretended to think. “Or maybe I’m just making it fair. You parade around in that tank top for two days and I can’t even exist in a hoodie without you getting handsy.”

He groaned. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“You’ve got your boobs out.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “I do not—they’re just slightly visible.”

“Slightly? I can see half the damn thing.”

You giggled and reached for your coffee, watching him glare at the mug like it personally offended him by hiding your cleavage.

“You really have a thing for them, huh?” you teased.

He didn’t even blink. “I admitted that last night. Several times.”

You raised a brow. “And during the bath.”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “And yet I still haven’t gotten enough.”

You licked your spoon slowly. “Poor baby.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He pushed his plate aside, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stood up and walked over to your side of the table.

You blinked up at him, all feigned innocence again. “What are you doing?”

He leaned down, both hands on the arms of your chair, trapping you.

“Letting you know,” he whispered, eyes dropping to the neckline of your hoodie again, “that if you keep teasing me like this, you’re not gonna finish that coffee.”

You raised your chin. “Bold of you to assume I wanted to.”

He huffed out a laugh, biting his lip. “You’re evil.”

You tugged on the front of the hoodie, dipping the zipper just a little lower. “And you’re obsessed.”

“Completely.”

Then he dipped down, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you again—but instead, he buried his face between your boobs, groaning dramatically like a man who’d gone to heaven and back.

“Unbelievable,” you said, laughing breathlessly.

“Your fault,” he mumbled against your chest.

“You’re literally addicted.”

“I’d cancel all my meetings for this.”

You rolled your eyes, running your fingers through his hair. “One day, you’re gonna have to learn to behave.”

He tilted his head back just enough to smirk up at you, still nestled between your boobs.

“And one day,” he murmured, “you’re gonna have to accept that I never will.”

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12

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goorgeousz · 3 days ago

Text

overtime | aaron hotchner

18+

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!female!reader

summary: based on this request! hotch calls you into his office after hours about a missing report but you know the real reason behind it

content/tw: unprotected sex, p in v sex, office sex, semi-public sex, use of y/n, dom!hotch, sub!reader, hotch puts you on a headlock (sexually), choking (reader being choked),

word count:

a/n: this was supposed to be a porn without plot situation but I’m a whore for background story… anyway, thank you for submitting, my requests are open <3 I hope you enjoy it!

after hours au masterlist (aaron hotchner x reader series)

main masterlist

This had to come to an end.

This thing between you and Hotchner — whatever that was — had been going on for months now. The mutual pining, stolen glances, longing touches.

You liked it. At first, it was too subtle. The rush of trying to get a moment alone. The butterflies in your stomach not knowing if it was real or happening just in your head. ‘Did he want to touch my waist or was it an accident?’ ‘Did he get coffee for everyone else or was it just me?’ ‘Was he looking at my lips or I’m seeing things?’

But enough is enough. You were adults, for Christ’s sake. And even though the longing were fun and exciting, it had to come to an end, otherwise would be just torture. Fantasy.

You were stubborn, you’d admit it. But Aaron? That man was a fucking wall.

A few weeks ago, you thought he was going to break. It was a dinner party at Rossi’s. A lot of wine later, he offered to give you and JJ a ride. He let her home first, and you were alone in the car. Your dress had slipped up, you could see his eyes staring holes at your thighs from the driver seat. But as you waited for him to make the first move, he just parked and offered to walk you to the door, not even waiting for you to invite him to come in.

And then, in the last case you had, you felt him uneasy. He was shifting on his seat, fumbling with his fingers, his tie seemingly too tight, and he stared at you more than usual. Late at night, on the plane home, after everyone was asleep, you asked him what was wrong. He was nervous, but he was going to tell you. He really was. Finally. But the jet entered a turbulent area, and it woke everyone up. When you arrived, after packing your things to go home you went to talk to him again. Just the two of you. But the moment was gone, and he’d become distant again.

That’s when you decided: today was the day.

You didn’t typically wear tight outfits, or anything remotely short. Your day to day outfits were consistent: pants and a shirt. Maybe a sweater, maybe long skirts. You valued a good closet, choosing carefully your clothes — you loved feeling well dressed —, your goal to be the most comfortable possible.

But it was summer, and hotter than usual. You didn’t think much of it, just picking that dress because it was possibly the only item you owned that wouldn’t overheat you. It wasn’t anything inappropriate, really. Just not what you usually went for.

It was a tight dress, stopping mid thigh, with a v-neck and ¾ sleeves. Nothing fancy, but it hugged your curves just right. You felt beautiful walking out, but you didn’t think people would notice it.

Man, were you wrong.

It started with Morgan, who playfully barked as soon as you walked into the bullpen. You laughed at him, playing and giving him a twirl. They all complimented you, and only then you realized you could use that to your advantage.

The team had a meeting, and you made sure to arrive early at the conference room, to be alone with Hotch and see if he would give you a reaction.

A reaction was given.

Hotch looked up from his papers when he heard your footsteps approaching the conference room. You smiled politely, greeted him with a good morning and grabbed a cup of coffee, making sure to spend as much time standing as possible.

More than seen, you felt his gaze on you. He looked at you like a man starved, not even bothering to greet you back. His eyes roamed your whole body, his breath hitching when you swayed your hips, walking slowly to sit next to him.

He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking at your chest, your breasts pushed together under the cleavage, making him thirsty. His eyes found yours, and you realized you had him.

Before anything could happen, Spencer and Emily walked into the room, followed a few minutes later by the rest of the team. The interruption didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned back, trying not to grin too wildly while he started the meeting, not so subtly averting his eyes from you.

…

It was a matter of time. You didn’t know when, you didn’t know how. But nonetheless, you knew.

Not even 10 minutes after, you got a text. Before you even got your phone, you knew it was coming.

From ‘Hotch’: Y/N, come to my office as soon as possible.

Feeling all too pleased with yourself, you chuckled and stood up, fixing your already perfectly smoothed dress, and climbed the stairs leading to Hotch’s office.

You knocked at the door and waited for a response. He authorized you to come in, his voice muffled by his soundproof walls.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked, managing to seem oblivious.

“Yes.” he nodded, grabbing one of the files at his table. “It’s about your paperwork.”

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, knowing damn right there was nothing wrong.

“Not with the ones you submit. There are a few reports missing.”

“Yes, I was going to do them tomorrow, when I’ll have more time. Since they’re too important, you know? Didn’t want to end up messing them up.” you explained, crossing your arms.

“I understand. But I’ll ask you to start doing those first.” you arched an eyebrow at that “It’s important to improve your production organization, just as much as the work itself. For example, if tomorrow we end up having a case, your focus should be on the case, not on the previous paper work. Even though there are only a few reports missing, they are the most relevant ones. So I suggest…” he interrupted his speech, clearly annoyed at you “I don’t see this is so funny, agent.”

“Sorry. I’m so sorry, sir.” you said, trying and failing miserably to suppress your grin. You didn’t even bother to sit.

This was ridiculous.

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at you.

“Care to explain?”

“It’s just that… I’m waiting for you to tell me the real reason you called me in here.” he looked dumbfounded at you.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not that what you’re saying isn’t important, it is. Very much so, I understand that. But you never told me about it. Not once, since I joined the team. I’ve always managed my paperwork just fine, never missed a report. Case or no case. And it didn’t affect my performance in the field, not in the slightest.” you explained, resting your hips at the back of the chair before you, glancing at him on the other side of the table.

“This is not true at all.” he said, fixing his tie. You laughed.

“It is. You know it.” he did. But he wasn’t ready to admit it. “So you called me in just to talk about my reports?”

“Precisely.”

“And you had to wait for everyone to leave to talk with me about my reports?” you got him.

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” at that you laughed.

“Come on, Hotch. I see you staring. You can’t keep your eyes up. You try to, I’ll give you that.”

“That’s a very serious accusation, agent.” he muttered.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m simply stating facts.” you sighed “It could be so much easier if you just admitted.”

“How so?” he didn’t deny, so you took it as a sign he was close.

“You and I both know what’s going on. And neither of us want to break first. But I know I don’t just speak for myself when I say it’s becoming unbearable.”

“I don’t know if I agree.” he said, but his voice sounded hoarse and his pupils dilated.

“Oh but you do.” your tone a mocking sweetness “I bet you spent hours just figuring out a way to call me here. Something reasonable enough so it would be pathetic. It didn’t worry, did it?”

“Are you calling your unit chief pathetic, agent” he arched an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m calling pathetic men who let pride stop themselves from getting what they truly want. Are you pathetic, sir?” you asked, blinking your eyelashes at him.

Whatever smile he may have vanished at that.

He sat up straight, his eyes darkening with something dangerous.

“Careful.” he warned, scolding.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. You thought this was over. It was starting to piss you off.

Any amusement you may have felt just vanished.

You were so over this. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was ridiculous, humiliating. This game you two were playing was long overdue.

That’s when you decided to give up. It was now or never.

“Fine, Hotch. Do you want me to leave?” you asked, looking at him blatantly, your emotions displayed openly in your eyes like they were a shining outdoor.

He hesitated.

That motherfucker.

Hotch looked at you in the eyes once more, deeply. Like he needed to confirm something before he chose his next move. Like a chess player. Pacient. Deliberate. Analytical. Whatever he was looking for, he found it. And he made his move.

“No.”

No.

How could a single, monosyllabic, two-letter word could carry the weight of the whole world?

One word that changed everything.

It was a crime. A sin. A dream.

Everything you ever wanted, but not nearly enough.

You really wanted to say you remember everything, every detail. But your mind must’ve blanked out, because you had no idea of how and when you moved, but the next second you were standing right next to each other.

His hands reach out to you to pull you closer, like you weren’t fast enough, and he needed you now. Out of all times, now. He held you by your waist, you gripped tightly on the lapels of his expensive suit. He stopped for a second. Without hesitation, but reverence. Like he wanted to savour every single detail of this, of you. You wanted too. Wanted to feel him, to see him.

To enjoy the last seconds of the before. Because after that, nothing would ever be the same.

Despite the strength of his grip, when he kissed you, it was gentle. Kind. Devoted. Like he waited long for this (he did). You hoped, dreamt, fantasized about it even. It didn’t even compare.

His lips were gentle, kind, steady. It grounded you, it brought you back to this moment. He tasted like coffee and mint. Weird on the paper, but felt like heaven. He kissed you languidly, like he wanted to devour you. Like he was starved, and you were his only saving. He was an expert – of course-. It was surprising but not really. He was so good at it, but again, he was good at everything.

His hands rested on your waist and on your lower back, touching you like you were his holy grail.

You pulled back slightly, just to look at him again. To check if this wasn’t another cruel joke of your mind, a fantasy developed by your subconscious to punish you for its lack of rest.

It wasn’t.

You smiled at him breathlessly, biting your lower lip in delight. You stared at his wet lips like they held the secret of life behind them. You tasted it, you knew what he felt like. It was sweet, caring, and beautiful. Something to tell your kids, your grandkids. But still, not enough.

So you leaned in again, hungrier this time. So determined he was caught by surprise, stumbling back a little. He held you tighter and balanced his stance. He hummed in delight, you swallowed the sound like it was water.

“God” you muttered between kisses, and you felt his lips turning into a smirk.

“Wrong.” he teased, racing his hand lower and gripping tightly on your hips. You hummed in satisfaction, gripping the hair on the back of his neck and pulling on it. He groaned, pressing you closer against him. “So pretty.” you chuckled.

“If I knew all it took was a tight old dress I would’ve worn it way sooner.” you teased, biting on his lower lip. He stiffened. His grip remained strong, but he wasn’t pulling you into him anymore.

“You think that’s what this is about? Your dress?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. He was confused, a bit worried even.

“You can’t fool me, I saw you staring.” you gave him a pointed look. He arched an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t get me wrong, I was. But this is not about your dress. Or none of your… attributes.” he said, glancing at your chest while sliding his hands to the curve of your ass. You held your breath unconsciously. “It’s about your eyes.”

Huh?

“What?” you managed, your voice hoarse. He smirked. The bastard. “The way you looked at me today. So determined. You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” He was right, of course.

Normally, you would’ve lied, teased. But the attentive gaze he held you under didn’t let you. He was so close, his brown eyes staring so deeply into yours that you knew you couldn’t lie to him. Even if you wanted to.

“Yes.” you breathed. His smirk only grew. “You knew it all along. Played me like a toy.”

“No, I- I wouldn’t say that…” you stuttered. He chuckled, amused. “Thought your little dress would make me crumble, right?” he teased, leaning in, his lips brushing your ear “I was already long gone. But nice try, sweetheart.” you moaned – actually, moaned – at the sound of his voice.

He could’ve laughed at you. He should’ve. Damn it, you would’ve laughed at yourself, if it wasn’t for the crushing desire burning you and all your moral thoughts inside out. But apparently, he was suffering just the same, because your moan just ignited something in him. Like a switch, his teasing demeanour vanished, taking its place an animalistic one. He wasn’t tasting you anymore. He was taking from you, taking everything you had to give him. Your lips, your teeths, your tongue. Oh, your tongue. He sucked on it, licked it, grazed his teeth along it. He played with it like a pro, and you were ready to cut it off and hand it to him on a silver platter, if he asked you to.

Hotch grabbed your hips and crashed them onto his, and you could feel his hard-on right under his expensive suit pants pressed against you. Both of you hummed at the contact, thirsting for more.

He started to back you up against his desk, your thighs pressing the edge of the dark wooden desk. He leaned over while kissing you, pushing you firmly until you were seated on his desk. Fully seated, you opened your legs for him to stand between them. You pulled back, batting your eyelashes to him.

“Aren’t you going to push the files off the table?” you teased the cliche setting. He smirked, leaning closer to bite your neck “I’m taking you over right on top of it.”

Thank God you were sitting, otherwise you would’ve felt down. Now that would be humiliating.

“Hotch” you murmured, hooking your fingers to the waistband of his pants, pulling him closer “Please”.

“Anything you want, Sweetheart.” he said in fake compliance “Just have to tell me what it is.” he grinned, wickedly. You groaned, needy.

“You, Hotch.” you said. He chuckled, “I’m right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but he held you closer, placing his hands on your thighs and squeezing them harshly. It didn’t hurt you, the sting going straight to your core. You moaned in response, instinctively arching your back and spreading your legs further apart.

He kissed you hungrily, pushing up the hem of your dress until it barely covered up your cunt, groaning every time your nails grazed the nape of his neck. You wrapped your legs around his hips, grinding into him like your life depended on it. He held your hips steady, stopping you from moving, making you huff in frustration. With his other hand, he held you by your jaw, his hand easily covering it entirely.

You looked up at him, his hand holding you in place. Metaphorically and physically submissive for him. It turned you on so bad.

“I’ll ask again, Sweetheart.” he whispered, trying not to grin too much “What do you want?”

You didn’t hold back in the slightest “Fuck me, Hotch. Please, just fuck me.” you begged. He smiled slowly, predatorily. Leaned in gently and left a chaste peck on your lips. It confused you. Until it didn’t.

In a mere of seconds he stepped away, stood you up and spinned you around, pushing you again against the dest, making you lay in your stomach, your ass pressed directly into his crotch.

He pulled the rem of your dress up, letting the fabric mound around your waist “Of fucking course” he muttered at your navy-blue lacy panties. His hands roamed around you, your back, your asscheeks, your thighs. He kissed it, licked it, sucked on your flesh like he needed it more than he needed to breathe.

You pushed yourself back, needing him so much it was starting to ache “Hotch, please” you whined, not even caring if you sound desperate – which you did. Surprisingly, he heard you, standing up and unbuckling his belt. The sound made you moan in anticipation, all your bossy facade disappearing completely.

You glanced back, ogling at the sight of him pulling himself out of his briefs, hard, long and ready to fill you up. He looked at you, smugly smirking at you. He squeezed the red tip, groaning with the feeling, and stroked himself once, and then twice looking at your cheeks thrown at him. You made sure he had the best view, arching your back and pushing it back in his direction. He held your hips and spanked your cheeks with his shaft, chuckling to himself at your neediness.

Hotch eventually took pity on you, spreading your legs further apart by nudging your feets with his. He slides your underwear down, taking it off and hiding it his poked with a grin. His fingers teased your entrance, spreading your wetness and pushing one finger in. He thrusted in you a few times, your moan confirming to him you were ready for a second finger. And then a third. When you were clenching around his fingers, needy and ready for him, he took all of them off. You whined while he used his wet fingers as a lub, stroking himself again and aligning his shaft with your entrance.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse. You hummed. “Words, please.” “Yes, Hotch. Damn it, I’m…” your bickering soon turned into a strangled moan as he thrusted in you, his length and girth stretching you deliciously. He slowly bottomed out, his breath heavy and shallow, trying to control himself.

The moan he let out when you pushed your ass back, thrusting into him, was guttural. Animalistic. Feral. He held your hips and started thrusting into you, his tip reaching your spot so many times it made your head light.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” he praised. You moaned. “S-so good.” you managed to say, your words cutting short by his thrusts. He chuckled “So monosyllabic now. Cat got your tongue?” “Fuck you” you muttered “Is that the way to speak with your boss?” he teased, tangling a hand on your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulling you towards him, your back sticking to his chest.

The new angle made him reach even deeper, both of you panting in sensibility. He reached one hand to your clit, pressing tiny and light circles in it, making you moan even louder. With his other hand he roamed at your body, pulling your breasts out of your cleavage, squeezing them. The callus in his hand adds to the addictive feeling, and pushes you further on the edge.

Hotch kissed and sucked your neck, teeth grazing just enough to sting, and licking right after to sting the pain. It was hell and heaven all at once. So many sensations, his cock deep inside you, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, whispering praises and groaning until you couldn’t hear anything but his voice and the sinful sounds of your wetness being filled by him.

His hand climbed up at your throat, squeezing it gently.

You tried to hide it, you truly did.

You weren’t embarrassed about your moaning, your begging. You were way past that.

But to have your boss knowing how much you got off on being choked — the very same way you saw people get killed on a daily basis — was a different kind of humiliation.

So you tried to hide, to muffle. But your body got the best of you, clenching and letting the most pornography moan you could at the minimum pressure on your throat.

He laughed. Not smiled, not chuckled. Laughed. Pleasantly. Like he found a treasure, the key of the universe.

And honestly, he felt like he did.

He gripped on your hair tightly, pulling you harder with one hand and using the other to spread across your stomach, keeping your body flush against his.

“Got you.” he hummed drunkenly right next to your ear, biting it hard. The hand on your stomach lowered until it found your clit, pressing his thumb on your bound tightly. You were close and he knew it.

With his free arm he did the unthinkable. He engulfed you on a one-arm hug, putting you on a headlock, his biceps squeezing you deliciously. You clenched around him, pushing your hips out and fucking him back.

“Hotch… So… Close” you warned him between huffs, your lungs failing you. The burn makes your eyes water and your legs shake.

“I can feel just how much you’re enjoying this. Clenching me so fucking tight.” he grunted, his own thrust becoming erratic and clumsy “That’s all you wanted all along, right? Teasing me for months just to be choked by me. Next I’ll choke you with my cock down your throat.” he hissed, and you felt your orgasm coming.

“Hotch, I’m…” you couldn’t finish it, your orgasm hitting like a truck.

“So pretty coming around me. ‘M gonna fill you up so fucking good.” and just like that you felt his dick twitching inside you, spurting his seed deep on your cervix.

He thrusted until you stopped shaking, too sensitive for any more contact. With a hiss, he pulled out of you, chuckling with the sight of your juices combined sliding down your leg.

He cleaned you up, peppering your face with kisses. He fixed your dress, your underwear long gone — you couldn’t find it in yourself to care — and redid his pants, almost like it never happened. Besides the hairs clinging on his face with sweat and the blush of his cheeks. And you, lying lazily on his lap like a renascent painting.

“So… next time, huh?” you teased, trying to ease up the tension — created by your own intrusive thoughts only — and lightly bring up the question that lingers on your head as soon as any coherent thought managed to linger on your mind for more than three seconds:

Was this a one time thing? You glanced up at him, and relief rushed through your bloodstream. If the relaxed, adoring and glowing smile he had on his lips meant anything, you had nothing to worry about.

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zangothedino-blog-blog · 2 days ago

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Honestly extremely missed opportunity that one of them didn't call him out. Like innies know about locations and things like seels and Delaware. There's absolutely zero reason why one of them didn't instead go, "...Niagra Falls?" Only for milcheck to have to be faced again with the fact innies aren't actually that stupid or ignorant and also have to play off getting caught in his lie and redirect.

It would be great if they just continued to laugh at him for trying to tell such an obvious lie.

Could have tied it back into the camp scene where they're laughing at how stupid the book is by bringing it up again.

Also really funny I think.

SEVERANCE 2.04 | Woe's Hollow

#yes i know its angel falls #but most people dont #the joke has layers #severance

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rainydayathogwarts · 3 days ago

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always the prefects bathroom - harry potter

summary: despite harry potter's presence in the prefects bathroom, you aren't stopped from taking a soothing bath wc: 1016 cw: making out, like super brief handjob it doesn't really count

You hadn’t expected the prefects’ bathroom to be occupied, hence the reason you were standing with a bag over your shoulder with your showering necessities. However, at the sight of Harry Potter in the giant, soapy tub with his head laid back on the cold tiles, you were immediately whining “Oh, come on!” Harry was instantly jumping up with a surprised noise, both hands immediately flying to make himself somewhat decent. Not that you could see his dick past all the bathtub’s soap, nor that you were looking.

“Who showers in here naked?” You immediately judged, gesturing to the vast bathroom “Everyone knows that Moaning Myrtle is the biggest perv.” You scoffed nonetheless, rolling your eyes and making your way out of the bathroom. “No, wait!” Your footsteps halted, and you curiously looked back towards the boy who lived. “Um, you can join. I won’t try anything weird.”

You watched wearily as he dragged his boxers into the tub, his movements telling you that he was putting them back on. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered, Bbut you weren’t about to waste an opportunity for a luxurious bath, even if it meant sharing it with Harry Potter. So you quickly stripped your clothes off, and Harry shamelessly drank in the sight of you in a bikini as you stepped into the tub.

Why did he think people showered in here naked?

The tub was big enough for you and Harry to sit on opposite sides with plenty of space between you, given how spacious the circular tub was, but you took a seat surprisingly close to Harry, watching his face for a moment before taking your book out of your bag and humming in satisfaction at the water’s warmth.

Harry cleared his throat before looking away from you and busied himself by staring at the stained glass windows of the bathroom. He couldn't help looking back at you though, watching as you flicked onto the neck page of your book, your soapy arms glistening as the sunlight hit you from the right angle, creating a rainbow of colours over your skin. “It’s a little difficult to focus when you’re staring so hard.” You put your book away to return Harry’s stare, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I’m not quite used to sharing a bath with someone.” You hummed, raising an eyebrow at the bespectacled boy. “I’m sorry, is this too sexual for you?” Harry is quickly blushing at your comment, shaking his head at you and gulping thickly. You laughed, swimming closer to him in the bath’s shallow waters. “You’ve got soap on your glasses, by the way.” You stated, sitting back on your knees in front of him, which gave you more height in the tub.

Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn downwards to where your chest was barely peeking out of the water, the curve of your breasts in your bikini top catching his eyes. “Mhm, maybe Moaning Myrtle isn’t the only pervert around here.” Harry gasped at the comment, watching as you pulled your hair into a makeshift bun at the back of your head before letting it go again. How could you say something like that while looking so unbothered? “I didn’t mean to!” Harry cried, abruptly looking away from you. Your laughter had his head snapping in your direction instantly though, as you muttered. “Well, I don’t mind it so much when it’s a handsome man like yourself.”

Harry didn’t know what overtook him. Was it the fact that the pretty prefect everyone thirsted after was flirting with him? Was it the fact that you were giving him the tiniest bit of attention? Was it the fact that you were half naked in a bathtub with him? Well, whatever it was, it had him launching forward to press his lips against yours. He froze for a second, his earlier words ringing in his own head.

‘I won’t try anything weird.’ But did it really matter when you were pulling him closer to you and deepening the kiss?

The boy groaned, hands naturally settling on your hips and dragging you towards him until you were planted on his lap. You moaned softly into the kiss, hips dragging against Harry’s. He gasped, parting his lips to greet your tongue in his mouth. His tongue glided against yours harshly, fighting for a dominance you instantly acquired by snaking your hand into Harry’s hair and tugging softly.

Harry was instantly growing hard underneath you, but who could blame him when there was so little separating his cock from your greedy cunt, grinding down on him so desperately. “Please.” Harry muttered into the kiss. You giggled, hand trailing down to grasp the elastic band of his boxers before finally moving past, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock to tug on it once, twice.

But before you could pull your bikini bottoms down, the door rattled again as someone entered the bathroom. “It’s always the fucking prefects bathroom.” The person groaned, causing you to shoot away from the gryffindor boy in front of you, water splashing loudly around you. You cleared your throat, even as the person walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with Harry again.

Despite everything, you abruptly stood up, wrapping your towel around you as Harry stared at you with his jaw slack. “You know, I don’t sleep around with people I’m not dating.” But Harry almost let out a laugh at how incredulous that sounded when you were only seconds away from sinking onto his cock. Harry stood up, walking towards you and pulling your towel off your skin, leaving you in your bikini again. You gasped sharply as Harry tugged you back into the bath, letting out a squeal as the water crashed around you and Harry trapped you between his body and the edge of the bath tub.

“Okay,” he started, “So let’s say this is our third date, and tomorrow I’ll take you for a forth.” The boy didn’t hide his grin when you desperately pulled him back in for another kiss.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

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paper-starz · 3 days ago

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A very big analysis on the new Welcome Home update

HELLLOOOOO EVERYONEEEE I havent done one of these in a while, but omg the newest update was everything I ever hoped for and more!! So today, we'll be talking about EVERYTHING (+ lil theories here and there)

BIG BIG SPOILERS AHEAD

Julie Joyful, Insecurity, Pressure, and Toxic Positivity

This update really gave us some interesting insight to the star of this update, Julie.

Julie is a rainbow monster, and a very happy one as her name would imply. And yet, she's not really like the rest of her family. She looks different from them for instance.

Her brother Jonesy states that rainbow monsters 'stick with one color', which means that they only stick to one color and don't really wear other colors. Even Julie's bio states how different in appearance Julie is from her siblings.

Recent evidence has revealed that Julie’s family consisted of a "band" of rainbow monsters that were a monochromatic color palette rather than a full rainbow like Julie herself.

Sure, Julie does have pink in her color pallete, she also has an array of other colors! Her hair isn’t a shade of pink, it’s yellow. Her legs aren’t a shade of pink either, it’s blue and green.

Franny also states that while horns come in different shapes and sizes, the bigger the better obviously. Julie's horns however are very small compared to the rest of the rainbow monsters.

Not to mention that she seems to forget or miss valuable information about rainbow monsters and Franny has to keep correcting her over and over again.

"There's more than that, Julie!" and "Missing things again, Julie."

And unlike her siblings, she lives away from them, which is unusual for a rainbow monster, where they normally live in a band.

She also doesn't seem to have an instrument, as stated in the Springtime Salutations book, "Julie, however, is her own instrument."

Speaking of the book, she also woke up too early for springtime.

And while her siblings were kind enough to bring Spring early this time, that doesn't mean that Julie wasn't affected at all by this. She knows how different she is from the rest of her siblings, and she's insecure about this fact.

This all culminates with the black flower, the one flower that she cannot bloom.

Rainbow monsters have a responsibility during Springtime. Franny melts away the snow with the morning dew, Jonesy makes the grass grow, Bea makes the sun shine, and Julie makes the flowers bloom. That is Julie's job, her one job of the entire year.

If she can't do that properly, then she would be proving to her siblings that she is a faulty rainbow monster that cannot do things by herself, that she cannot function properly away from her familial support. Which is the reason why she's so adamant on not rejoining the band, despite her siblings best efforts to sway her.

FRANNY: (With a commanding tone.) Back to us- Julie, when are you going to finally join our band? JONESY: Yeah, sis- What’s a rainbow monster band without its dynamite drummer? BEA: (Wistfully said.) Just think of it, sister dear… A colorful quartet pushing the seasons! JULIE: (Nervous and hesitant) That sounds… (Pretends to be losing signal) Oop- Oh no! The sounds! We’re breaking up!- (Whispering harshly.) Hang up the phone, Frank! Hang up!

And that's not to mention that she feels insecure not only towards her siblings as a rainbow monster, but also in the neighborhood.

She states that while she gets along well with everyone in the neighborhood, she's not particularly close with anyone besides Frank. Barnaby and Howdy tease her which probably makes her feel even more insecure, particularly in her ability to make others laugh, which again, brings JOY to people.

While she likes Poppy, Sally, Eddie, and Wally, again, she's not particularly close with either of them. Frank seems to be her only form of support in the neighborhood.

And yet, this particular scene is interesting, because according to Julie in The Julie Guide to being Joyful, her relationship with Howdy and Barnaby in particular are different.

She seems like she's lying to Wally and perhaps to herself that she has a great relationship with EVERYONE in the neighborhood, she's Julie Joyful! She's happy all the time and everyone loves her.

And yet, Wally seems to call her out on this. Both in the storybook and in the /regardforgetfulnesssilence link.

"Did all that really happen, Julie?" He says, as if he knows that Julie is lying but wants her to tell the story again. Reword the story so that she's telling the truth, but she doesn't want to. It's easier for her to live in a lie.

Which is another reason why she doesn't want to go back to her siblings. She would have to leave, not the neighborhood, but Frank. Her only form of actual support.

(Said inside her head. It sounds like static. ) If I can’t make a flower bloom, if I can’t bring Springtime around- What would I do? Will I have to leave? Will I have to go back? I’d just-

While I do believe her siblings love her and Julie does love them back, again, they make her feel insecure as a rainbow monster. Her older siblings always manage to get their job right, they have monochromatic colors, their horns are bigger, and unlike her, they never wake up too early for springtime.

JULIE: Hi, Wally! And hello to my sweet saccharine siblings! FRANNY: Is that our youngest sister here? JONESY: She’s our sweetest too- BEA: Don’t forget our most colorful! Julie, what could YOU need help with? You’re one of us!

Ironic how Bea says this line. Julie doesn't feel like one of them. She doesn't feel like a rainbow monster. Her one job of the entire year is to make the flowers bloom and if she can't do that, then what use is she?

This is why she is so terrified of that flower. That one flower that she cannot bloom. Its a crack in the joyous facade that she created. Sure, its just one flower, but what if its two next Spring? 10 after that? Whole fields of wilting flowers, dead flowers? Because of one mistake of waking too early and bringing in Spring when the time just wasn't right?

Then she would have to leave Home, and leave Frank. And its no surprise that she holds Frank in such a high admiration. He's the smartest neighbor in Home and he's her only true friend. She's especially terrified of disappointing him in particular.

Because while I do think Julie sees Frank as her best friend, I believe that because of the Sweet Briar book, Julie sees Frank as some sort of prince in shining armor coming in to save her.

Note that she doesn't view Frank in a romantic light, when the scene came for Frank to awaken princess Julie from her slumber with a kiss, Julie just jumps from her bed and the kiss just never happens.

Frank is her only person in the neighborhood that actually supports her and her only true friend, thus, Julie sees Frank as someone that's saving her. Keeping her away from the dangers of leaving with her siblings and going away, thus losing Frank (and her support), and perhaps even away from the responsibility of being a rainbow monster.

"I'm doing the best that I can, but it's nice to let someone else lead."

As mentioned before, if Julie joins the band, she'll be the drummer. However, Julie is her own instrument, she marches along to the beat of her own drum lol.

The drummer's role in a band is to provide the rhythmic foundation of the group, providing a steady beat and tempo. A drummer's role is pretty strict, if they mess up (like if they come in too early or if they become off-tempo), that messes up the entire song.

Julie already knows that she's not that great of a rainbow monster, she messes up constantly, forgets facts that a rainbow monster should know, wakes up too early for Spring, and can only make MOST of the flowers bloom. If she goes back to her siblings, joins their band, and becomes their drummer, then she's not only risking messing up her job of making the flowers bloom, but also the rest of her siblings' job. What if she misses just one beat? Would that jeopardize everything? What would her siblings say if she messes up and makes them mess up too?

What will happen to Springtime? Will the grass and flowers die? Will the sun never shine? Will the rain never come to wash away the snow? Will she trap the entire neighborhood in an endless winter?

It's a risk that Julie just doesn't want to take. This is why she starts getting more and more aggressive towards the black flower, because it's jeopardizing her stay at the neighborhood, and threatening her to leave everything behind.

Which leads us to the ending of /tearsremembranceinstability, Julie gets more and more agitated towards the flower. Flat out threatening it when it's not going to be blooming anytime soon.

"You won't be around for much longer--" "I'll never see you again, no one will, no one will ever know you were here--" THOSE SOUND LIKE THREATS!

Which leads me to believe that Julie did something awful to that flower. Either she forced that flower to bloom, or she killed it.

What ever she did to that flower, Frank witnessed it. And Julie knows what Frank saw.

But then, something strange happens.

This weird little bug flies in at the end and stares at us, the viewer.

And we have seen this bug before! On the miscellaneous section!

Opening the image under a new tab reveals that this toy is called a 'buggle'.

While it is a cute little toy, it seems out of place for this thing to just pop out. It feels random.

But ah! It is NOT random dear viewer!

Taken from the awayfrompryingeyes.net site.

'Buggle' sounds like a mix of the word 'bug' and 'beagle'. AND CAN YOU GUESS WHICH NEIGHBORS HAVE A CONNECTION TO THE WORDS BUG AND BEAGLE????

Frank, Barnaby, and Howdy! Three neighbors that have had an impact on Julie's insecurities.

Both Howdy and Barnaby make Julie's insecurities worse. They constantly tease her, with Barnaby in particular saying that he doesn't find Julie's jokes all that funny and Howdy saying that she better get some new material.

Frank on the other hand alleviates those insecurities, making him a huge source of comfort, but to the point that she's terrified of disappointing him.

The buggle seems to be a manifestation of Julie's insecurities and anxieties, manifesting itself during Julie's lowest point.

Which concludes to this. What will the next update be about?

Because our guy W definitely has some ideas...

Perhaps the buggle is foreshadowing, either the next update will be focusing on either Frank, Barnaby, or Howdy!

But i suppose only time will tell.

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seumyo · 15 hours ago

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the language of biting.

NOTE. a teensy bitsy suggestive!

Bakugou doesn’t always say “I love you” with words.

Sure, he can.

He has.

He does.

But more often than not, it’s in the things he does: folding your laundry just the way you like it, memorizing the exact heat setting for your tea, walking on the side of traffic when you two are out (it’s become a habit at this point, and he will get playfully physical with trying to switch places with you if you think otherwise), scowling at people who so much as glance at you too long.

The quiet, loaded things.

Acts of service.

Devotion in motion.

But when you two are alone—when the world outside your apartment fades and it’s just the two of you—his love starts to show in other, more unconventional ways.

Like biting.

It starts off soft, playful, almost lazy.

You’ll be curled on the couch, on his lap, while something plays on the TV, forgotten. Your hand will drift against his surprisingly soft hands, playing with his fingers to flex them open and close as you hum, and he’ll nuzzle closer, burying his face into your thigh or shoulder or collarbone—wherever you are.

Because Bakugou is an unreliable narrator when it comes to you.

And then, without warning—

“Katsuki!”

You gasp, as if he had just committed the most heinous crime, laughing as he runs his canines gently over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him get away with.

“What?” he mumbles, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You bit me!”

He huffs a short laugh. “Did not.”

“I felt your teeth, you maniac.”

“Didn’t bite,” he says again, leaning in to nip at your collarbone, slow and deliberate this time. “Just a pretend bite. Barely.”

You yelp and try to push him away, palms flat against his shoulders. “What are you, a dog?”

Bakugou smirks against your skin. “You don’t hear me barkin’, do you?”

“Should I take you to the vet? Get your rabies shot?”

His teeth graze you again, this time just on your aching shoulder blade that you’ve been whining about for the past few days. “Too late, dummy.”

He bites down again, this time just enough to leave a fleeting pressure—never enough to bruise, never enough to really hurt, just enough to say, Mine. His hand slides under your hoodie, not in a lewd way, but to rest warm against your waist as he presses his teeth into the curve of your shoulder.

“Why is this your favorite?”

“Because you’re soft.”

“That’s not a reason to bite me.”

“Or maybe you could just admit that I’m cute when I do it.”

“Cute? You just bit me like a teething baby!”

He quietly sighs and leans up higher, bringing his face close to yours now. “Wasn’t tryna hurt you. Just…” He pauses, nose brushing yours. “‘s weird, but I like doin’ it. That ok?”

Bakugou never bites when he’s angry. Never in frustration. Only when he’s calm, or smug, or holding you close and soaking in the way you fit perfectly in his arms. The biting isn’t possessive in the toxic way. It’s intimate. Familiar. He doesn’t even realize how often he does it.

Your expression softens at that, because of course it does. How could it not? His voice had gone quiet, and his brows were furrowed in that shy, self-conscious way that only ever comes out when he’s being sincere.

“You do know biting me isn’t how humans mark territory, right?” you tease.

His ears turn pink at the tip. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I’m serious. Should I be worried? Is this like… a feral wolfboy thing?”

“Keep talkin’ and I will bite harder.”

You snort and lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re weird.”

“And you’re still in my lap.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Never said I wasn’ lucky.”

But then, just as you relax again—he strikes. A soft, precise bite just behind your ear this time around. His canines dig in just enough to make you squirm, though there’s no pain. Just the warm press of his lips a moment later.

“Katsuki!”

You could feel him smile against your skin. “Couldn’t help it. You smell too good.”

“You are—insane. You are absolutely feral.”

“You’re still not movin’.”

“Because you’re hugging me like a bear, idiot.”

“Guess you can’t do anythin’ about it now, huh?”

And then he’s peppering kisses along your shoulder—soft ones, a little too sweet to match the devilish glint in his eye—interrupted every few seconds by little nips. Not enough to leave marks. Just enough to feel. Enough to make you shiver and laugh and squirm under his touch until you're warm and breathless from giggling.

Eventually, you push him away with both hands, heaving in breaths. “You need a warning label.”

“I’ve got a hero license. Close enough.”

“I’m gonna make you get a rabies shot.”

“Go ahead. Long as you’re there to hold my hand.”

You roll your eyes, but the affection behind it is undeniable. “You’re the worst.”

“And still your favorite.”

You sigh, defeated, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Unfortunately, I’m married to someone who bites like a baby who’s just now getting their baby teeth.”

He grins, closing his eyes. “Better get used to it.”

“You done?”

“…Maybe.”

“Katsuki.”

“…Okay, okay. I’m done.”

. . .

“…For now.”

“If those leave a mark—I will make you do laundry by yourself next week.”

And Bakugou, pleased as hell with himself, gives you one final, barely-there bite to your shoulder and murmurs, “Love you too.”

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shipfishwrites · 2 hours ago

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i can't find my blogthoughts :( maybe i didn't blog them. maybe they were just thoughts. i've cobbled together here some notes from personal correspondence on the topic:

i think dragons and whers need a certain type of mind to be sane, to keep from instinctively going between in some kind of existential pain that's unimaginable and i think they are [in canon] beasts, animals, who can't reason and look for what they need... especially when they're newborn. so they just look for something close. and they grab onto the mind they find and they dig their little claws in and change it all in one go. that's what the joy of impression is for. it's flooding you with dopamine and serotonin to help ease your brain into accepting its new existence which has sheared half of it off an replaced with with a dragon. that's why you can make broad generalizations about, say, greenriders. greenriders at like that because half their brain is green dragon, they literally cannot be different. that's why bronzers all act like they have 12 inch dicks. that's why goldriders are always about madonna/whore and maiden/matron.

and additional thought that i remember thinking but can't find where/if i wrote it: this is horrifying for the bystanders moreso than the riders. having a friend or family member, someone you know intimately, turn into something else... something that's not them, something that you can see copied over everyone who shares their color impression... they use the same words to describe their bonded. their laugh changes; the way they hug changes. it reminds you of others of their rank. they're distracted -- unable to relate to you anymore. half of them has been paved over and replaced and they don't even seem to know it -- they describe the event as joyful, overwhelming, a blessing.

wild.

i think this is a great thing to think about because it's really truly fully 100% canon-compliant. it works because it's a watsonian analogue to the "true" doylist explanation of why certain colorriders act the way they do -- ex. bronzeriders fill a certain narrative role including tropes of headship, masculine ideation, etc., and, even in the cases where they aren't 'model' bronzers, they have to respond to that narrative role.

machismo comes for free with the bronze. you might also forget how to smile that way that your mama taught you, but you'll never know you did.

Everyone clap for non consensual body modification everybody loves a character whose body has been altered against their will

#horror #meta

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theobservatory · 2 days ago

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i love the way you write about jason, especially in the confession post- can i request jason with a very very talkative SO??

Thank you pookie !! Hopefully I didn't make reader annoying, I kinda based her off myself when I start feeling manic lmaoo, it's the only time I really get talkative IRL so it was kinda all I had to base it on

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Talkative｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you talking Jason's ear off

｡⁠☆Cw: mention of harassment, inane conversation topics, mention of body horror

You're sitting on the couch. One of Jason's large hands is rubbing little circles on your thigh, the other is holding his phone as he gets as much work done as he can without his computer. He would go get it, but you've already gotten comfortable laying your head on his shoulder.

"So then Alyssa- you remember Alyssa, don't you?" No, he does not. "So Alyssa tells Jackson to go file the rest of the reports, right?"

"Mhm."

"Right, only for him to quit, right on the fucking spot. Like I don't like this job either, but I'm still giving my two weeks because some of us still have courtesy! It's not about the business, it's about our coworkers, our kinda friends who we'd rather not inconvenience because they're pleasant enough, but would never hangout with outside of work. God, he was an asshole anyway."

"I believe it."

"And then- wait oh my God, Jason! I completely forgot to tell you about Anna! The new girl! Turns out she's sleeping with our boss's son!" Oh, that guy he remembers.

"The guy who slapped your ass?" The same one who you said isn't bothering you anymore, and he's trying to trust you, but he doesn't really believe it.

"The one and only." You groan. "Must've moved onto fresh meat, poor Anna. She's a sweet girl y'know?"

"Mhm."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Jay."

He grunts, turning over in bed to look at you. Your eyes are wide in the moonlight, not a speck of the sleepiness that was there just a few minutes ago. Jason wishes he could share the sentiment. Frankly, he's exhausted, and he's been looking forward to sleeping all day.

"Do you ever think about the fact that we're all brains puppeting fleshy meat suits? How crazy is that?!"

Jason sighs. Half of his job in your life is to protect you from the horrors of the world, but sometimes he believes you are the horrors in question. Not that he minds. You can be a worm and he would love you all the same.

"Baby, go to sleep."

"But Jay, I can't stop thinking about it! We're just a bunch of nerves disguised by a vaguely animal flesh bag and-"

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling you into his chest.

"Sleep." He grunts again.

You laugh. "Okay."

The blissful silence doesn't last long.

"Jay?"

"Yes, nuisance who won't go to sleep?"

"Rude. I just wanted to tell you that you're my favorite meat puppet in the world, but maybe I take it back now."

"I'm okay with that."

"Jason!" You pinch his arm.

"If I tell you you're my favorite puppet will you go to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Then you're my favorite." Quieter he mumbles, "for some fucking reason."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Okay, now the recipe requires two eggs, a cup of water, and vegetable oil. Can you grab the eggs out the fridge for me."

"I got it."

"Thanks. Did you know my mom wanted to raise chickens when we were kids, even though I've never lived on a farm? Plus, I don't even like chickens, they're like tiny predators! If I had to-"

"Sweetheart, mix the eggs."

"Oh, right. If I had to choose between fighting one chicken sized horse, or one horse sized chicken, I would choose the horse every time!"

"Mhm."

"Well, I'm still biased because I like horses, but still! I don't know, maybe I should use the analogy with a wolf, because I'm still choosing the wolf every time."

"The next step?"

"Mix wet and dry ingredients together. Actually, while we're on the topic-"

New blog theme new me, y'all. Do we like it ? I made almost all the dividers myself (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Not proofread as usual, posting this right before bed so I'll see y'all in the morning. I have a post about baby names ready for tomorrow, so look forward to that, and PLEASE give me your input I don't wanna give them dumb names 😔💔

｡⁠☆Requests Open...?

#˗ˏˋ ★ venus writes ★ ˎˊ˗#˗ˏˋ ★ batfam ★ ˎˊ˗#✧˖°꒰ঌ{interstellar chat}໒꒱°˖✧#batfam x gn reader #batfam x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x male reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x gn!reader #red hood x gender neutral reader

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wild-jackalope · 1 day ago

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pairing :: Mark Grayson x reader

warning :: friends to lovers, make out, spicy, mutual pining, Mark comfort (bc he deserves the best), cheating on Amber w/ reader, season one

note :: first Invincible drabble, send your requests

The roof quietly scraped with the weight of you resting on it. Around you were the sounds of subtle crickets and the occasional car rolling along the road. The nearby city produced no sound, no explosions, no sirens, no sudden crashes, just stillness. And Mark.

He'd lifted you from the yard to the roof, just as he often did when the two of you had deep chats. His hands cradled you gently into the sky, almost weakly, as if he remembered your bones were as brittle in his large hands as a stick was when he was young.

You'd been waiting—between bursts of failing small talk— for him to confess the real reason he put you on his roof with such a sorrowful look on his face. It wasn't merely 'to hang out' as his text message asking you to come over claimed.

It wasn't until you hit the jackpot of his problems with the simple question: "How is Amber?" that he spilled.

“Amber is… I don’t know. She wants me to be there for her, but something always gets in the way.”

“Like what, Mark?”

“Like a new monster. Or some kind of villain.”

“Saving people gets in the way?”

“Yeah… It does.”

You took a heavy exhale and your eyes drifted over the star-specked sky, watching the twinkle of faraway lights and the moon. With your breath in came the scent of the night, cool and soft, carrying the faint smell of rain.

Mark's head remained downcast with the weight of his heroism looking down on him.

You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, willing him to feel your love through the simple touch. “Mark," you murmured gently, "look at the sky.”

His dark eyes laxly questioned you, before raising to the sky.

“Look at all the stars," you beamed softly, "burning so brightly against the black sky. The moon, the clouds, all of it. I get to see it every night, so do many others— people that are alive because you protect them. They breathe, watch sunsets, love, laugh, and cry because you’ve sacrificed yourself to save them, save Amber, save me.” The hand placed on his shoulder slid down, gripping his softening muscle kindly.

More teetered on the edge of your tongue, but it wasn't right to tell him how you truly felt with the aftertaste of Amber’s name still in your mouth.

The light of the moon gleamed in Mark’s eyes, paired with expanding pupils and a slack jaw. He didn't—couldn't say anything first, only try to control the rising of his chest and remember how to breathe correctly.

His jaw tightened, "God," he said weakly, "why are you like this?"

"Because I—"

"Don't," he cut in, shaking his head. "If you say something like that again, I don't know what I'll do."

You mistook the confession for something of a threat and retreated to your space. Mark sighed at the cold spot your hand left. "I'm sorry, I guess it's none of my business," you said.

"No! It is your business... you always know what to say and I—" his knuckles began to blanch at the tight hold of his fists. "I don't know how you do this to me." He murmured.

You remained quiet, to let space between you cool down and to retreat from his instability. He was getting too close, too close to revealing what had always lingered between the two of you.

That quiet, unspeakable thing.

"I think about you, all the time. More than I should." He stated, longing for your eyes to meet him.

You remained silent.

"I think about you especially when I shouldn't," He muttered.

"Mark..." You warned breathlessly.

"Sorry, this is hard." He huffed, forcing himself to let free the building tension in his chest. "Maybe I should've stayed quiet."

"It's not good to bottle things up." You offered— it was stupidly simple.

"But talking to you about my relationship..." On the surface it was completely normal for friends to confide in one another, but below messy layers of shameful feelings, longing looks and lingering touches between you two it wasn't right at all. "Then I see you and I already feel better, you say the most perfect things which make me feel crazy. Like I'm doing enough, that I deserve more, that I'm..."

He looked to the stars burning against the black sky and sighed, letting his head fall again.

"Maybe you should go." He muttered.

And then you said it, to keep from leaving, to hold him to you for longer. Perhaps, a small part of you knew it'd throw him over the edge. "Mark," you muttered, "You'll always be worth it."

Mark had frozen, stunned. Then as your words replayed in his mind, reverberating through his body and making his inside melt to lava. He looked away, with shaking hands

You'll always be worth it. He knew you meant it, there was no doubt in his mind.

Mark's ever-failing need to stay in control dissipated and the eyes that turned to look at you were no longer clouded by doubt— they said, You're worth it too.

He'd shifted onto his knees, closing the distance that separated you until his hand took the back of your head in hand and guided your lips to his. There was barely a moment to resist, just a small gasp which Mark swallowed feverishly.

The kiss could only be described as making up for lost time. His lips moved so desperately to convey just how much your words meant to him.

Your hands, feeling as though they had been cuffed to your sides, broke free from their mental chains and found Mark's hair. Gripping and feeling. The two of you moulded into one another, finally feeling all the things only previously longed for. Just in this moment, this fraction of time where morality and responsibility parted from your hot bodies.

At some point, his body found a refuge between your legs, his mouth now painting soft trails along your exposed neck.

It was intense, so fast, too fast.

Your head spun. Your legs tightened around Mark's waist anytime he ran his tongue over your skin.

Too intense, too hot.

You weren't sure at what point you began pushing at Mark's shoulders, likely when his mouth dipped past your collarbone and his hand began feeling the curve of your hip, pulling you to his core.

"Mark," you breathed, too softly and too sultry, because he only became further wrapped up in your body.

He groaned, like your voice alone had pushed him further into heat.

"Mark." You huffed, leaning away to breathe some air that wasn't so full of his smell.

He hesitated, his hands peeled themselves off you. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, away from the clouded heat that surrounded you.

He suddenly looked so miserable. Like he'd just remembered he was still bleeding from an old wound.

"I can't... God— I can't do this to you. Not like this, not while she's waiting for me."

You didn't know what to say, for once you had no words of closure to offer him. Only a thudding heart and a bruised neck.

"I have to see it through." For her, for you and for himself. "I'll come back," he stated.

He'd pushed off into the air so quickly, leaving you with only a promise and the feeling of his hands lingering on your body.

#DID U GUYS LIKE #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x y/n #invincible x oc #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible fanfic

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dumdogs · 3 days ago

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wc: 360

“Hey,” she says, turning her head to look up at him. “What do you like about me?”

Suna glances down at her. He’s leaning against the arm of her sofa, and she’s laid out on his chest. The windows are tightly drawn shut, and the only light in the room emits softly from the television screen. Suna’s eyes trace over her face. “I dunno,” he replies. He raises a hand to her forehead and strokes her hair back. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Yeah, but like what?” she insists, looking up at him through her lashes.

She blinks, waiting for her answer, and Suna chews on the inside of his cheek. It’s not something he’s ever really through about it. He just sorts of likes her. The amalgamation of things that make her the person who’s lying between his legs. Asking him to list his reasons out individually sort of feels like asking him to unravel a tapestry.

But her eyes are wide and expectant, and he doesn’t think he has it in him to deny her anything.

“I like your laugh,” he says, because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. And it’s true, he does like her laugh. It was one of the first things he noticed about her, how freely she would throw her head back and let out shouts of laughter. He’s always been endeared to it, it always makes him smile.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “You’re dating me because of my laugh?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, “and your smile, and the way that you talk and the sound of your voice. I like all of it.”

She hums. “Okay. What else?”

“I like the way you think,” Suna continues. “I like how much you love your friends. I like the things that you like, and how much you care about them. And I really, really like the way you look at me.”

“And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re in love with me,” Suna tells her, grinning. He leans down, and softly kisses the center of her forehead. “Just you, I guess. I really just love you.”

idk. something just came over me idek

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#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #suna x reader #suna x yn #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna rintaro imagines #suna rintaro fic #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro x reader #suna fluff #suna rintaro fluff

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nolita-fairytale · 2 days ago

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and for us, it won't be long | joaquin torress x fem!reader | chapter two

summary: you and joaquin can't even order thai food in philly without making flirting. a conversation ensues.

warnings: smut (minors dni) tooth-rotting fluff, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, swearing, use of she/her pronouns, one bed trope-adjacent, mentions of food, limited spanish, top gun reference, inappropriate mention of isaiah (poor guy he did not ask for this he's just training the youths of captain america!!), friends to lovers

word count: 5.7k

a/n: omg it's finally here i finally did it! i haven't written a fic in so long so if you're still reading this... thank you for your patience. this one is spicy! these two are yappy overthinkers who are so damn sweet on each other. i don't know how to explain it but... this is who they told me they wanted to be.

read chapter one here

It’s a very serious decision that you have to make—your final dinner selections—one that should never be taken lightly, and the sole reason you’ve found yourself inside of a Thai restaurant bickering like an old married couple.

“So… I say we do an order of egg rolls, a chicken pad thai, a curry, and maybe something else to share? Or is that too much?” you chuckle as you review your order, taking charge of the endless indecision that’s plagued the both of you.

“I think you underestimate just how much I can eat,” Joaquin shoots back, stealing a playful look at the mom and pop restaurant owners that wait, patient smiles plastered to their faces as the two of you fail to make a decision.

“It’s not a competition,” you tease him, side eyeing his flex.

“It won’t kill us if we get two pad thais. It’s kiiiinda my favorite,” he adds, while simultaneously, you interject with a, “Yeah, why not? We can have leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what if we just get one pad thai and then something else, but you can have most of it. I only want a few bites, I promise,” you reason with him, though you can’t promise it’ll be true.

“Bullshit.”

You laugh.

After all this time, he still knows you so well.

“Okay fine. I guess we could double up on pad thais or do you want to get another noodle dish and we’ll still share,” you suggest, bringing up your former idea again, this time expecting some kind of acknowledgement from Joaquin. You send an apologetic look to the restaurant owners—a silent, I’m Sorry—who, you can only imagine, are growing more and more impatient by the minute.

You both wait a beat, thinking it over before simultaneously coming to the conclusion that:

“No you’re right we should do that,” Joaquin agrees with a sigh, admitting defeat.

“No, let's do what you want! You just said pad thai was your favorite,” you concede, in complete harmony with your twin concessions.

You both laugh and the couple who own the restaurant share a knowing look.

“Well, what do you want to do?” you ask with a giggle, your eyes wide as you look to Joaquin. “Nah, you’re right. We should mix it up instead,” Joaquin reiterates, holding his ground.

“You sure?” you question, hesitantly.

“How about we give you all three noodle dishes, plus the curry…” the woman finally interjects, putting you both (and probably her and her husband) out of your misery. “...and a discount for the Falcon.”

“Your service to this country is much appreciated,” her husband adds with a curt, yet reverent nod.

Joaquin grins in response, and you’re not sure whether he’s celebrating his two-chicken-pad-thai win or the fact that he’s been recognized as an Avenger. He thanks both of the restaurant owners with a charming smile, before pulling out his wallet.

“Oh you are not paying!” you protest, panic in your eyes as you move to stop him. “Yes, I am!” he insists, shooting you a look. “At least let me go dutch with-,” you begin.

“Absolutely not!” he scoffs, shrugging your suggestion off like he’s almost offended. “You’re letting me crash with you anyway.”

“Joaquin!” “Oh honey, let the handsome boy pay,” the restaurant owner interjects once again, this time with a wink in Joaquin’s direction, putting yet another debate between you and Joaquin to an end.

“Let him pay,” her husband repeats firmly, his face serious enough to shut you up.

You’re speechless, so instead you let out an exasperated sigh, throwing up your hands in defeat. The couple shares yet another knowing look before tearing your order off of their notepad to give to their kitchen as they talk amongst themselves, switching quickly from English to Thai. You can only assume it means they’re talking about the two of you as they share a laugh, then a pointed look back to you and Joaquin, and you can hardly blame them. You’ve sure put them through it in the five minutes you and Joaquin have been here.

“Did you put them up to this?” you ask in disbelief, launching your mostly-joking accusation at your friend.

“Oh yeah. They’re paid actors,” he replies quickly, the wittiness and smugness evident on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You scoff with a playful eye roll, trying your best to ignore how a familiar warmth fills you. You’ve missed Joaquin’s flirty banter, something that had always been there between the two of you, but never acknowledged. All these years you’d kept your distance, certain that you’d be a terrible army wife. You knew you’d be no good, sitting at home waiting for your husband to return from his deployment, and Joaquin had been intent on enlisting when the two of you graduated high school.

You wonder if it’s the only thing that held you back from ever taking your friendship with Joaquin any further. Not that anything has changed… he’s still active duty… and now he’s an Avenger. But after his accident, you’ve questioned your own stubbornness, unable to deny just how much his near-death experience scared the shit out of you.

The Thai takeout has been demolished, what’s left of it stored away in the fridge hours ago. You’re half asleep when the credits music of Matrix Reloaded—Joaquin’s request—wakes you. You blink your eyes open to see Joaquin half asleep on the other end of the couch, his feet kicked up, legs stretched out across the length of your incredibly comfy couch.

“Hey doofus. We fell asleep,” you whisper, nudging his leg with yours.

Joaquin groans, slowly beginning to blink his eyes open. His heart skips a beat as he wakes to you, making note of the fact that he really likes it.

“So much for our Matrix marathon,” he mumbles, sitting up a little taller from where he’s curled up on the couch.

“You should take the bed,” you suggest softly, noticing the way he shifts uncomfortably.

It hasn’t been that many weeks since getting out of the hospital. It makes the most sense and you don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a few nights.

“No, I’m fine. Really,” he brushes off the notion. “I just-. Well, you’re still technically recovering and-.” you begin making a case for your suggestion.

“But the couch is really comfy!” he grins, trying a little harder to convince you. “It is a comfy couch but I still think you should take the bed,” you reply, firmly.

Joaquin searches your expression for any kind of retreat, realizing that you’ve clearly made up your mind. And he knows what that means.

Once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no changing it.

But he doesn’t love the idea of kicking you out of your own bed either.

“Why don’t we just go halfsies?” He suggests so casually, as if he’s suggesting the two of you split the bill he insisted on paying earlier. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before. Doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything.” “You do have a point,” you drag out slowly, your breath catching your throat. But you know you’re going to have to sell it better. “Right, yeah. No big deal.”

He’s technically right. You’d had plenty of sleepovers as kids, and had spent many a class overnight field trips in sleeping bags next to each other.

“Just like last time,” Joaquin adds, caution in his voice this time.

Last time.

“Last time” had started the way they always do. After returning from the blip, you and Joaquin reconnected and had gone out to catch up, dancing into the early hours of the morning, fueled by a few too many tequila sodas in downtown Miami. It was a night to remember—except for the parts you’re not sure he does.

You’re not even sure you remember correctly.

You remember the next morning, waking up in the same bed as Joaquin, and having to explain to both sets of your parents that you’d both had a little too much to drink and crashed at Joaquin’s because it was safer than going home.

It was harmless.

Just a night of fun and old friends after five years of being gone.

Nothing happened, you both insisted, much to the unconvinced looks on both of your mothers.

Except… if you remember correctly… there was a kiss.

A few kisses, actually.

But you’d never talked about it and both you and Joaquin had been drunk, so you assumed it wasn’t worth talking about, an event of the night swept under the rug so seamlessly you figured it clearly hadn’t mattered to either of you.

“Right yeah. We should… share the bed. Totally makes sense,” you finally agree, plastering a fake smile on your face like you haven’t just had a mini-existential crisis.

“What?” Joaquin asks, searching your face for a reason you’re suddenly acting so weird.

“Nothing,” you’re too quick to defend. “That’s not a nothin’ face,” he points out, unconvinced. “I-, it’s nothing!” you shrug, your voice higher in pitch, telegraphing that it really is okay. “No, what’s up?”Joaquin asks, this time much more concerned as he begins to back off his suggestions. “I don’t have to share the bed if you-.”

Had he pushed too far? Should he not have brought it up?

“Joaquin, it’s fine, it’s just-.” you interrupt, wishing you had just done a better job lying in the first place.

Joaquin chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?”

You roll your eyes, because you love and also hate how easily he recognizes the look on your face.

“I-,” you start, giving yourself one last chance to back out of telling him the truth. But you know there’s no use. He already knows something’s up.

“It’s just-. Well last time…. Listen, it wasn’t a big deal or anything, and we were really drunk and I had just gotten back after being gone for five years so there’s that but-,” you stammer out, tripping over how awkward and uncomfortable this conversation is about to be.

He waits patiently, a softness in his eyes that lets you know that whatever’s on your mind is okay to share.

“I take it you don’t remember…” you sigh with a nod.

It’s not like you’d been holding out for him to bring it up, that you thought he’d been holding on to the memory ever since, just waiting for the right time to confess his love, but you’re surprised to find yourself disappointed as you accept that he really must’ve not remembered.

“...Well, there was sort of… a kiss between us. That night. You know. Last time.”

“Oh, uh,” Joaquin begins hesitantly, wanting to tread as carefully as possible. “I uh. Yeah I-, I know.”

Oh.

I know?!

Your heart skips a beat.

It’s not exactly the reaction you were expecting.

“Wh-?” you begin to ask, caught off guard by his admission. “I-, I didn’t think you remembered.” “I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he admits, earnestly.

You have to stop yourself from letting out a laugh.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, a laugh following as you feel a warmth in your cheeks.

“I-. You didn’t say anything the morning after and, like you said, we had both been drinking the night before so… I don’t know. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t,” Joaquin explains, almost shyly, catching you off guard even further.

It’s your turn this time to say:

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” he lets out a sigh. His eyes nervously search yours, trying to get a read on you.

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s-, it’s not a big deal!” you deny, trying your best to get things back on track. “I think I just… I don’t even know why I brought it up. Maybe just so it wasn’t awkward when we-. You know. Address the elephant in the room and get it out of the way, you know?

You know you’re rambling, but it’s as if your mouth’s run away from you and taken on a mind of its own. “But…” Joaquin trails off, as he decides to tumble off this cliff with you, uncertain whether the risk will pay off. “... doesn’t it feel like it? I mean, this feels weird, right?”

You take a breath.

A beat.

“A little,” you admit quietly, as the two of you exchange nervous laughter.

Yeah. A little, being an understatement.

You try your best to gauge any kind of reaction from Joaquin, wondering why the tension between you feels so charged, especially considering how many times you’ve insisted that this was so not a big deal.

An idea crosses your mind, and you think you might be going insane, but you’re not sure you can fall asleep feeling this weird about things.

“Okay, well, before we jump into my bed together… I think we should… resolve this,” you begin, deciding to take charge.

“What do you mean?” Joaquin asks, hesitantly.

“I-. I don’t know. It doesn't seem like talking about it is getting us anywhere. And… well, shit. I brought it up in the first place so. Sorry for that,” you continue to ramble on nervously. You take a deep breath before suggesting what you think might be a terrible, terrible idea.

“Maybe we should just… get this out of our systems? So we can prove to ourselves that it’s totally not weird at all and just… not even a big deal.”

Joaquin processes, going over and over in his head what he thinks you’re trying to say. “You mean… kiss again?” he finally asks, a hope in his eyes he prays isn’t too goddamn obvious. “Maybe. Yeah. I don’t know. What do you think?” you ask, shakily.

A beat.

“Fuck it. This is a terrible idea and I-,” you begin to backtrack, shaking off how silly that way.

“No, it’s not!” Joaquin is quick to interject, inching a little closer. “But… I mean. You sure?”

You nod slowly, contemplating what you’re agreeing to, before finally deciding on:

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You both exchange nervous laughs, before shifting just a little closer to each other. “So should we just-, I mean are supposed to just-,” you giggle, awkwardly, gesturing towards the man.

Why was this so weird?

Joaquin grins, another small laugh falling out of his mouth as he leans in closer to you.

“Oh my god! Joaquin, what’re you doing?” you gasp, your voice quiet as his lips are inches away from yours, as if this weren’t your idea.

“Well, you said we should just go for it,” he teases gently, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I know but. It’s weird. This is-, it’s weird, right?!,” you giggle again. It’s as if your mind wants to pull away, but your body betrays you, as your heart skips a beat, reminding you to learn forward this time too.

“Mhmm,” he hums, with an aplomb you certainly do not have. He lowers his voice, and almost as if he’s warning you, he adds, “I’m gonna kiss you now.” You nod, just a little, before replying with:

“Okay.”

He chuckles.

“Okay.”

Joaquin takes his time, almost teasingly, before brushing his lips against yours. You’re taken by surprise by the fact that it doesn’t feel like enough. He pulls back just enough, before pressing his lips to your with full force this time. You inhale him, this moment, and the feeling that everything is about to change as you kiss him back, meeting him just as deeply as he’s met you.

It’s not like you’d never wondered what this would feel like, but thinking about kissing Joaquin had just a thing of your childhood fantasies—something you’d thought you’d long forgotten. The way his lips move against yours feels like the fucking Fourth of July, explosions going off in and outside of you.

“Joaquin?” you murmur against his lips, hanging onto the last threads of self-control you have (which, you think should come with a gold medal, considering especially the way he’s kissing you right now).

“Hmmmm?” he hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your face, with no intention of stopping any time soon.

“Yeah, so this kinda feels like a big deal,” you reply, in between kisses. “Uh huh,” he sounds in response, before sucking on your top lip. You gasp, more than happy to keep going, but he wants to make sure you feel the same.

Joaquin pulls away just momentarily, his hand still cradling your face. He’s inches away from you once again, his gaze matching the seriousness of his tone as he asks, “We don’t have to keep going. If you don’t want to. We can stop.”

“No!” you practically cry out, eliciting a small chuckle from his lips. The ones you very much wish to be kissing again.

“Dimelo. Tell me what you want,” he says softly, and you’ve never felt safer with anyone. You’re actually not sure how you’ve managed to keep it together, ready to melt off of the couch and into his arms. “You wanna keep going?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, this time closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. “I wanna keep going.”

So much for this not being a big deal.

He takes your ‘yes’ as a sign to keep kissing you, as you shift for your body to face his. You’re wrapping your arms around his neck, and he’s licking into your mouth so that his tongue can tangle with yours, the two of you surrender to whatever this thing is between the two of you. It’s as if you can’t get close enough to him. His hands are cautious, his fingertips grazing your arms, before hesitantly trailing his hands over your waist. You lean into him, wanting to be even closer, and on your cue, Joaquin pulls you onto his lap. With your knees on either side of his hips, you straddle him, pressing your body to his chest as his tongue teases yours.

You pull away, only for a moment, your eyes telling him that you need to explore more of him. You begin to kiss along his jaw, then down to his neck, leaving kisses along the column of his throat. As you begin to travel outwards, you notice the scarring along the back of his neck and shoulders from the accident, surprised at how quickly the skin has healed.

It’s gotta be some kind of super-medicine, you think to yourself.

His eyes search yours as if to ask, Is it okay?

His scars, he means.

You begin to kiss along the tops of his shoulders, his collarbone, and where his shoulder meets his neck, as if to reply:

They’re beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

It’s more tender than you’re ready for, caught up by surprise by the moment, so you lift your head, meeting his lips once more. Joaquin’s hands are less cautious this time, pressing you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, continuing the passionate makeout.

Holy shit.

You’re making out with your childhood sweetheart.

The one you swore you’d never date.

But right now, you could care less, because he feels too good, and he kisses you like you’re his favorite thing. It’s all soft sighs, gentle hums that turn into moans, and hands all over. You could really lose yourself in this as you feel Joaquin’s hips buck up into yours, causing you to let out a moan.

“Joaquin, wait,” you pant, using all the willpower you have left in you at this moment, as you break the hot and heavy makeout session that’s gone on between you.

Because it feels too good.

And because you want this to go where you think it’s going.

“If we keep going… this-, we- we can’t unring this bell,” you pause, your eyes searching his for confirmation that he wants this just as much as you do.

“I don’t wanna,” he replies, with the utmost sincerity and admiration in the way he looks at you. “I don’t wanna unring the bell. No take backs.”

You giggle with a nod, “Okay. No take backs.”

It’s innocent and hot all at once. He pulls you back into him, his kiss tender as he smiles against your lips.

“Hold on,” he rasps, his order direct and sure.

Before you know it, he’s standing up, and you’re clinging to his strong form with your legs and your arms letting out a laugh as soon as you realize what’s happening.

“So does this mean you wanna share the bed or-?” he teases you, knowing very well that that’s your only plan for tonight.

You chuckle in response, shaking your head, “Take me to bed or lose me forever, Torres.”

“I love that movie,” he smiles. “I know you do,” you smile back.

“But I mean it. Take me to bed, baby.”

Baby.

He likes the way it sounds on your lips, and he likes the fact that it’s you calling ‘baby’ even more.

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, as you hold onto his body, feeling every step towards your bedroom.

You’re grateful for once, that your apartment isn’t that large, as Joaquin reaches your bed before you know. He lays you down gently, hovering over you as he removes his shirt.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, as he approaches the bed, this time shirtless. You cannot get your hands on him fast enough, feeling each plane of his superhero body against your hot, hot hands. “Please remind me to thank your personal trainer.”

“Oh that’s Isaiah. He-,” Joaquin begins to explain, smirking as you chase his lips.

“I really don’t want to think about Isaiah right now,” you interrupt him, taking your shirt off for good measure.

Joaquin is on you in seconds, kissing you like he’s kissed you a million times before. Were you really going to do this? Were you about to have sex with your best friend?

Before you can overthink it, Joaquin begins to leave kisses down your neck, returning the favor from earlier. His hot, wet mouth feels incredible, and all you can do is feel every single nerve ending in your body ablaze. You moan as he nibbles on the sensitive skin just below your collarbone, and you can feel him smile against your skin. He takes his time, making his way to the very top of the bralette you wear, leaving delicate kisses as he looks up at you.

“May I?” he asks.

He’s met with an eager nod from you, his large hands coming up to pull the fabric down, just enough to expose your breast to him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he sighs out.

Before you can respond, he’s wrapped his mouth around the peak of your breast, and you’re crying out in response.

“Oh my God, Joaquin,” you sigh, feeling the way his tongue begins to circle your nipple.

This is so not how you expected this evening to go, but you let yourself enjoy it anyway. Joaquin makes his way over to your other breast, giving it the same attention and reverence as the former.

As he pulls away, you’re practically tearing the bralette over your head and onto the floor, tossed somewhere you won’t worry about till tomorrow morning. Joaquin’s mouth is on yours for a brief, smacking kiss, then he’s making his way down your body again, allowing your mind to wonder what else he can do with his mouth.

You don’t have to wait long to find out.

Before you know it, he’s removing your PJ shorts and panties, and leaving teasing kisses along your inner thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet, baby,” he practically moans as he gets closer to where you need him.

“Hmmmm, yeah. Well, someone likes to tease,” you let out on an exhale, unsure of how you’re able to make a joke at a time like this. “You want my mouth? That it?” he asks you, nibbling on the soft skin.

You moan, your hands tangling themselves in the thick locks at the back of his head.

“Yes, baby. I want your mouth. Please.”

Please.

He never thought a word could sound so sweet, but coming from you, here, between your legs, as he’s wound you up enough to make you beg him? He’s lost all shreds of self-control he has left, unable to deny you nor him any longer.

You cry out as soon as you feel the warmth of his mouth on you, parting you open with his tongue.

“So wet,” you hear him groan into you before beginning to devour you.

His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes up to your clit, drawing abstract shapes like he’s Matisse, then dipping into you over and over again. It’s not until he slides a finger, and then two into you, his tongue focusing on your clit, that your pants of pleasure have turned into a string of moans.

“Holy fuck, Joaquin!” you cry out.

“I think I’m gonna-,” you stammer out, feeling the coil inside of you ready to snap. “Don’t stop, babe. Please. Fuck. I’m gonna come.”

He’s relentless, his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside of you, bringing you up and over your peak till you break like a wave. Joaquin takes his time, slowing down the ministrations of his mouth while he cleans you up with his tongue.

“How was that?” Joaquin asks, a mischievous smirk on his face as he stares up at you from between your legs. You look just as wrecked as you sound, and he can’t help but feel accomplished.

You let out a laugh, “Holy shit. Was the screaming of your name not enough?”

His smirk turns into a grin, and he’s moving up to kiss you as he answers, “I think I could hear it again.” You can taste yourself on his lips as you kiss him back.

“Then you’re gonna have to make me come like that again,” you’re quick to parry back, as if it’s a challenge.

“I think that can be arranged,” he replies. “You have condoms?” “Mhm,” you reply, before sitting up.

You promise you’ll be right back, and anything said after that is lost on him as he watches your naked body move around the room. As you return to him from your quick trip to your nightstand, condom in hand, he can’t get over how beautiful you are.

“Looks we still gotta get you naked. And do not bring up your personal trainer again, my God,” you groan, earning a laugh from him. You place the condom down on the bed beside you, before pulling Joaquin towards you.

He kneels on the bed, his knees on either side of your legs as he begins to pull his sweatpants down. You’re not sure if you’re nervous or excited to see him completely naked as your heart flutters. Joaquin clumsily makes his way out of his sweatpants, the two of you exchanging nervous laughs, before he’s kneeling over you again, completely naked.

He’s thick, and just long enough that you’re glad you’ve had a solid night of foreplay so far. You reach for the condom, handing it to him. Freeing up your hands, he takes it, and you slide one hand around his cock because you just have to feel it.

Joaquin hisses in response, shooting you a warning look.

You giggle, allowing him to slide the condom on first, before returning to you.

“We don’t have to-, you know. Right away. We can do some more of this,” he says, as he kisses you, slipping a hand between your legs.

It’s insane how your legs fall open for him without hesitation. You moan as he drags his index finger along your heat, earning a soft moan from. You allow him to tease you for just a little longer, the kisses shared between the two of you are long, patient, and passionate.

This is it. The point of no return.

As if he can read your mind, he slots himself between your legs, and you’re making room for him instinctively.

“You sure?” he asks you, almost as if he’s giving you one last time to back out.

“I’m sure,” you answer confidently, this time, reaching down between your bodies to line him up with you.

Joaquin hisses once more, the feeling too good as you drag the tip of his latex-covered cock up and down your sex.

“Baby, please,” you say, as if you know they’re the magic words.

“Oh my god,” Joaquin groans, because he can’t take it anymore.

Slowly, he pushes just the tip in, the two of you moan at first contact. He pulls away just enough, before pushing in again, deeper this time. It goes on like this, each thrust bringing him deeper into you till he’s full seated inside of you. Joaquin pauses, allowing the two of you just to feel. You breathe each other in before he kisses you with a passion and fervor that takes your breath away.

Joaquin begins to move his hips, giving you a few experimental thrusts.

“Feels so good. You feel so fucking good,” he whispers in between kisses.

“You feel good too, ‘Quin,” you whine, as he begins to pick up the pace.

You cry out, because you can feel him so deep, and because he feels so goddamn hard and so goddamn good inside of you. It’s as if your bodies take over, and before you know it, Joaquin’s fucking you into the mattress, pressing your hands above your head, tangling his fingers with yours, and making you come on his cock for the very first time.

He watches you come down from your high, and he thinks he could do this forever, because you’re so damn beautiful when you come. There’s something about it—knowing it’s him that’s making you feel this way—that makes you feel this good.

“Switch with me,” you order, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Let me get on top.”

He must have the dopiest smile on his face as he does, laying back against the mattress and watching you crawl on top of him.

This can’t be real.

Could this be real?

It feels really fucking real as he feels you slide down over him, your head thrown back in pleasure, taking him inch by inch.

“Dios mio, baby,” he sighs, his hands moving instinctively to your hips as you ride him.

He lets you set the pace, moving your hips slowly at first, settling into a rhythm as he admires your naked body. From the way you tangle your hands in your hair, the way your breasts bounce as you ride him, the way your hips swivel every few thrusts, he’s never seen a more magnificent sight. You take your time, just enjoying this, enjoying each other, with no rush or care in the world.

Joaquin can’t take his eyes off of you.

It’s just you and him and the way you feel.

With one hand on his chest, your back arched, your hips working up to a feverish pace, you can feel yourself on the verge again. He feels too good: Joaquin, your childhood best friend, the one that, just hours earlier, you thought would forever just be your friend. But now that you know how he kisses, what his tongue feels like, what his cock feels like, there’s absolutely not going back.

You let out another moan, an offering to the gods, because all you want is more, more, more.

“Holy shit! Why didn’t we do this sooner?” you gasp, the pace of your hips quick, chasing your high. “You said you didn’t want to be an army wife,” he pants in return, his thrusts meeting yours.

“Well, I’m currently reconsidering because-. Oh fuck!” you cry out, and you know you’ll have to bake apology muffins for your neighbors later this week.

There it is. It’s there.

You’re so close.

You can feel it.

“If you’re still talking, I don’t think I’m fucking you good enough,” Joaquin teases you.

“Well then, put your money where your mouth is, Torres, and make me cum.”

It’s meant to sound like a challenge, but you wonder if it just comes out as desperate as you feel.

Joaquin pauses, and before you can complain, you feel him shift so that he’s sitting upright. You both moan as she sinks just a little deeper. He kisses you deeply, his thrusts starting out slow before quickly moving to something with much more intention. He knows exactly what he wants from you.

With your face buried in his neck, he’s set a blistering pace, and you’re meeting him thrust for thrust. He really meant it when he said he’s fuck you even better.

“Fuck. Yes. Right there, right there, right there. Oh my god,” you shout into his neck as he hits that spot inside of you.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Joaquin grits out, and you can tell how much he’s holding back. “With you squeezing me like that. Fuck.”

“Then don’t,” you beg him, before your orgasm takes over you one last time. “I want you to come, baby.”

All you can do is hold on, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, moaning into his neck as you come again. He fucks you through it, his thrusts getting more erratic and sloppy with each one. It’s the way you pulse around him, how tight you’re squeezing him, milking all remnants of self control he has left that brings him to his high. Joaquin follows shortly after, because you just feel too good coming on his cock.

He comes with a strangled moan, stars exploding behind his eyes, followed by sharp pants as he tries to catch his breath.

You stay like this for what feels like forever, and not long enough.

“Holy shit,” you say, lifting your head to look at him.

“Uh… yeah,” Joaquin breathes, as the two of you share a smile. You leave gentle kisses along his shoulder as the two of you breathe together, enjoying your last moments like this. “Just uh, give me a second.”

You nod, careful as you let him slip out of you, allowing the both of you to collapse on your backs.

“So…” Joaquin drags out, looking over at you. “Still think we should share the bed?”

You laugh, pressing your lips together before answering with:

“You’ll be lucky if I let you out of this bed this weekend, Torres.”

“Mmmm I think I like the sound of that,” he grins, rolling over onto his side.

“Me too.”

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