#i need to sit down and start actually WRITING it

[ssa-dado]

24 - Logos

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, SMUT Summary: A few weeks ago, Aaron had read a passage from Plato's Symposium - "And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself... the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment." He hadn’t fully understood it. Not until he found himself sitting on your couch at 3 a.m. Warnings: + 18 MINORS DNI (I will ground you) alcohol consumption, some cuss words here and there, VERY GRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE SEX because I'm a weirdo, it's basically porn with philosophy (not in the middle of it - of course - I'm not that weird), dirty talk, unprotected sex, piv, oral sex and a lot of pining. Hotch is a whore. Word Count: 18.9k Dado's Corner: I don’t know, I’m both proud and deeply insecure about posting this. It’s my first time writing smut. Ever. I have no idea if it’s good. No idea if it’s too much or too little - if I over-explained things or if I didn’t explain enough. It’s their first time actually sober, and they’re supposed to be a little cringe - uncertain, hesitant, not entirely sure what to do with each other or where they fit and that’s deliberate. I wanted it to feel real - flawed, messy, something that isn’t just perfect and seamless, but human. There’s good and bad, there’s laughter and uncertainty, there are tears of joy and tears of fear. And I just hope it feels like something.

masterlist ; mandatory first part because if you skip this, you'll be utterly lost and it's not my fault

In Stoic philosophy, logos represents the rational principle that governs the universe, uniting logic, physics, and ethics into a cohesive worldview. It is the divine reason permeating all existence, structuring nature according to order and necessity.

In Stoic logic, logos manifests as the foundation of rational thought, guiding human reasoning toward clarity and truth. Mastery of logic enables individuals to distinguish between valid judgments and deceptive impressions, ensuring alignment with reality.

In physics, logos is the active, organizing force (pneuma) that sustains and directs the cosmos. Everything unfolds according to its rational design, making the universe an interconnected, purposeful whole rather than a realm of randomness.

In ethics, living in accordance with logos means harmonizing one’s will with nature’s rational order. By cultivating wisdom, self-discipline, and virtue, individuals align their actions with universal reason, achieving tranquility and moral integrity in a world shaped by necessity and change.

Happiness is a complex concept - or at least, it became one once thinkers like Aristotle started overanalyzing it.

He distinguished between fleeting pleasure (hedonia) and deeper fulfillment (eudaimonia), and ever since, that debate has been stitched into the fabric of western culture.

Now, most people unknowingly follow this hierarchical model of happiness, never realizing it originated from a handful of bored, existentially troubled men desperately trying to intellectualize their own misery.

Maybe that’s why it’s considered completely normal to ask if someone is really happy - because centuries of philosophy decided that happiness alone isn’t enough – it had to be the right kind of happiness.

And yet, even you weren’t immune to that trap. Because standing there, dancing with Aaron, you admitted to yourself that you were, in fact, truly happy.

Not just for yourself, but for him - for the man who, for the first time since signing his divorce papers a few months ago finally looked light. Not weighed down. Not lost in some invisible battle in his mind. Just… happy.

And the moment felt so sweet, a microcosm where locking eyes with each other was ordinary conduct in such close proximity, where neither of you felt the need to temper that undeniable - if slightly terrifying - undercurrent of chemistry.

Just the understanding that this was safe, that this was allowed.

And somehow, that made it even sweeter.

Not just the warmth of it, not just the effortless way you fit into this tight space together, but the inescapable fact that your probably borderline-manipulative plan to drag him out of his self-imposed exile - had actually worked.

"Now you have to tell me how you managed to get not only Rossi but Hotch to join us tonight, sweet Teach - what kind of sorcery did you pull?" Penelope beamed, not even giving you a second to breathe after you’d opened the door to your apartment.

Ever since she got shot and still struggled with being alone in her house, the two of you had built this little ritual - getting ready together, spending a few hours just the two of you in your apartment before a night out.

A win-win, really, considering you also took your time settling into this place, figuring out how to make it feel like home. Penelope had even been the one to help you unpack your very last box, and now this little tradition had taken root.

She brought the wine, you experimented with vegan appetizers - some more successful than others - and the two of you would rant, gossip, and talk about everything and nothing. But, most importantly, Penelope took on the herculean mission of wrangling your ridiculously high-maintenance team into one place for a night out.

It was a diplomatic nightmare. The venue had to be quiet enough for Spencer but still have music good enough for Derek, serve whatever mocktail JJ was obsessed with that month, and somehow accommodate Emily’s inevitable last-minute curveballs - which, incidentally, was how Spencer found himself at a drag show for the first time.

Shockingly, he’d been asking to go back to that bar ever since.

You, meanwhile, were more like Penelope’s unpaid secretary. She desperately needed one, given the sheer level of effort it took to coordinate this mess.

"You asked, and I delivered," you said, shrugging. "Told Rossi that Hotch was coming, told Aaron that Rossi was coming too - he actually turned out to be much easier to persuade."

"I wonder why… oh, right," Penelope sing-songed, eyes gleaming. "Big Bossman has a soft spot for you, smiley little thing."

You rolled your eyes. "The fact that we’re friends doesn’t change that he is infuriatingly stubborn once he makes up his mind. So annoying."

"Nine years of ‘friendship’" Penelope quipped, stretching the word out suspiciously.

"Actually, it’s ten," you corrected, sipping your wine as you settled onto your kitchen stool.

Penelope gasped - full dramatic hand-to-chest gasp. "Oh my STARS and MOONS! Ten years?! And you didn’t tell me?! What did you do? What did he do? Just the two of you , alone somewhere private, existing in your natural secretive habitats like the little pretty, reserved, woodland creatures you two are… especially now that he’s divor-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Pen!" you cut her off before she could run that train straight off the rails. "How many times have I told you we're-"

But no. She didn’t let you finish.

"Oh, Teach!" she grinned, eyes sparkling enough to concern you. "I was just suggesting you two do something to celebrate… something you two love to do. You know, stay up all night bonding over files… bending over files…"

You choked.

Actually choked.

Wine went straight up your nose, burned your throat, and splattered all over you, going everywhere.

Your counter.

Your floor.

Your poor, innocent, pristine white pants.

Penelope screamed - but not in horror, in absolute, unhinged delight.

"OH MY GOD," she cackled, slapping a hand against your back like that would somehow help you breathe again. "I HAVE NEVER BROKEN YOU SO FAST."

You wheezed, still coughing. "Penelope-"

She wiped a fake tear from her eye, grinning. "Oh no, sweet pea. You absolutely just got - wait." She paused mid-celebration, tilting her head as if she had just made a discovery.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the amount of damage she was about to inflict - "Much like I imagine Aaron Hotchner could do."

A horrible, inhuman noise clawed its way out of your throat - your last dying breath, probably.

Penelope lost it. Full-body laughter, already snatching a towel but making zero effort to hide the criminal glint in her eyes.

"I’m just saying," she went on, barely containing herself, "you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed have this whole agonizingly slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they, tragic yearning thing going on, and you know I’m right."

You groaned, dabbing furiously at the stain. "There is nothing slow-burn about a decade-long friendship."

"Aha! So you admit it’s a burn!" Penelope beamed, pointing at you like she had just cracked a conspiracy wide open.

The more you dabbed, the worse it got - just like this conversation, apparently. "Oh, no, I never-”

"All I’m saying is," she steamrolled over you, completely unfazed, "the energy you two radiate is so thick I could slather it on a bagel. Toasted chemistry. Smothered in slow-burn spread. One time I saw him look at you like you personally hand-crafted happiness from scratch just for him. Like you reached into the fabric of the universe and said, ‘Here you go, Hotchner, a reason to believe in joy again.’"

You paused, glaring at her. "That is insane."

She ignored you, fully in the zone now. "And don’t even get me started on the way you look at him when he isn’t paying attention."

You looked at him completely normally. Totally neutral. A textbook, regulation-approved gaze.

Even Anderson looked at him with more fervor than you ever did - and as far as you knew, he wasn’t even into men.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And how exactly do I look at him, Penelope? Enlighten me."

She grinned - dangerously - and leaned in like she was about to drop the biggest bombshell of your life. "Like you already know what he looks like naked and are trying very, very hard not to think about it."

You froze.

For exactly half a second - which, unfortunately, was half a second too long.

Penelope’s entire face dropped. Eyes huge. Mouth hanging open. A moment of stunned silence. And then-

"OH. MY. GOD."

Your stomach plummeted. "Penelope, don’t-"

"OH MY GOD. YOU DID."

"Penelope," you tried again, desperately attempting to rein in the chaos - but, to your credit, you did at least try to keep your voice level.

"JESUS, MARY, AND EMILY PRENTISS, YOU TOTALLY DID THE HORIZONTAL TANGO WITH AARON HOTCHNER. YOU SNEAKY LITTLE MINX. HOW DARE YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME?!"

"Penelope, for the love of-" you started, but of course she chimed in again.

"WHEN?! WHERE?! HOW?! DETAILS, WOMAN!"

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face because there was no getting out of this.

"Once," you muttered. "Nine years ago."

Silence.

Then, with the most scandalized expression you've ever witnessed on her face, she shrieked, "ONLY ONCE?!"

You threw your hands up. "Yes, only once! And never again."

"WHY ONLY ONCE?!" she shrieked, as if you had just admitted to committing the single greatest injustice known to mankind.

You exhaled, bracing yourself, hoping that a little honesty might finally get her to calm down. "Because, at the time… I might have had a bit of a crush on him. And we were coworkers. And it wasn’t exactly… ethic-"

"FUCK THE ETHICAL!" she screamed, thrilled by the sheer scandal of it all.

You should have seen that coming."Penelope!"

She flailed her arms so violently she nearly knocked over her wine glass, eyes wide "You had a crush on him?! ON HOTCH?! AND YOU ONLY DID IT ONCE?! Oh, I cannot with you right now. You are so infuriating sometimes! You have the emotional restraint of a saint, and I do not mean that as a compliment."

"We were both drunk, and it was a mistake. It happened, we moved on, and that was the end of it. We’re friends, and that’s all it’s ever going to be." you said, unwavering. " Honestly, I don’t even think about it anymore - sometimes, I even laugh about it."

Penelope squinted, gears visibly turning in that devious head of hers, already cooking up something absolutely unhinged. "Mmm-hmm. Okay. Fine. Sure. Let’s pretend I accept that. But-"

Oh no.

"-if it were to happen again, hypothetically speaking, do you think it would be even better now that he’s aged like a fine, expensive, top-shelf wine? And, and, anddd - follow-up question - on a purely objective, scientific level - how would you rate him? You know, visually?"

"Penelope!" you groaned, but unfortunately, your traitorous brain had already started answering the question.

Yes.

And no comment.

"Okay, okay, fine, no ratings," she huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard you were surprised she didn't sprain something. "But-"

This was it. Your moment. Time to end this madness with a good old, firm, satisfying -"No."

But, of course, that would have been too good to be true.

She continued "-would you say he's more on the impressively sized side or-"

"Penelope, please." You were already suffering.

She waved you off like your dignity was a minor inconvenience to her scientific research. "Listen, I’m just saying," she went on, tone now fully deranged, "the man carries himself like he’s got something to be confident about. Big hands, big energy, big…"

You froze. "Do not finish that sentence."

"BIG, HUGE D-"

Time to draw the line.

You shot up so fast your chair went flying, rattling against the floor as you grabbed your phone.

Penelope screeched. "Wait - what are you doing?!"

You scrolled, thumb unwavering, and hit call. "Giving you a direct source."

Her soul left her body. "NO. NO, YOU WOULD NOT-"

You absolutely would.

And you did.

"Come on," you said, completely deadpan, as the dial tone rang. "It’s just Aaron."

Penelope malfunctioned. She glitched like a corrupted file. She stared at you, horrified, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"He’s just 'Aaron' to you?" she whispered, her hands flailed before slamming onto the table as if physically stabilizing herself. "No last name? No title? Just oh, you know, my casual little ex-lover, Aaron? Just ‘hello, this is a man I have been biblically familiar with, Aaron?’ Just ‘we had sex nine years ago, and now he’s simply Aaron, like we’re old college roommates and not two people who have seen each other naked’"

…Hmm. Well. Yes?

To be fair, you’d never really thought about it before. It just… happened. One day, he was Hotch, then - sometime after that night - he was Aaron. And after that, you never really stopped.

No big discussion, no conscious decision - just a shift so seamless that you hadn’t even registered it until right now, in this very moment, with Penelope practically having a full-body breakdown in your kitchen.

Not important. Moving on.

Because, frankly, you had bigger concerns - like how you were about to experience instant, irreversible consequences for your actions, since the call, after one, two, three rings-

Connected.

"Hello?" His voice came through the line - slightly huffed, a little breathless, like he’d just moved across the room.

"You took a while to pick up," you said casually - a joke, a throwaway comment.

There was a pause. A beat.

And then, in that deadly flat, unbothered tone of his, he answered, "I was still in the shower."

You froze.

Penelope froze.

Somewhere, on the opposite side of your living room wall, your elderly neighbor Mrs. Lee - who had been subtly not subtly eavesdropping through the thin drywall of your apartment - probably froze.

You could feel Penelope vibrating beside you, gripping your arm so tightly she was cutting off circulation, meanwhile, your brain was running in circles, slamming against metaphorical walls, and screaming into the void because-

Aaron in the shower.

Aaron, freshly out of the shower.

Aaron, picking up the phone, standing there, probably half-naked, hair wet-

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

You leaned back against the counter, schooling your expression into something completely unfazed. "Well, now I feel bad for interrupting."

"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. It’s just that Penelope had something very important to ask you," you said, glancing over at her with the most innocent, borderline sadistic smile you could muster.

"I - what - no, I don’t-" she sputtered, frantically shaking her head and waving her hands.

Aaron, still completely unaware of the impending disaster, said, "What is it, Penelope?"

Dead silence.

Garcia looked like she had been struck by divine retribution.

"Go on," you mouthed, biting back a grin. "Ask him."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

Just the sound of sheer existential regret.

"Garcia?" Aaron prompted, his tone patient, if slightly concerned.

"I - um - hi, sir Sir," she finally managed, voice several octaves higher than usual. "I - I just - well, you know - um. How was your shower?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

Aaron, completely unfazed, just answered like this was a normal human interaction,"It was fine."

"Good! That’s great!" Garcia blurted, nodding furiously at no one in particular. "Love a good shower! Love hygiene! So important! Huge fan of cleanliness! Showering - what a concept! Water? Incredible. Soap? Revolutionary. Scrubbing? Life-changing. Anyway, I have to go bye!"

And then she hung up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break the phone.

You just stared at her.

She just stared back.

Then, in perfect sync -

You both screamed, laughing.

"You traitor!" Penelope wheezed, still half-laughing, half-mortified.

"You were the one who wanted answers!" you gasped, nearly crying from laughter.

"Not from him directly!" she shrieked, burying her face in her hands like that could somehow reverse time - but she was laughing anyway, because this was, undeniably, the funniest and most horrifying thing that had ever happened.

"Well, I just saved you the effort," you teased.

She ripped her hands away from her face, wild-eyed. "You made me ask our boss about his shower."

"You made me listen to your entire dissertation on whether or not he’s impressively sized - I feel like we’re even."

You still somehow winced thinking back about it.

She groaned, collapsing against the counter. "I will never recover from this."

"Oh, I’m sure you absolutely will," you said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Do you want more wine?"

She lifted her head just enough to nod. Begrudgingly.

You poured, sliding her glass across the counter. Then, with the kind of magnanimous generosity only wine-fueled chaos could inspire, you added, "And - because I am a good friend - I will allow you one question about that night. One. With a detail."

Penelope snapped upright faster than the speed of light, gasping. "Oh, this is the best day of my life."

You chuckled, shaking your head, sipping from your own glass too. "Make it count."

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then, she leaned in and whispered- "Was it at least good enough that you'd do it sober?"

You nearly choked, again. "Penelope!"

She lifted a hand. "No, no, no, this is a very fair, very respectable question."

Sure, a question that required another sip of wine to be answered, especially because at this point you literally had nothing more to lose. "Penelope, I would do it sober, wide awake, fully caffeinated, after eight hours of sleep, in a well-lit room, with a legally binding contract ensuring I’d remember every single second."

Penelope screamed.

"OH MY GOD," she wailed, collapsing onto the counter. "THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE NIGHT."

You took another sip, completely unfazed, as she flailed so hard she nearly launched herself off the stool.

"I NEED TO LIE DOWN," she gasped, gripping onto the counter for support. "I NEED TO CALL EMILY. JJ – OH SWEET LITTLE JJ – SHE��S IN NEW ORLEANS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW”

"You need to calm down," you deadpanned.

She pointed at you, accusatory, still half-breathless from screaming. "You were gonna take this to the grave. You were gonna let me die not knowing this. ME. PENELOPE GARCIA. The person who has kept all of your secrets and asked for nothing in return except unfiltered chaos."

"I was absolutely going to take this to the grave," you confirmed, refilling your wine.

She let out a dramatic gasp. "YOU MONSTER."

You shrugged. "You survived."

She slammed a hand on the table. "You know who wouldn’t have survived?"

You tilted your head. "Who?"

She leaned in, eyes glinting. "Aaron Hotchner."

You made a low, strangled noise in the back of your throat.

"Oh, he absolutely wouldn’t have survived if he knew this just came out of your mouth," she continued, giddy, thriving off the absolute chaos she had unleashed. Then, dead serious - "Text him right now and tell him."

You slammed your wine down. "I am definetely not texting him that."

"Why not?!" she howled.

"Because I told you - I’m never doing that. Ever. I’m serious. If I could go back in time and relive that sober? Sure. But not. Now."

She narrowed her eyes, assessing, calculating.

"Okay, okay, alright then - next question." she said too fast, taking a sip like she was preparing for battle. "Do you think he’d do it sober?"

You opened your mouth - but nothing came out. Because you hadn’t actually thought about that before.

Penelope gasped so loudly that you were surprised the walls didn’t shake. "OH MY GOD, YOU DON’T KNOW."

"I-"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IF HE THINKS ABOUT IT, WHAT IF HE REGRETS NOT DOING IT AGAIN."

"Penelope," you said slowly, carefully, " you know what? I have reached my limit. This conversation is getting put away. We are going to the bathroom, I am curling your hair, and we are talking about something else."

"You know, Teach," she mused, stretching luxuriously as she grabbed her wine glass. "You have a really weird way of showing love."

You took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of your glass. “I agree - it’s because I hate you just as much as I love you, PG. Opposites aren’t really opposites, you know? They kind of fold into each other - love, hate… same fire, same burn. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”

You were actually proud of this philosophical pearl of wisdom. Penelope? Not so much.

She cut you off immediately. "Oh my GOD, this explains so much. This is exactly why you and Hotch looked like you were about to fuck in the middle of the bullpen yesterday."

"PENELOPE."

She pointed at you, completely unbothered. "OH NO NO NO - I was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly you two were arguing about the profile like you were in some kind of battle for dominance, standing way too close, talking way too low, making way too much direct eye contact."

"We were disagreeing about the profile."

"YOU WERE HAVING A MENTAL THREESOME WITH THE PROFILE BETWEEN YOU."

You let your head drop onto the counter.

She kept going. "It was totally foreplay - and then, mid-argument, he even took you to his office."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. "We went to his office to continue the discussion in private."

"Sure..." she grinned, skipping toward the bathroom. "Fine, fine. But just so you know," she threw a look over her shoulder, "if Hotch ever does take you to his office for anything other than work, I expect a full report."

Oh fucking hell.

"I hope your curls come out uneven," you muttered, grabbing the curling iron.

"I hope you get stuck in an elevator with him," she shot back.

You narrowed your eyes. "I hope you trip in your heels tonight."

She grinned wider. "I hope Hotch sits across from you at the bar and just stares at your lips the whole time."

You scoffed. "I hope your mascara smudges so bad you look like a raccoon by the end of the night."

She perked up. "I hope you two sneak away to the bathrooms at the bar, and you have to keep quiet while he-"

"PENELOPE."

She continued, undeterred, "I hope he backs you up against the bar, leans down all serious like he’s about to tell you something important - and then just whispers the filthiest thing you’ve ever heard."

"I hope you break a heel on the way there and have to borrow one of Morgan’s sneakers."

"I hope he offers you his jacket and you realize it still smells like his cologne and suddenly you’re thinking about it again."

"I hope you stub your toe so hard you rethink everything."

"I hope he says your name in that low voice of his, and for a split second, you remember exactly what he sounded like nine years ago-"

"I hope you spill something on your dress and have to go home early."

She cackled, victorious. "I hope you wake up in his bed and don't regret a single thing."

And maybe, exactly because the two of you had this conversation, you shouldn’t have agreed to go to the bar together in a single car – hers.

You should have seen this coming.

Indeed, as you and Aaron made your way back to the bar, drinks in hand, you spotted Derek and Penelope approaching with a very specific look on their faces.

Derek clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, "Teach - Babygirl had too many drinks to drive, I’m bringing her back home, can-"

Aaron didn’t even let him finish.

"I’ll give the professor a ride," he said immediately, smooth, confident, like he had already made up his mind before Derek even spoke. "You go, Morgan. See you tomorrow morning."

You barely had time to process how utterly inevitable this was - how there was no escaping the tension that had been building up all night until the very moment you stepped out of his car and reached your apartment door.

And then - Penelope smirked.

The smuggest, most self-satisfied, most evil little smirk in existence. You hoped, deeply and sincerely, that this wasn’t her plan all along - but judging by the way she waved so innocently as Derek dragged her away, eyes twinkling like the devil himself-

Yeah. You were doomed.

You were doomed the second you and Aaron stepped out of the bar and, with zero effort, he pushed open the massive, heavy wooden door like it weighed nothing at all. Casual. Effortless. Like he hadn’t even thought about it.

Just naturally stepped aside, one hand braced firmly on the doorframe, the other resting lightly against the door, waiting – watching - as you walked past him.

You were even more doomed when you reached his car and - of course - he opened the passenger seat for you too.

Didn’t even let you reach for it yourself.

Just beat you to it with ease, pulling it open - but instead of walking away immediately, he lingered for half a second longer, his hand still resting on the handle, holding it just firmly enough so he could be the one to shut you in himself.

Like this wasn’t already a lost art. Like this was just how things were supposed to be.

To top it all off, he got in, and as he backed out of the parking spot, his arm reached behind your headrest, fingers resting exactly there, his body leaning in just slightly closer as he turned to glance over his shoulder.

You had never wanted to fight for your life more.

Not because of the closeness.

Not because of the way his short-sleeved polo shifted, muscles tensing subtly, biceps flexing just enough as he turned the wheel -

No.

It was because he chose this exact moment to mutter, in that low, distracted, completely serious voice, something about the structural failures of public infrastructure.

"Parking lots aren’t properly illuminated," he murmured, half to himself, half to you, as he pulled out of the space - leaning in just enough for you to be wrapped in the warmth of his woody cologne. "Streetlamps are too far apart - against regulation. Visibility’s compromised."

You blinked.

It was so incredibly Hotchner of him to be thinking about streetlamp regulations at a time like this that you nearly lost your mind.

But you couldn’t even react, because then he turned on the car radio. And instead of some normal, pre-set station, it booted right into his most recent activity.

Which meant - of course - it immediately picked up in the middle of whatever custom CD he had been listening to on the way to the bar.

You had exactly one second to register the unfamiliar tune before it clicked - this was from whatever Broadway musical he was currently obsessed with.

Oh, he was such a loser.

You turned your head toward him, but Aaron - unfazed, unbothered - simply reached forward and turned the volume down to a casual, background level.

Like this was all perfectly normal.

Like you hadn’t just caught him.

"Aaron." You bit back a smirk.

He kept his eyes firmly on the road, expression unreadable. "Hmm?"

"Which one is this?" you asked, already knowing the answer but needing him to say it out loud.

"Wicked," he muttered. Then, quickly -"I can change it."

"Oh no, no, don’t you dare, Hotchner." You chuckled, settling in. "Always wondered what your music taste sounds like."

He exhaled deeply. "It is not only this-" he started, trying, truly trying to make you understand the complexity of his other music tastes, to defend his honor, but – they just started singing. And he knew.

He knew.

You were never going to let him live this down. Better off saving his breath.

Hilarious, and the best part? He didn’t even know he was.

Halfway through, you tilted your head, listening. "So this whole song is about two girls absolutely hating each other because they’re complete opposites, but they’re forced to be roommates?"

"Pretty much, yes." His answer a little too quiet, and - though he tried to hide it - deeply embarrassed.

You grinned. "It kinda sounds like they have a crush on each other," you commented, trying your best not to notice how his fingers tapped the wheel, completely in rhythm with the song, while his face remained perfectly composed - extremely normal about something he so clearly wasn't at all.

"That’s the whole point," he said, deadpan, keeping it short.

"Oh “ You blinked. “Do they get together at the end?"

"Unfortunately not." He sounded so genuinely bitter about it that you nearly laughed. "They become best friends, though."

Though, judging by the way his gaze flicked toward you for half a second, he wasn’t entirely sure if you were still talking about the musical - or something else entirely.

Especially when you simply hummed, turning to look out the window. "Best friends."

"Yes. Best friends." His fingers tightened on the wheel.

And damn if you didn’t let the silence linger just a beat too long.

"They don’t get together because they’re completely different, so they’re not compatible?" you asked, your voice just a little too earnest.

"Not because of that," he started. "It’s because one of them becomes a political fugitive and is declared a national threat, while the other is essentially forced into being the corrupt government’s PR puppet."

Ah. Okay.

There was no possible way to explain it in a way that didn’t completely kill the mood - impossible, really. But he tried anyway.

"Although," he added, keeping his voice even, measured, like this was not something he had many thoughts on, "they do have a really dramatic goodbye, where they sing about how much they changed each other’s lives and how they’ll never be the same again."

He felt you turn toward him, and though he kept his eyes on the road, he felt it - that shift in your attention, God knows on what, though.

"Best friends," you repeated.

He gripped the wheel just a little too tight. "Best friends," he confirmed, again.

A beat. A pause. Too long.

"And you think it would have been better if they had been together?" Your question landed way too heavy, like you knew exactly how much weight it carried.

Like you knew exactly how his mind worked, how he had spent far too long thinking about this, not just in the context of some musical, but in general.

He exhaled, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, but his grip tightened again.

And then-

"Fuck yes," the words left his mouth way too fast.

So fast that he heard you laugh before he even saw you smile from the rereview mirror of the car.

And God - that laugh.

It wrecked him.

Not because it was loud or sudden, but because it was yours. Because it was real. Unguarded. Effortless. Because it was him that pulled it from you - and it was then, in that moment, that he knew.

He was so, so fucked.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t some sudden realization, some reckless thought that had just wormed its way into his mind out of nowhere.

It had been there. For a long time. Ten whole years.

He had just never let himself look at it too closely.

Because if he did - if he let himself really think about it, about how he felt like he was burning alive every time you looked at him like that - it would be too much.

It would consume him.

And he could not, would not, risk this unless he was absolutely sure.

Unless he knew you wanted him too.

Unless he knew you burned for him the same way he was combusting for you in real time in this car.

And that terrified him, because he was not sure.

Because you laughed like it was just funny.

Because you smiled like this was just a conversation.

Because you did not look wrecked.

Not like he felt.

So instead, he cleared his throat, steadied his grip, and forced his voice into something casual, distant - yet still, somehow, not completely backing down. "You think they should have ended up together too, then?"

Not ‘do you think I’m wrong’.

Not ‘do you disagree’.

But  - you think so too.

Like some small, cowardly, pathetic part of him needed to hear you say it.

There was a pause - not a long one, not anything noticeable if he wasn’t paying attention. But he was.

He was paying attention to everything.

To the way your breath hitched just slightly, to the way your fingers twisted at the hem of your sleeve, to the way you turned your head to look at him.

“Obviously.” You gestured toward the radio. “You don’t harmonize so effortlessly with someone you’re just calling a ‘friend.’ That’s literally just denial with extra steps.”

He almost told you that harmonizing perfectly was the entire point of musical theater. That it was scripted, practiced, designed to fit together.

That it didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t, because he knew what you meant. “So you believe in that?” he asked, voice steady, casual, like this was just another discussion.

You raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

His fingers tapped against the wheel, once, twice – thoughtful - before he finally spoke. "That some people are just... deluding themselves."

The shift was small, but he felt it. Your smile didn’t falter. Your posture didn’t change. But something in your expression - in your eyes specifically - shifted.

It was dangerous, talking to you like this.

Because you noticed too much. Because you understood more than most. Because you saw through things - through people - with a clarity that was often unnerving.

Especially when it came to him.

Especially when he wasn’t sure he was ready to be understood like that.

It was your job, afterall.

"Oh, absolutely," you said easily, your tone way too light for his liking. "People are the most oblivious to themselves. We exist in a perpetual state of contradiction - endlessly chasing clarity while fiercely protecting the illusions that comfort us. We reshape our own realities, bending them to fit the narratives we can live with, refusing to confront the truths that feel too heavy - even when they’re staring right at us."

And didn’t he know - hadn’t he always known - how precise you could be with words in moments like this? The moments where he wasn’t, the only moments where he wasn’t precise at all.

How effortlessly you could thread meaning into silence, weaving it into something he could either acknowledge or ignore.

How your gaze lingered just a fraction too long, like you were offering him a choice.

And he didn’t know whether to turn away from it - or step straight into it.

Because for once, he couldn’t read you and that terrified him.

He had spent his entire life seeing through people, understanding them before they even understood themselves.

Yet here he was, in the quiet of his car, in the space between you, not entirely sure who you were talking about.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

So he did what he had always done.

He lived with it.

With the sound of his heart thundering louder than the music - louder than your occasional singing along when something familiar played, or the rhythm of your voice alternating with his as you both filled the car with conversation about everything and nothing.

Each block closer to your apartment building felt like a loss, something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it. He was already mourning the night before it was over.

And neither of you seemed to want it to end, given how relentlessly the talking continued, stretching time as far as it would allow.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that it even occurred to either of you that you were standing outside in the cold, leaning against the driver’s side door, your arms wrapped around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. He was still in the car, window rolled down, engine still running, caught between staying and leaving.

It made him ache, interrupting you mid-sentence to point it out. “You’re shivering,” he said quietly, apologetic, as though he were to blame for the biting chill in the air.

It made him ache even more when, instead of brushing it off or saying goodnight, you invited him upstairs, at how his jacket was discarded somewhere along the short path to your building’s entrance, now draped over your shoulders along with his arm, pulling you closer.

It was ridiculous how, even with two jackets on, the only thing keeping you from freezing was his arm.

What was even more ridiculous - hideous, really - was how he should have been the one freezing, left in nothing but short sleeves, yet somehow, standing there with you wrapped up in him, he’d never felt warmer in his life.

So warm that he didn’t even notice the chill of the night.

So warm, in fact, that he didn’t even need the blanket you handed him when you both settled into your living room, waiting for the heating to kick in. He let it drape over his lap out of politeness more than necessity, as if pretending to care about staying warm.

Now, you sat on opposite ends of your couch, shoes abandoned by the door, both of you leaning on the armrest closest to the other, legs angled toward one another, the space between you steadily narrowing. Distance itself felt like an insult, your arms resting along the back of the couch so you could still face each other, still hold onto the moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away.

And he didn’t dare lose sight of your eyes.

It was in that exact moment that a memory surfaced—some weeks ago, sitting alone in his living room, reading Symposium, a book he only picked up because he had seen you so engrossed in it on the jet. Because he had wanted to understand what had captured your mind so entirely.

And everything that followed - a whole night of texting, deep conversations neither of you ever brought up again, like always.

His eyes had analyzed the book twice, dissected its structure, its meaning. And yet, only now, in the absence of it but in your presence, did he finally understand that one passage.

"And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself… the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment."

He understood.

Because he couldn’t look away from you - not now, not ever.

The world outside was so quiet that every word exchanged between you felt magnified, as though the universe itself had leaned in to listen. And when even your whispers felt too loud, you shifted closer, scooching toward him on the couch.

Just a few inches at first.

And then he did the same.

You moved again. Then so did he.

And suddenly, your crossed leg was draped over his, the fabric of your tights brushing against his jeans as naturally as if it had always been there. His left hand settled somewhere near your knee - hesitant, not gripping, but resting. Shy.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only tether to the concept of time, because what he’d assumed to be ten, maybe fifteen minutes revealed itself to be a full hour.

3 A.M. And neither of you seemed to care.

By then, his hand had already found the courage to rest between your thighs, still safely on your knee. Though it didn’t take long before his thumb began moving on its own, tracing slow, idle patterns over the thin fabric of your tights.

He didn’t say anything about the way your foot brushed his calf, or how his name on your lips sounded softer in the early hours. Or at how all of this mutual care betrayed his mind, cracking open a small window to what it could have been.

Yet somehow, it felt far more like a glimpse of what it could be.

“Aaron,” your said, soft enough that it sounded more like a thought than a spoken word.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was just his name. Him.

And somehow, that made it all the more devastating.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested on your knee. He followed your gaze, and in that moment, even though he’d memorized every fleck of color in your irises, their absence felt like a loss.

So dull that his thumb stilled its movements across your knee under your inspection, as if the simple acknowledgment of the two of you now might shatter everything.

He braced himself for a shift - for the game you always played, where lines were drawn, and walls went back up. Where the closeness between you was something fleeting, fleeting enough to pretend it never existed.

But then, you looked back up.

And instead of retreat, instead of scolding or teasing or anything he expected, there was something else entirely. “I really don’t want this night to end.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard you right, but the look in your eyes left no room for doubt. You weren’t just talking about the night… and neither was he.

But he didn’t know how to give you the honesty you deserved without completely unraveling, not until his thumb resumed its gentle movements on your knee - more to selfishly steady himself than anything else.

“Neither do I,” he admitted finally, even if each second was daring him to say more, to close the space between you entirely. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not yet.

It was you who moved first.

Plato said that ‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Maybe he was right, because as your hand slid down his arm, it felt like a verse being written. The way your fingertips barely grazed the surface of his skin, tracing the map of his veins with a tenderness you hadn’t realized you possessed, pretending the warmth under your fingertips didn’t make your stomach tremble, until finally, your touch lingered on his knuckles.

A pause, hesitant. Then, almost instinctively, you laced your fingers with his. It felt... inevitable. Natural in a way that terrified you.

“Didn’t expect you to be this warm,” you murmured, your voice light, almost teasing, though you couldn’t hide the way it trembled.

You finally found the courage to meet his eyes. Hazel. Searching. Devastating.

And you weren’t afraid of what you saw, you already knew. What terrified you was that, with one touch, you might have unraveled something too fragile to survive.

His gaze fell to your joined hands, his thumb gliding softly over the back of yours, speaking in the ineffable language of touch.

“I didn’t expect to feel this… right,” he said, the words so quiet they felt more like a confession than a statement.

The smallest smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in just a little more. “Aaron…”

And that was it.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slipped away entirely. Before he could overthink it, his hand came to rest against your cheek, his calloused palm cradling the softness of your face.

Gentle. Steady. Tender.

The contrast was almost startling, culminating in the soft whimper that escaped your lips as the cold metal of his watch grazed your neck. And so, apologetically, his thumb began to move, tracing gentle patterns along your cheek, as though committing every curve, every subtle shift, to memory.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, your hand slid to his wrist, holding him there, your thumb tracing the same delicate patterns along his inner wrist, matching his movements with the same ease that echoed in the way you ordinarily mirrored each other’s posture, each other’s language.

His gaze flickered to your lips. “You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself here,” he just said, now without a hint of regret, not when your eyes searched his with the same intensity he felt pulling at his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached him, but he heard them as clearly as if you’d shouted.

His breath came shallow now, his gaze searching yours, as though looking for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the quiet, unspoken truth reflected back at him.

And so his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer - so close that, without thinking, you moved to straddle him, your knees settled on either side of his hips.

“I-” he stammered, as he looked at you wide-eyed tilting his head back slightly, before shaking his head, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

“Sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face as you realized just how intimate the position you’d claimed truly was – the cruelty of not having even thought about it once before moving, how it was the only way to still communicate with his eyes.

“No,” he said quickly, almost shy, but the way his thumbs brushed your sides betrayed how much he didn’t want you to move. “Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, though you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips more than once.

“…Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, his eyes wandering across your face.

It wasn’t just a question; it was a moment stretched taut, as if he was buying himself time, wanting to keep this moment balanced on the edge of the razor for just a little longer.

On this space of tenderness, where care outweighed desire, where everything still hung in the balance, where there was still time to hold back, to savor the precipice, waiting for one of you to risk it.

You nodded. “Very.”

The smallest, warmest smile flickered across his lips. “I’m happy you are,” he murmured.

How could he be even so sweet? How could he, in the middle of this - when your body was pressed so close to his - still be so considerate, so cautious, so Aaron?

How could his hands, now steady on your waist, have only settled there after he’d murmured a careful, overly-polite, “May I?”, the formality of it, juxtaposed with the intensity of his touch, was enough to make you giggle.

“Please don’t smile at me like that when you’re this close,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rasp, his gaze fixed on your lips.

You couldn’t help but grin wider. “Why not?” your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw.

“Because,” he began, his lips twitching up, “it makes me forget how to think.”

Crazy, really. The idea that Aaron Hotchner, the most precise and methodical man you’d ever met, could forget how to think. Thinking was practically the core of his being, wasn’t it?

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Because if forgetting how to think meant losing himself, then you were the cause. You had undone him.

Shaken the core of a man who had carved his entire existence around reason – or at least, tried to fool everyone into thinking so. And now, here he was - disarmed by nothing more than a smile, a touch, and the mere proximity of your lips.

If existence is rooted in thought, and Aaron’s thoughts were consumed entirely by you, did that mean his existence was yours to hold? Did that mean, right now, he existed only because you allowed him to? Couldn’t be that.

Still, how dizzying it was to consider how quickly you’d become his undoing – yet, perhaps what was even more terrifying was the way he seemed to welcome it.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, like a confession meant just for you. His dark eyes searched yours, their intensity almost overwhelming. “You do undo me.”

Your breath caught. “How did you even manage-”

But he didn’t let you finish. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his nose brushing yours in the faintest of touches.

And so your eyes closed together, as if the nearness alone was too much to bear, especially when his lips hovered so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

How paradoxical it was that you both desperately craved each other’s mouths, yet now, in this unbearable closeness, neither of you could summon the courage to take the last step.

How you continued lingering in the tension, your breaths mingling, your bodies pressed so close that those strong hands of his, still firmly on your waist, urged you even further onto him.

Neither of you wanted to bear the responsibility of what came next. What was about to happen. What was meant to happen. It wasn’t a game anymore. You were done waiting.

You wanted him. Now.

You were ready - to let it all go.

“Aaron,” you whispered, looking into him.

And as always, he seemed to be the only one who understood you, he began to trail kisses across your face, soft, slowly, taking his time.

Your temple.

The side of your right eye.

The curve of your cheek.

Down to your jawline.

Then, he traced his way back up, planting one final kiss at the very edge of your mouth.

When he pulled back, intoxicated, his eyes found yours - wet, shining, unguarded, just like his.

“Please, ask me to stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

“Aaron, I can’t,” you murmured, the words trembling on your lips as your breath mingled with his, the space between you growing thinner with every passing second.

The moment.

How do you measure a moment like this?

One tick of the clock. Two tears slipping free from both of you. Three uneven heartbeats, each louder than the last.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

You should have probably expected that your first kiss would taste like salt, the tears trailing down your faces mingling somewhere in between and masking the real sweetness of it. How the flavor of each other’s mouths was obscured, just as you’d both hidden your true feelings for so long.

It was so cruel in its irony, yet somehow, it fit so perfectly that neither of you could bring yourselves to care.

Because his lips were too soft against yours for your own good, the gentleness of his hand gripping the nape of your neck pulling you closer, while the other rested against your tear-streaked cheek, damp from both the lingering press of his lips moments before and your tears.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t to retreat - it was to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, even as his own streamed freely, unchecked.

And as much as you wanted to keep going, to lose yourself in the solace of his mouth, something greater pulled you both in.

Without hesitation, you collapsed into each other’s arms, clutching tightly as though the world around you was slipping away, tears soaking into the other’s shoulders.

Was it penance? For realizing too late how simple this could have been? For all the wasted years, the missed chances, and the pain endured in silence?

Or was it just acceptance -that only now were you both ready to bear the weight of this, to hold each other completely, to disappear into one another?

Maybe that was the point.

Because in that embrace, unplanned and unbidden, came a feeling so familiar it ached.

That same resonance in your chest, the same connection of that first time you ever held him like this, nine years ago in your old apartment, when his walls cracked just enough to let you in.

And so the memory bleeds into the present, and it’s almost unbearable how much has stayed the same, and yet, how utterly everything has changed.

That stupid Hegel wasn’t wrong: the synthesis always becomes a new thesis, a cycle repeating itself. The moment was reborn, again and again, every time.

But damn, how it changed with every turn.

The same, yet entirely different.

The weight of then. The depth of now.

It was all there, in that fleeting, aching embrace. Not just holding on to each other, but to every version of yourselves that had come before - and every one still waiting in the future.

Even as the moment began to fade, as you pulled back - both drawn by the undeniable hunger to find each other’s mouths again - the synthesis was already shifting, reshaping into something new.

Another storm, another struggle, another antithesis loomed ahead, but always, always, the cycle reached for a new synthesis. And Hegel, damn him, was right again.

The cycle never ends.

But neither, it seemed, did you.

Competing with each other, as always.

Neither of you willing to back down, both so eager to claim the other that it became impossible to tell who started the second kiss, it just… happened.

This time, there was no softness, no hesitation - just urgency. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right where you wanted him, while his hands gripped your lower back.

The moment your lips parted, offering him the faintest invitation, he deepened the kiss without even thinking it twice. His tongue slid against yours with so much hunger you were intoxicated, only for you to interrupt with a sharp bite to his bottom lip.

He growled at the challenge, he had to one-up you, returning the favor by sinking his teeth into your jawline, as if to stake his claim all over again, a sound so low and primal it seemed to vibrate straight into your skin, making you gasp and tighten your hold on him even more, eager to hear it again.

Damn him and his competitiveness.

You couldn’t help but meet it head-on, your hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back, feeling every shift, every flex as he moved against you.

He broke away briefly, not to stop, but to catch his breath as his lips found new territory. From your mouth to your jaw, and then down to your neck, your head tilting back reflexively, granting him even more access.

He smiled against your skin, insufferable even now, and when his lips returned to yours, that grin only widened. You kissed him again and again, but since his stupid smile kept getting in the way, you ended up kissing his teeth more than once.

Damn him.

And yet, you found yourself smiling like a fool, because how could you not? There was no way you could be making him feel this way, yet here you were - both of you lost in it, pushing and pulling, both refusing to surrender.

The more you had of each other, the more you wanted, never satisfied, never close enough, as though the only way to end this ache was to somehow crawl into each other’s skin.

And so, blame the position.

Blame the dress you’d chosen tonight, skimming your thighs, leaving so little to the imagination as it rode up with every shift against him.

Blame the way your kisses had shifted, growing hungrier, messier, more tongue than lips, more heavy breathing than words.

Or blame his new-found obsession to place wet kisses on the spot just behind your ear just to hear you gasp, while he had the audacity to hum into your neck, utterly satisfied with himself, like he was savoring your every reaction to the exquisite work of his mouth.

Blame his body, the way he pressed against you, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips, then lower, settling on your ass with a grip that didn’t make the things any easier.

Blame the way his growing bulge rubbed against you through the rough fabric of his jeans, the friction hitting exactly where the ache was blooming, pulling shudders from deep inside you.

Blame all of it - the kisses, the position, the maddening press of his body against yours - because it only made you more desperate.

The carnal realization of just how badly you wanted him, left you unable to stop. Your hips moved instinctively, grinding against his hardness, the rhythm of your kisses syncing with the desperate roll of your bodies.

Thank God his jeans were dark, because you were sure by now your arousal was leaving its mark on him, soaking into the fabric, leaving evidence of just how far gone you were – and if he noticed, if he felt it, the way his grip tightened on your waist told you he didn’t care.

If anything, it spurred him on, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, neither of you could stop moving.

The worst part? You didn’t want to. Not even a little.

What was even worse than this? The fact that Aaron, ever the master of timing, felt the need to comment on the obvious.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked breathless, lips flushed and slightly swollen from yours.

No shit, Sherlock.

You didn’t hesitate. “Aaron, do I look like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

That even managed to earn a chuckle from him – speaking of victories - “Just… wanted to make sure you’re alright with this pace. We’re not exactly taking it slow, you know?!” he rasped, as his hands slid up and down the sides of your hips.

No shit, Sherlock, part two.

Was he worrying about you or himself?

You tilted your head, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes softened as soon as they were met with yours. “Aaron,” you cupped his cheek. “Do you want to take it slow instead?”

Shit. What if you’d misread him? What if this hesitation wasn’t about concern for you but second thoughts about the entire thing? You hated yourself. How could you even think that-

“Not really,” he admitted, his lips curving into the most kissable smile. “I just… don’t want you to regret this. I’d wait forever if you asked me to, but right now…” His words faltered, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Right now, I don’t think I can. But only if you want it too.”

Oh God, how considerate he was.

Oh God, how much you never trusted anyone as him, how safe did he make you feel, how it almost brought tears to your eyes because you’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at, cared for, wanted like this.

Oh God, how much you didn’t want to respond with words, to just take his hand, guide it between your legs, and let him feel exactly how much you needed him.

But words it was, then.

“I do, Aaron,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. I want this. I want you. But…” Your lips curled up. “Not on my couch. Could we maybe hold out until the bedroom?”

Ah, yes. Turning 30 had officially made you someone who prioritized the longevity of their furniture over their sex life.

How responsible.

How tragic.

And yet, neither of you moved. It took a second - or two, or three - for both of you to gather the energy to even try standing after spending what felt like an eternity tangled up on your poor, overworked second-hand couch…

…a poor overworked second-hand. Hm. Now there was a pattern.

You hated yourself a little for how evil the thought was. Poor couch, poor him.

Not that it wasn’t true. But still - evil.

Still nearly as evil as the absolute disaster you’d made of his hair with your hands while you were making out. A fitting match for the flush on his face and the state of his half-untucked polo, which you’d been yanking at so fervently it was a miracle it hadn’t come off entirely.

Speaking of things you couldn’t stop noticing, the sight before you now was definitely a huge… huge walk with him to your bedroom. Because surely your hallway hadn’t been this long before.

Or maybe he was thinking the same thing, because just as you reached the doorway to your bedroom, he turned you, your back pressing against the wall before you even had time to push the door open.

You didn’t expect him to be this passionate – and desperate, when his mouth was back on yours, claiming you in a kiss so hot and wet it that the wetness surely wasn’t exactly isolated to your mouth at all.

You gasped, caught completely off guard, and that was apparently all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, and it was so good that you barely managed to catch your breath, let alone remember the damn bedroom door.

“Aaron-” you managed between breathless kisses, barely stringing the words together.

As if you could talk.

As if you could pretend to hold any moral high ground here when your leg was already wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. And oh, he was there - all of him. Thick, hard, and pressing against you.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass, “I know,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your skin. “I know. The door.”

Oh, but why did his voice have to sound like that - so low, so wrecked… so unfair.

Anyway, the door.

Not that it mattered, apparently, because he didn’t move. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re not exactly working on it,” you managed to gasp, and oh, you were so proud of yourself for having the strength to bicker with him even now, even like this.

Of course, Aaron, being Aaron, couldn’t resist biting back.

You felt the curve of his lips against your neck, he chuckled as his teeth grazed the hollow of your throat. “Well,” he murmured, returning to nip at your earlobe. “What about you?”

The man was infuriating. And hot. And so completely overwhelming you could barely think straight.

“I’m very busy right now,” you managed to counter, though what you really meant was that your back was far too occupied arching into him, practically begging for more.

At least he somehow found the self-control to pull back after what you could most graciously describe as an obscene amount of very enthusiastic dry humping. You were both so doomed. His hands steadied you just long enough for him to fumble for the doorknob.

And then the second you crossed the threshold, all bets were off.

His lips - no, his mouth - were on yours again, the kiss so heated it was more teeth and tongue than finesse. Probably because it hit you both at the same time - the realization of just how painfully simple it would be to strip the other bare.

His polo? A quick tug away from being tossed aside. Your dress? One little zipper stood between it and the floor. No barriers. No obstacles. That was all it would take.

And it was as if he read your mind because without a word, his hands found your waist and spun you around, pulling you back against him.

You barely had time to gasp before his head dipped to your neck, as his fingers found the zipper of your dress way too easily without even having to look. Just before he moved it, he paused. “I might’ve left a mark.”

Oh no, what a pity…

“Make it two,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand slid into his hair, pressing his head right where you wanted it.

And because Aaron apparently took instructions very well when they suited him, he bit down, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver, the sharpness of it immediately soothed by the warm drag of his tongue.

The sound you made was embarrassing - breathless and high-pitched – that only seemed to spur him on, since in less than a second, the dress was pooling at your feet, leaving you bare save for your tights and underwear.

Mismatched underwear.

A good lace bra - at least there was that - with the most comfortable white cotton grandma pants you could have pulled from the depths of a multipack that were, by how the things have been going now, almost certainly transparent. Perfect.

Not that any of this was supposed to happen, of course.

You hadn’t exactly planned on getting laid by your… what even was he? Your best friend? Your boss?

An objectively gorgeous man with dark eyes that burned into you, whose voice could make your knees completely weak? The person you’d been quietly, stubbornly, and stupidly in sexual tension hell with for a decade?

He was all of that. He was none of that. He was Aaron, and whatever Aaron Hotchner was to you, you hadn’t planned on getting laid tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever ungodly hour it was now.

But plans didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Not when his hands were sliding over your body like you were something he’d wanted for so long that touching you now felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Not when his lips found yours again, claiming them in a way that made you wonder how either of you had ever survived without tasting each other.

And certainly not when the moment your back hit the mattress of your bed, his full weight pressing into you fully, how your legs opened instinctively, welcoming him, pulling him closer, your body arching into him like it was chasing something only he could soothe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere.

“God, you’re so clothed,” you shot back without thinking, your quick wit betraying you yet again, unsure whether to curse yourself for ruining the moment or to thank your sarcasm for always wanting to keep things… balanced.

But instead of appreciating your humor or giving you the satisfaction of stripping him, the insufferable man had the audacity to bypass your comment entirely.

With a swift motion, his hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it somewhere into the abyss of the room without so much as a second glance.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, a flush creeping up your neck at the brazenness of it. “I was referring to you, Hotchner.”

“Eventually,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before capturing them again in a kiss that effectively cut off any protest you might’ve had. Clever man.

And so he started his descent, a study in patience, still hopelessly romantic about it, as if the situation weren’t already infuriating. Because even though you knew for sure he could feel the way your nipples had hardened against him, he still took his time.

Kissing his way down your throat, spending far too long mapping out the curve of your collarbone with his mouth, fingers just hovering - like he wasn’t already touching you everywhere.

And then, finally, his hands moved. Possessively. His palms covered your breasts, kneading them in a way that sent sparks ricocheting through you, his lips pressing a single, scorching kiss right in the middle of your sternum.

That did it. That had your thighs clenching on instinct, a desperate attempt to manage the growing fire low in your belly.

But you refused to let a sound escape.

Oh no. You weren’t about to give him that satisfaction. Especially not when he got to enjoy the full view of you laid out beneath him while you were left with only the delicious flex of his biceps.

Biceps, which, while spectacular, were not the bare expanse of his back. Not the firm ridges of muscle you knew were under that godforsaken polo, the one thing keeping things uneven between you.

He seemed to catch on to the game you were playing, though, because without warning, his mouth closed over one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak so perfectly that it had your breath catching in your throat.

At the same time, his fingers found the other, pinching, rolling, teasing - the combination so damn lethal when paired with the languid flicks of his tongue, sending shocks straight to your clit.

Still, you bit your lip, stubbornly holding back the sounds he so clearly wanted to pull from you, even if the ache between your thighs was unbearable now - a dull, insistent throb that begged, no, pleaded for attention.

Attention that the insufferable man was withholding.

Or, unlike you, he simply didn’t want to rush… damn him. He was making it impossible to keep up the charade.

Because every flick of that damned talented mouth of his - now moving onto your other breast - every brush of his fingers, every sound he made against your skin that revealed just how hungry he was of your flesh, was undoubtedly designed to unravel you, piece by piece.

Every piece, that is, except for your poor, neglected, throbbing clit.

And of course, he was enjoying every second of it. Smug bastard.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his lips still grazing your nipple, “sounds are appreciated.” …Oh, fuck him.

“So is nudity,” you managed to snap, though your voice trembled, betraying just how close you were to falling apart.

He stilled. Lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. And then he smirked.

Ah. That smirk. Never a good sign.

Especially not when paired with the way his hands started working your tights down - so slowit was almost unbearable. Always careful, always considerate Aaron. But God, right now, you wanted him ripping them off you.

His gaze swept over you, his eyes instantly darkened as they dettled on the on the damp patch at the center of your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rougher, as his thumb grazed over the edge of the fabric.

Before you could process how pleased he was with himself, he spread your legs further, settling himself between them. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you down, and he started trailing kisses along your inner thigh.

From the knee.

Oh, come on.

Still, you hissed at the contact, at the way his mouth devoured your thighs like he was savoring every inch of them.

Like this, this was what he lived for. Worshipping you.

And the way his lips moved, how drunk he looked as he worked his way upward, kissing, sucking, biting - just enough to make you twitch, the way his breath shook when he exhaled against your thigh - it only made it worse.

The closer he got, the more impossible it became to hold back the sounds slipping from your lips.

And then - one last kiss, right there, where your thigh met your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmured, and before you could even think about responding, his tongue flicked out, tasting the arousal that had trailed up to where his mouth lingered.

Oh. What a whore.

“You’re such a who-” you began, but the words barely escaped before he bit down lightly on your clothed clit, sharp enough to send a jolt through your entire body and rip a strangled cry from your throat.

Your reaction must have been exactly what he wanted, because his fingers replaced his teeth immediately, pressing against you through the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, there you are,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down the length of your slit. “For a second, I thought I wasn’t doing it right.”

You scoffed, or at least you tried to. The sound barely made it past your lips before breaking into another sharp, breathless cry as his fingers rode back up, pressing against your clit in slow circles, the cotton barrier dulling the sensation just enough to drive you insane.

One, two, three strokes - then you stopped counting, too caught up in the feeling of him until he finally tossed the fabric aside, making you feel the cool air against the wet heat of your core, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t touch.

Just -

"You're a goddess."

He stared for so long that you started to wonder if he was waiting for you to say please, some kind of power play. 

Your lips curled slightly as you lifted your chin. "If you think I’m going to beg you now, Hotchner, I’m absolutely not.

Apparently, you had never been more wrong in your life.

Because his head snapped up so fast it was almost comical - except for the way his entire face flushed. Not just with arousal - well, yes, definitely with arousal - but with something else.

The way his mouth parted slightly before he swallowed, his throat bobbing, his gaze flicking away for half a second like he had to collect himself, undoubtedly made you think-

"I was actually…" he cleared his throat, "asking for permission."

Oh. Oh. Apparently, someone couldn’t hide being a bottom for more than a few minutes.

Aaron ‘Attitude’ Hotchner? Gone. Reduced to sheepish glances and waiting for permission like a damn Victorian gentleman the second he actually looked at your cunt.

Hilarious.

"You have it," you murmured.

That was delicious.

And because he was so whipped, he didn’t just dive in immediately. No. Of course not. He had to come all the way back up first, had to kiss you before anything else.

And then he was gone. Gone from your mouth, gone from your chest, gone from anywhere but exactly where you wanted him most.

The very first swipe of his tongue across your folds obliterated any coherent thought, reduced your world to this - to the wet heat of his mouth, to the steady press of his hands holding you open, to the obscene sounds of him devouring you.

There was nothing but him, the way his tongue curled against you, the way his lips closed around your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the way his name tumbled from your lips and melted into the deep, guttural moan he let out as he first tasted you.

And honestly, you couldn’t decide what was hotter - the way his sounds came in perfect harmony with your own cries, or the fact that he was so vocal while eating you out, like it brought him just as much pleasure as it did you.

And it probably did.

Because he lapped at your dripping cunt like a man starved, frantic, desperate, moving with such a hunger that made your fingers dig into his hair, gripping tight like you could somehow hold on to reality through him.

But he didn’t want space. Didn’t need it. If anything, he leaned in further, groaning low against your soaked, swollen cunt, letting you drip down his chin as if he loved the way your arousal was entirely coating his flushed face.

Loved being drenched in you. Loved ruining himself on you.

“Aaron-” your voice broke, your hips jerking up into him, needy. “God, your tongue is unreal.”

And oh, he heard you, loud and clear.

Because his immediate response? Teeth. A quick, sharp graze of his teeth against your clit, followed by a suction so deep, so overwhelming, it ripped a scream straight from your throat.

Fuck him.

“Your-your mouth is unreal,” you stammered, correcting yourself, because apparently, he wasn’t letting you off the hook without acknowledging his full range of talents.

Smiling against your skin - as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he had a praise kink, too.

“Sorry,” he said with a kiss to your inner thigh as his thumb kept working on your clit. “I just thought you were a thorough one, Professor.”

What a whore.

“Oh, fuck you for calling me ‘Professor’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” you shot back.

 “Oh, it does,” he admitted with no shame whatsoever. “I just wish you could feel how much.” His gaze flicked down, daring you to follow it - to the thick, aching bulge straining against his pants, so hard it had to hurt, so obvious it made you clench around nothing.

How cruel of him.

“Keep talking to me like that, Aaron, and I’ll crush your head with my thighs,” you warned, voice shaking, hands fisting into the sheets because he was still teasing, still circling with his thumb instead of putting his damn mouth back where you needed it most.

“Please do,” he said.

And then he gave you exactly what you wanted. His tongue plunged into you, pushing past the unbearable emptiness, giving you something to clench around, something to grind against, something to drown in.

And because he was, apparently, crafted to be the most infuriatingly perfect thing to ever exist - his nose pressed against your clit with every movement, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you so intense your legs tried to snap shut around his head.

He was faster. Stronger. Hands tightening against your thighs, keeping them spread as he pressed you further, pinning you down so he could devour you properly. And when your thighs twitched again, reflexive, desperate-

"Stay open for me."

That awful, awful sound. That little flick of his tongue against his teeth, a wordless tsk of disapproval - he did it every time, every single time, and it should have pissed you off but instead, shot straight through you, coiling low in your belly, leaving you breathless, made you arch into his mouth, made you-

"Still, please," he growled, more desperate now, fingers tightening like the control freak he so obviously was. Apparently, the man simply could not function if his so-called work space wasn’t perfectly in order.

Some things never changed.

“You’re such a hypocrite, it was-” Your breath caught on another roll of his tongue, hips jerking up against his face. “It was you who begged me to-”

"Mm," he hummed against you like he was thinking about it, his mouth hot and slick as he pressed deeper, let his tongue flatten. "And?"

…And then his lips closed around you, sucking just right, and you broke. You felt it coiling, tighter, tighter, low deep in your stomach.

"Aaron, I'm so close."

"I got you," he murmured, suddenly warm, suddenly gentle - because despite all the arrogance, the smug little smirks, he was nothing but a softie. All bark, no bite. Well… except for the other kinds of bites. "Don’t worry. Let go."

Then his tongue flicked - once, twice… and you were gone.

Shattered apart, trembling beneath his mouth, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking, desperate. The pleasure hit sharp and fast, so intense it almost hurt, your muscles locking up as wave after wave crashed through you.

But he didn’t stop. Not until you’d come on his face just one more time.

So his tongue was back on you before you could even recover, dragging you higher, keeping you there, refusing to let you go. His mouth was relentless, but his fingers - God, his fingers.

How many times had you daydreamed about them? How many nights had you imagined the way they’d feel sinking inside you, stretching you open, fucking you deep and slow until you couldn’t think?

A reasonable number of times. That’s what you told yourself.

So it only made sense that you were impatient now, desperate to feel them inside you instead of just ghosting along your soaked folds, teasing, tracing, dipping in just enough to have you thinking, finally -

Only for him to pull away again, just as fast.

“Need some help finding it, Hotchner?” you bit out breathlessly, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the whimper it ended on. “Don’t be embarrassed. I can guide you if-”

Before you could finish, one thick finger thrust deep inside you, cutting off your words with a strangled moan.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said smugly… oh, he definitely did.

The stretch of just one finger had you reeling, but then he added a second without hesitation, the fullness making you gasp. Two of his fingers felt like three of yours, stretching you perfectly, pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you moaned, gripping the sheets as he started to move faster, stroking that perfect spot again and again until your vision blurred.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice so low and rough that made your toes curl, unable to respond if not with a whimper.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured, his lips brushing your thigh as his fingers curled deeper, pressed just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips, his own voice dark with approval. "God, you’re so wet."

Your cheeks burned because well, wasn’t he right?!

The evidence of it was everywhere - slicking his fingers, his hand, his face, and the way he said it, so casually, like he was just stating a fact, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

"Damn, you’re so fucking good," you gasped between shattered breaths.

“Mm, so is this cunt,” he shot back between licks, groaning as he felt you flutter around his fingers.

What a dirty, dirty mouth. And damn, if he did he put it to use.

It didn’t take long. Barely a few more thrusts of his fingers into your slick, throbbing cunt, barely a few more drags of his tongue against your clit - before he had you unraveling completely.

Your body seized, back arching clean off the bed, a sharp, helpless cry ripping from your throat as you came so hard you almost sobbed.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers kept fucking into you, curling just right, stroking deep, drawing out every last shudder, every last desperate moan. His tongue never left your clit, flicking, sucking, keeping you there, forcing you to take every wave, every aftershock, dragging you through it until your thighs trembled around his head, until you were whimpering, pleading, too overstimulated to handle another second.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips gliding up your body, dragging sticky, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until his weight was pressing you into the mattress again, until you were surrounded by him, the scent of sex thick in the air, his mouth still hot and wet against your skin.

"God, you’re a fucking vision when you come," he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing over your jaw as his hand slid up to cradle your face.

And then he kissed you.

Deep, filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation, letting you taste yourself on him, letting you feel the slick mess he’d made of you, the evidence of how thoroughly he had devoured you.

Romanticism truly was dead.

“Still too clothed,” you whispered, voice low, teasing, as your fingers trailed from his jaw down to his chest, nails scratching lightly over the fabric of his polo, feeling the heat of him beneath it. Annoyingly in the way.

“You’re very welcome to change that now,” he huffed, smirking, giving you another quick, teasing kiss, the barest brush of his lips over yours.

Who were you to refuse?

Your hands moved swiftly, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, over his head, before tossing it somewhere behind you - who cared where? That would be his problem in a few hours anyways.

And oh damn-

If you thought the polo highlighted his frame, without it he looked absolutely massive. His chest, his shoulders, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin - it was almost unfair how goodlooking he was.

You leaned in to kiss him, letting your fingers roam all over him - probably lingering a little too long on those broad, perfect shoulders. Honestly, you were doing your best not to bite them.

Mostly. A little nip didn’t count, right? Surely it was allowed. To test. It wasn’t your fault they looked like they could carry the weight of the world - and you - without breaking a sweat. But of course, he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know that his shoulders alone were making you go feral.

So you distracted him the best way you knew how - your lips pressing against his neck, soft at first, teasing, before nipping lightly at his pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to earn you a sharp inhale.

Still, even as your lips worked to keep him occupied, your thoughts betrayed you.

You were sure you’d implode the moment you saw his back - the way those muscles would shift and flex. Just the thought of it had your pulse racing. Thankfully, he was still facing you, so you had a little more time to live. But not much, considering the way your mind still found a way to betray you.

Because now all you could picture was his weight on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down with no way out. Now all you could feel was the phantom stretch of him, the way he’d fill-

Right. His jeans. Still in the way. Still ruining your life.

You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to move lower, fumbling with his belt and zipper. If your hands trembled, you’d blame it on how hard you were trying not to stare at the thick bulge beneath the denim. Trying being the keyword, because at this point - you weren’t better than a man.

His jeans hit the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, making it quite difficult to ignore the outline of him anymore - thick, hard, already straining against the fabric, the damp spot at the tip teasing at just how ready he was.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you glanced up, silently asking if you could take things further. He gave a small nod, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

Your hands turned momentarily shy as you hooked your fingers into the band, slowly tugging them down. He sprang free, thick and hard, flushed at the tip, already glistening with slick arousal, and God, you swore your mouth went dry and then wet all in the span of a heartbeat.

You couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, “God,” as your fingers wrapped around him, thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head, smearing the wetness there, spreading it over the burning skin.

The reaction was immediate.

His head tipped back, his grip on your hips tightening, trying hard not to just rut into your fist like some desperate, touch-starved needy thing. But he was trembling , his self-control fraying one slow stroke at a time as you worked him over, your fingers squeezing around the slick head before dragging back down his length.

"Fuck," he muttered, the sound wrecking you, shooting straight between your legs.

“You’re so-” you started, but the words failed you. What could you even say? You were too distracted by the weight of him in your hand, the way he twitched against your palm and the way the thick vein along his shaft throbbed with every stroke of your hand.

All you knew was that you wanted him in your mouth. Wanted to drag your tongue along that vein, wanted to feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, wanted to take him down until tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The need burned in your gut, tight and relentless, but still, it wasn’t enough. Because as much as your mouth ached for him, the fire between your thighs was worse. So much worse.

“Aaron,” you breathed, voice shaking as you looked up at him, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, still stroking him, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell with every movement of your hand.

His eyes - dark, heavy-lidded - met yours, his breath coming uneven, jagged, as he rasped, desperate, "Take whatever you want."

“I want you.”

Aaron groaned, his lips twitching into something that might have been a smile if he wasn’t so wrecked with desire. “Come here,” he murmured, as he leaned down and kissed you. And God, what a kiss.

Before you knew it, he had you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his broad shoulders framing your view of him. He settled himself between your legs, his mouth moving to your jaw, then down to your neck, at the point there was no doubt in a few hours you’d wear a turtleneck to work.

Still, he paused, hovering just above you, his lips brushing against yours as he asked one more time, “Are you sure?”

At this point, if you weren’t aching for him, you might’ve had the patience to be sarcastic. Something like, No, actually, I’m not sure. Let’s both get dressed again and see if that helps.

“Aaron, I’m literally begging you,” you said, exasperated, though you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes – if he just wanted you to beg him he could have simply asked. You would have never said it out loud but at least he could have tried…

“Just making sure,” he said so softly his voice seemed even deeper than it already was, but his hand slid between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds, and the way he groaned when he felt how wet you were made you shudder.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if confirming what he already knew.

You didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on, but apparently, Aaron Hotchner could always prove you wrong.

And ever the hopeless romantic - because apparently, he was so much of a kisser - he kissed you again. It wasn’t fair, honestly, how good he was at this, how much intention he poured into every press of his lips , every flick of his tongue, every sharp little pull at your bottom lip that had your hips rolling up against him. It was infuriating.

"I’m on the pill," you gasped between kisses, cutting straight to the point because at this rate, you were about two seconds away from losing your mind.

"Good," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours again. "That’s good."

Of course it’s good, Aaron. As if you were trying to create another insufferable Hotchner. One man who could argue his way out of anything was already more than enough for the world.

He shifted, aligning himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against you, dragging through your slick folds with just the slightest roll of his hips. The stretch, even in just the promise of it, had you gasping into his mouth.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, still searching for any sign of hesitation. Classic Aaron.

And because he was Aaron, of course he kissed you again, stealing what little breath you had left as he began to push inside.

Holy fucking-

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filling you inch by inch, his cock sinking in with a slow, thick glide that made your head tilt back into the pillow, your mouth falling open as sounds escaped your lips - a moan, then a gasp, and a whimper.

When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach, you swore you might break, and you loved every second of it. How the hell did he even feel this good?

"Jesus Christ," he gritted out, breath hot against your jaw.

He paused, his cock throbbing inside you as he let you adjust, his lips ghosting over your jawline with kisses so soft they felt almost reverent, as though the slight ache of the stretch was something he needed to apologize for.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You involuntarily clenched down around him in response, "Fucking Christ," he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours for a moment. “You’re going to kill me.”

And fuck, if the second he started moving you weren’t utterly determined to hear every name of every deity from his long-lost religion tumble from his lips, as long as it meant he kept thrusting so deep inside you – making your breath catch from the mere drag of him pulling his entire length out before pushing it back in.

“Fuck Aaron, you feel so good,” you gasped, your hands tightening on his biceps.

And damn him, because he loved it - loved your praise so much that a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, even as his breath came uneven, ragged. “Fuck, you look so beautiful from here,”

He leaned in, his hips still moving, his lips brushing against yours just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, to taste the promise of his kiss. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, making your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper.

The shift in angle made his next thrust hit you in a way that tore a cry from your lips. He must’ve felt it - the way your body tightened around him, the way your nails sank into the strong muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake - because his pace quickened, each thrust better than the last.

And damn it if he didn’t fuck you so good.

“Right there,” you gasped, arching your back as the head of his cock hit that spot “Oh, Aaron-”

“God, I love how you say my name,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as he planted a kiss on your temple between thrusts.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the dark, thick strands of his hair that clung to his face, his brows furrowed all concentrated, his cheeks flushed, jaw tight, and God, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

How stupid, how utterly reckless, it was to feel yourself falling for him all over again. And not just falling - but plummeting, freefalling into the abyss of him. Exactly now, exactly like this - when he was buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was carving himself into your soul.

How shallow, how ridiculous, to let your pupils blow wide with hunger, to let your chest ache with something too tender, too raw, while your body burned for him like this.

Because it wasn’t just the way his hips buckled into yours, wasn’t just the rhythm of his thrusts, wasn’t just the stretch and fullness that made you gasp. No, it was the way his name tumbled from your lips like it was the only word you knew, and the way he rasped your name back, hoarse and desperate, like it was his prayer.

The wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the creak of the bed beneath you - it was way too loud for the early hours, you knew that. Too wild, too shameless, probably waking every neighbor you had, giving them the privilege of hearing his name tumble from your lips and yours from his.

But how could you care? How could you even think about anything beyond him, especially when he shifted suddenly, leaning back and lifting your legs over his shoulders?

“Like this,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His hands gripped your thighs, steady, holding you in place as he adjusted himself, his cock driving deeper - God, how was it even possible to feel this full?

His next thrust stole the breath from your lungs, and the one after that made your vision blur, leaving you gripping the sheets, then the bedframe, his arms - anything you could reach.

“I got you,” he rasped, his tone softer now, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was absolutely wrecking you, you might’ve laughed at how he said it. So casual, so reassuring, like he wasn’t currently fucking you out of your mind.

And then, just to make sure you were well and truly destroyed, Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your trembling leg. A kiss. Soft and lingering, like he wasn’t simultaneously driving into you with enough force to make you think about it for days. A true gentleman, really. Absolutely chivalrous.

“Oh, fuck you,” you managed to gasp, your voice shaking as your nails dug into his arms.

He smirked, his hips snapping forward harder, making your back arch off the bed.

“I believe I already am,” he shot back smoothly, and damn him - despite the situation, or maybe because of it - you laughed.

The sound made him pause for a fraction of a second, his brow quirking as his lips twitched into something softer, something that could almost be called tender if he wasn’t currently wrecking you.

He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss you - except you were still laughing, leaving him kissing your teeth instead of your lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice filled with faux exasperation, as if it weren’t entirely his fault. But the way he looked at you, his eyes soft and sweet despite the hunger blazing behind them, made it clear he wasn’t serious at all.

“I really hate you,” you managed to say, still laughing, the words breathless and shaky.

“Liar,” he countered smoothly, his lips curving into a grin of his own before he kissed you properly this time, slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs. “You’ve never hated me at all.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the next thrust silenced you, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, leaving you gasping instead of speaking.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice thick, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Bastard. Oh, how he’d pay for this. Just… not now. Not when the heat in your stomach was building too quickly, you could already feel your toes curling, your legs trembling where they rested on his shoulders.

“Aaron-” His name spilled from your lips in a broken cry, your hands clutching at him desperately, your body trembling beneath him.

“I know,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven as it fanned over your lips. “You’re close. I can feel it. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.”

And then, just to destroy you completely, he spat on his fingers. The sound alone sent a shiver through you, but watching him, seeing the way he reached down and slid his slick finger to your clit, circling it, left you utterly wrecked.

That alone was so unfairly hot you were surprised you didn’t come on the spot just from seeing it.

“God,” he groaned, his hips keeping the same rhythm as his fingers worked you over, the combination of his cock driving into you and his fingers basically breaking you apart. “I’m close too. Come for me. I want to feel it - I need to feel you.”

And there was no stopping it. The pressure snapped all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your body clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm ripped through you.

“Aaron,” you cried out, his name falling from your lips in a broken, desperate plea as your cunt clenched around him so tightly that it pulled a guttural groan from his chest.

His movements stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep one last time, his head tipping back, lips shaping into your name.

You felt him spill inside you, the hot rush of him filling you, the heat prolonging the throbbing waves of your own climax, as your body convulsed with the lingering echoes of pleasure. It was too much. Too raw. Too perfect. The kind of climax that left you completely destroyed, your mouth falling open as you tried and failed to even catch your breath.

Your limbs felt boneless, your heart was about to burst out of your chest, a haze in your head. Wow.

Aaron’s thrusts slowed, his movements becoming languid as he guided you both through the final waves of pleasure, his hips rocking into you softly.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside you, his body collapsing onto yours, every muscle undone, spent, his breath hot against your neck. His skin was slick with sweat, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and fuck, you never wanted him to move.

A slow, lazy kiss landed on your shoulder, his lips lingering there for a second before he murmured, "Are you okay?"

Really?

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, as your fingers threaded through his beautiful damp hair. “Okay?” you echoed, still struggling to breathe, still feeling the aftershocks of him inside you. “Aaron, I think you might’ve just killed me.”

He huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh if he had the energy, and just because he was perfectly positioned - completely wrecked, head buried against your shoulder, practically melting into you - you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It felt almost paternalistic, sure, the kind of kiss that came with the smug satisfaction of having him completely undone over you, like he might fall apart if he even tried to move. The salt of his sweat clung to your lips, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of the tears you’d swallowed earlier. It felt better - so much better.

Aaron sighed against your skin, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but was too exhausted to bother, he pulled out, leaving you wincing at the sudden emptiness.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze dropping to the mess he’d made of you, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost proud. But, of course, because Aaron fucking Hotchner couldn’t let you have five uninterrupted minutes of post-orgasmic bliss without switching into Mr. Practical, he tilted his head and said, “You should probably clean yourself up.”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Wow. Romance is truly alive and well.”

He grinned just enough to make you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “Where do you keep your towels?” he asked.

“Wow,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed. “Absolutely fantastic. I give you my soul, and in return, you turn into a housekeeper.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple before standing and stretching.

And, of course, because the universe hated you, he looked absurdly good doing it. Broad shoulders, sweat-slicked skin, and the faint red lines your nails had left down his back. God, his back. Huge. Muscular. You really wanted to-

“Dramatic?” you scoffed, snapping yourself out of the borderline feral train of thought. “I just had the best orgasm of my life, and now you’re asking me about towels. What’s next, changing my bedsheets?”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. “Best?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mock surprise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

You groaned, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“No, no,” he continued, turning back toward you, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. “Say it again. Best orgasm of your life? Because I recall giving you three - you might need to pluralize that.”

Oh, how cocky he was. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him, unfortunately the man also had perfect reflects. “So, where are these towels?”

“In the bathroom,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “Third drawer on the left. Please, by all means, go do your very important post-coital housekeeping.”

He chuckled as he made his way to the bathroom, and you watched him go, biting your lip as your gaze drifted lower. Because of course you looked. How could you not? The way his muscles moved as he walked, the strong lines of his back leading down to that quite flat yet perfectly sculpted-

“Stop staring,” he called over his shoulder without even looking back.

You scowled, sitting up and grabbing the other pillow to hurl at the bathroom doorway. “I wasn’t staring!”

He was no fun.

“You know,” you called after him, unable to help yourself, “it’s a shame you’re so good in bed, because you are the single most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Funny,” he shot back from the bathroom, his voice echoing slightly. “You didn’t seem too annoyed about it five minutes ago.”

Not that you had been even a little annoyed when you woke up right into his arms - despite the fact that you distinctly remembered falling asleep holding him.

“How much time do we have?” you murmured, your words muffled as your head stayed nestled against his chest.

“You’ve got 1 hour... I got half” he chuckled, then continued “I need to head home and get changed.”

But his arms instinctively tightened around you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. Like he could pretend, just for a little longer, that there was still time.

“How amazing would Agent Hotchner be if he just called to say we had the weekend off?” you said, tracing patterns of his flexed bicep tighetened around you.

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it rumbling beneath your cheek. “I doubt Agent Hotchner even has the strength to get up and take his phone from his jacket.”

“Well, since I’m feeling so generous, I could go and hand it to him,” you offered with faux magnanimity, but before you could move, his hand slid to the back of your head, pressing you back into him, while the other hand gripped your waist.

“Stay,” he said too softly for your own good.

You smiled against him. “I could stay longer if we didn’t have to go to work, you know...”

He chuckled again, this time shaking his head in amusement. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raised. “Sweetheart?”

And there it was.

Fuck.

Was this the time to tell you? That if he’d been smitten before, now he was utterly undone? That despite making a living solving puzzles, he couldn’t think of a single scenario in which he wasn’t yours?

It was logic, wasn’t it? A proposition is true if it’s reflected in reality.

And this was his truth: he was yours. Irrevocably, undeniably yours.

There wouldn’t be a more evident fact - not until the marks you’d left on his neck and chest faded away. But even then? He would still belong to you.

Damn the stoics for being right.

“Sorry,” he said, as though the endearment had slipped past his guard.

Before he could say more, you tilted your head up and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His startled expression was so genuine that you couldn’t help yourself - you kissed him again, determined to wipe it off his face.

His lips curled into a smile against yours, and when you finally pulled back true to form, he couldn’t resist deflecting. “If you’re trying to charm me into giving the day off, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s not going to work. Even if you keep kissing me.”

You laughed and leaned up to give him another kiss. But this time, you didn’t stop there. You moved down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “I just want to make sure you understand the opportunity you’re blowing here,” you murmured into his skin, your lips ghosting over his pulse.

“The reports aren’t going to fill themselves,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Oh, neither was your cu-

“You sure about that?” you teased, nibbling gently at his collarbone as your hand trailed lower, brushing over where something was definetely starting to grow in between his boxers, making him hiss.

“What’s the matter?” you asked innocently, your hand now resting over his hardening cock, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’re devouring my neck at seven in the morning,” he managed.

“Devouring? Not yet.” Your lips descended again, this time grazing over his collarbones, the faint scrape of your teeth dragging along his skin. When you bit lightly at his chest, his sharp inhale was all the reward you needed. “But don’t worry, I plan to.”

His mouth opened like he was about to fire back, but before he could, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the slick head, smearing the precum as if you had all the time in the world. “So,” you started lightly, as he cussed at your touch, “what are you going to do with the hour we have left?”

He tried to respond, he really did.

“I-” His breath hitched when your tongue darted out to trace just above his lower stomach.

“Well?” you pressed, lifting your head to look at him, your grin so sweet it could’ve killed him. “Breakfast? A shower? Or, you know, something else?”

“Breakfast sounds…” He barely managed to get the words out before his voice broke entirely, his body jerking slightly when your tongue flicked out to tease the tip of his cock.

“…like a good idea,” he finished weakly, though you weren’t convinced he even knew what he was saying at this point… better like this anyways.

“Good,” you hummed, dragging wet kisses along his length, while your hand kept moving, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his cock twitched in your hand. “So, Aaron, what do you feel like having for breakfast?”

His head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping him as his fingers tangled in your hair. “God,” he rasped, the word dragged out of him so pitifully it was almost tragic.

You grinned against his skin, looking up at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s not in my fridge,” you replied deadpan.

“Sweetheart…” He was absolutely desperate as your kisses moved lower, your tongue tracing a path along the underside of his cock.

“Hmm?” you hummed innocently, as if you didn’t notice the way his grip tightened in your hair or the slight tremble in his thighs.

He didn’t answer - but his phone did instead.

The sharp buzzing from the pocket of his discarded jacket in the living room shattered the moment.

Both of you jerked back, adrenaline ripping through the haze, already halfway off the bed before you even thought about it.

It was clumsy, both of you scrambling, bumping into each other as you stumbled toward the sound, breathless for entirely different reasons now.

Aaron got to it first, answering with the efficiency of a man who had switched back to work mode in an instant.

The call clicked on, and a voice - male, urgent - filled the room. "…The two bodies. The man died from a gunshot to the head, though he was stabbed multiple times post-mortem. The woman died from stab wounds."

You stilled.

Aaron’s face hardened. Rocher’s victims.

The ones he had been taunting you with.

"Agent Hotchner, there’s one thing…" the agent on the other end hesitated.

Aaron’s eyes sharpened. "What?"

"These bodies were killed exactly fifteen days ago," he said.

Aaron froze, you felt it at the same time he did - fifteen days ago.

You and Aaron had been interrogating Rocher exactly fifteen days ago.

He hadn’t killed them himself. He couldn’t have.

You were both there.

Your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you spoke.

“He had a partner,” Aaron said, his arm sliding around you instinctively, pulling you closer before you even realized you were starting to breathe too fast.

“Did you manage to identify the victims?” he asked.

“Yes - the man’s name is Michael Fowler, 34, a lawyer, junior associate at Madison & Green. The woman is Renee Hudson, 22, student at Columbia University, enrolled in the faculty of…”

You didn’t even know why you tensed so much.

The answer was obvious before he even said it.

“…philosophy.”

The call ended, but the silence left behind was louder than the voice on the line had been.

And in that silence, you could hear everything - the inevitability of it, tangled with the sound of the tears slipping down both of your faces.

And when your gaze flicked to Aaron, when his arm instinctively pulled you closer, you knew - without a word, without a glance – you’ve been both staring at the exact same spot on the wall.

Because it wasn’t just the age gap.

It wasn’t just the coincidence of numbers.

It was what made it undeniable.

A lawyer.

And a philosopher.

And the way your broken voices found each other in the quiet, harmonizing each other’s names in perfect, unintentional sync, just a few rushed heartbeats later.

Almost like in the musicals.

Almost sweet.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

I sincerely apologize - but the cockblocking was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, they'd never keep their hands to themselves. Honestly, with a job like this, interruptions are basically a given. If I had a nickel for every time these two got cockblocked by a phone call, I’d have two nickels - which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happeend twice.

Ahem... so, uh, let me know what you think... of this. All of this. I need your feedback because I am currently gnawing at the edges of my enclosure

[organic-bloodbath]

Knife Princess

Chishiya x Reader

Summary: You're Niragi's little sister, and he's not happy of Chishiya's interest on you. When the final game starts and you get hurt, Chishiya takes care of you.

Warnings: 18+ smut, lots of blood ig.

A/N: I was writing a Chishiya request but realised half way i needed to write a prequel for that first lmao. So, this will have more parts coming up ✨️

♤♡♧◇

During your time at the Beach, Chishiya became intrigued by you. He analyzed your movements when you weren't watching - atleast he thought you didn't notice him.

He could see that men eyed you while you were laying by the pool in your bikinis, but nobody dared to approach you. Everyone knew you were Niragi's sister and that terrified the shit out of them.

Why? Because Niragi seemed to be a little overprotective of you. If he could see even one pair of male eyes thirsting over you, Niragi wouldn't hesitate to beat them up. People here had seen that happen several times. Some men thought they'd get away with a little bit of flirting, but Niragi seemed to have eyes everywhere at any times.

One day, Chishiya watched you, sitting by the edge of the pool once again in your yellow bikinis, legs tangling in the water to cool yourself down. You were enjoying the sun, black sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose. You weren't aware of his gaze, you had no idea how his eyes lingered on your skin. Atleast, that's what he thought.

Chishiya turned around just for a moment to leave, and suddenly you had appeared right behind him.

"You like what you see, hm?" you asked and put your hands on your hips. Chishiya stayed silent, an amused look on his face as he turned around to face you. "I've seen you looking at me, you know," you smirked and bit your lip. "You're not as sneaky as you think you are."

"Is that so?" Chishiya hummed.

"Mhm. A lady like me has grown eyes on her back too," you said proudly.

"I see," Chishiya said, intrigued once more. "So, tell me. Why do you wear boots at the pool?"

Chishiya had noticed that you always had the same leather boots on, while most people wore sandals or were just bare foot.

You only smiled and tilted your head, slowly stepping closer to him so you could reach to put your hands on his shoulders. You leaned so close to his face that you were only inches away from him, and he could feel your minty breath when you whispered: "You'll have to take them off and find out."

And then, only with a smile and a wink you let go of him and turned around, leaving him to stand there by himself to go back inside.

Chishiya wasn't sure if he only imagined it, but it felt like you swayed your hips more dramatically than usual as you knew that he would watch you walking away. If your plan was to not let Chishiya's eyes leave your body - you succeeded with that.

"Careful," Kuina said next to Chishiya. "Don't let Niragi see that you were checking his sister out."

"I wasn't checking her out," Chishiya denied, but he knew that it was a lie. He knew that he'd be dead if Niragi found out even about his thoughts on you, but Chishiya also knew that you were a woman with your own choices.

"Mhm, whatever you say," Kuina said, a hint of worry in her voice.

♤♡♧◇

After your short talk by the pool, it took only two more days to get Chishiya to take you into his bedroom and push you on his bed.

You knew that with right words, you could get any man that you wanted. Not every man could be seduced with the same methods, however, so you needed a little time to calculate what kind of person you were dealing with. You let men flirt with you here, even though you didn't plan to actually do anything with them, but you knew it pissed off Niragi and you enjoyed that.

Of course you wouldn't sleep with everyone here, though, you did have quite high standards and a specific taste and none of the men at the Beach had raised your curiosity enough.

Until you met Chishiya. He stood out from the crowd, usually staying mostly by himself or with a limited one to two people. You wanted to get to know him. No, you needed to get to know him. Maybe not emotionally yet, but atleast physically.

Truthfully, you hadn't had sex in months, you needed it much more than you had thought. Chishiya sucked all the stress and worry off you with his touch which gave you pleasure, even if it was only for a moment.

Right now, Chishiya had you pinned on the bed under him, holding your hands above your head and planting kisses around your neck and collarbones. You didn't know how he managed to find all the sweet spots which made you go insane already on your first time together, but he did nevertheless.

He untied the top of your bikini and threw it away, not caring where it would land. He took off his shirt as well to stay fair with you.

He peppered kisses all around your body as he slowly crawled back, until his head was located between your legs. He pulled the bottom of your bikini off, seeing now every part of your body. It didn't take long for him to rub your clit and push his fingers inside, starting to explore your vagina with different movements.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped. He moved his hand away for a moment but you quickly stopped him by grabbing his hair. "Wait, can you- can you do that again?"

Chishiya smirked. "Do what again?" he asked. "This?"

You arched your back as Chishiya pushed his fingers back inside you, curling his fingers just in the right angle like he had done earlier. You had to grab the bedsheets into your fists to stay still.

When he pushed himself inside you, you felt like this was what you had needed the most during your time at the Beach. During all the games.

Sleeping with him was something you felt like you had needed for years. He was the perfect balance of both rough and gentle in the best way possible to give you pleasure in its highest form.

You had no idea how much time passed while you were trapped between his body and the mattress, you were in complete ecstasy and you never wanted him stop what he was doing.

You were sure your body would be full of marks he had created on your body and you'd have to show it off to everyone, but right now, right at that moment, you didn't care about anything besides you and him.

♤♡♧◇

"What's that?" Niragi asked next morning and stepped closer to you, looking at the bruises on your neck, trying to hide themselves behind you hair. He grabbed your hair and yanked it back to see your neck better. "Are those hickeys? Who made those?"

"What is it for you?" you spat. "You can do whatever you want with whoever and so can i."

Niragi narrowed his eyes for your attitude.

"Who," Niragi growled with a low voice, finger pressing on one of the many bruises, his dark eyes directly on yours, "made that?"

You just grinned smugly.

"Try to guess," you challenged him.

♤♡♧◇

"You fucked my sister?!" Niragi shouted louder than ever before. Chishiya jumped back when he saw Niragi storming towards him, pointing his rifle towards Chishiya.

"Well, to my defense, she came to me," he said, lifting his hands up to surrender and trying to ignore the rifle, inches from his face.

"Out of all the girls here, dozens of them, you just had to choose her?!"

"Niragi, we're-"

Niragi put his gun down and instead grabbed Chishiya by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Chishiya winced a little when the back of his head hit hard on the wall but otherwise he kept his regular pokerface.

"What should i do with you now, hm?" Niragi asked. "Shoot you dead right here right now or take a knife and carve little marks on your skin before shooting you. Any last wishes?"

He took a knife from his pocket, pressing the tip against Chishiya's cheek, a little too close to his left eye.

"Did you want to get a revenge on me? I thought we were buddies, man."

"Listen," Chishiya chuckled nervously in Niragi's tight grip. "Just let me down and we'll-"

"I know she's pretty, obviously, it's in our genes," Niragi interrupted, not caring to listen to Chishiya's defense. "But atleast talk about it before to me, man. Don't just go and screw her like that."

"So, if i had asked you for your blessing to sleep with your sister, you would have been okay with that?"

The anger rose back to Niragi's eyes. Chishiya was basically throwing more fuel into the fire flaming inside Niragi.

"Niragi, what are you doing?" you shouted from the end of the hallway before Niragi would be able go put a bullet in Chishiya's skull, walking towards the two guys with long steps. "Let go of him this instant."

"Or what?" Niragi asked. "You'll stab me over this guy?"

"If i have to," you said and crossed your arms against your chest.

"You can't be serious-"

You pulled a knife from your boot and pointed it at him.

"Let. Him. Down." You gritted your teeth, the same kind of anger in your eyes as in Niragi's. "Or you'll lose an ear."

Niragi huffed and let Chishiya go, coming towards you.

"Seriously, Y/N?" he whispered to you. "Him?"

"Mind your own damn business," you spat.

Eventually, Niragi left, but he wasn't in a good mood. At all. You hadn't seen him that angry in a while. You didn't lash out at him like that because he was threatening specifically Chishiya, no. You were just tired of Niragi constantly meddling into your business with men over and over again. Whenever you'd have a single hickey on your neck, and Niragi saw that, he'd immediately lose his temper for someone touching you - as witnessed here. It had been the exact same back at home before ending up to this world, but back then he only had his fists and not a gun. You had tried to make him quit it so many times but he wasn't having it.

You let out a frustrated groan, and Chishiya walked towards you now that Niragi had disappeared.

"So, you always carry knives with you wherever you go?" Chishiya asked, hands in the pockets of his white hoodie and an amused smirk on his face. "That's why you wear boots even with a swimsuit?"

"Shouldn't everyone carry a weapon with them?" you asked seriously, raising an eyebrow. "You never know when you need to defend yourself."

"Fair," Chishiya admitted.

You stepped right in front of Chishiya and put your hand behind his neck, slowly caressing his shoulder.

"Want to have a round two in my room tonight?" you asked, clicking your tongue.

"I'm not sure if i want to lose my right eye for that," Chishiya smirked, still feeling the cold blade against his cheek.

"Niragi's not the boss of me," you said and rolled your eyes. "I'm not some little kid that needs to be protected."

"Oh i can definitely see that," Chishiya agreed and nodded.

"So, my room tonight." You put your finger on hips lips. "Don't make me wait too long, hm?"

♤♡♧◇

The fire was flaming high outside, waiting for corpses to be thrown in there.

When the 10 of Hearts game started and Aguni's men were slaughtering people left and right, you only sat back and watched the shitshow. You knew Niragi would never allow anyone to touch you so you weren't afraid of being accused of being the witch and getting thrown into the fire.

That was, as long as he was there to witness it, and right now he wasn't. Still, you didn't stress about the game nearly as much as the others there.

You had no idea what Chishiya and others were doing, but right now you really, really just craved for a snack and was heading towards your room.

However, before you managed to get any further, someone grabbed you by your hair and yanked you towards them, causing you to let out a small cry for the pain on your scalp.

"Ha! Maybe she's the witch!" a man, who you didn't know at all, shouted at your face, spit flying on your cheekbone. "Let's burn her!"

One more guy joined him to drag you towards the place where the fire was located. But they weren't able to get very far.

You managed to get free yourself from their grip, then reached for your boots and took the two knives out of them. You didn't hesitate a moment longer as you threw the knives towards the two men, the blades digging deep into the men's necks.

You had practiced throwing knives for the past decade - as a nice little hobby of yours.

The men fell on their knees, and you kicked them on their chest, causing them to fall on their backs. You leaned down to remove the knives from their throats, leaving them to bleed out on the carpet. You wiped the blood on the men's shirts, then putting the knives back into your boots and continued your way towards you room.

As you walked through the corridor, you didn't notice two pairs of eyes watching you behind a corner.

"Well, i sure wouldn't want to anger her," Kuina mumbled. She was in shock how such a small girl was able to take down two grown men at that speed.

"She managed to surprise me too," Chishiya admitted, arms crossed on his chest. And very few people did surprise him anymore, both Kuina and Chishiya himself knew that. "Although, she's related to Niragi, so i don't know if i should have been surprised."

♤♡♧◇

A little later, you were leaning against one of the pillars on the 3rd floor, watching Aguni beat up Arisu with all his strength. You felt another presence join you, but you didn't need to turn your head to see who it was.

"Enjoying the show?" Chishiya asked.

"It's like watching a violent theatre play with real blood."

"Mhm," Chishiya hummed. "Hearts games are brutal but this is definitely something else."

"It's kind of entertaining how insane people can go during the Hearts games," you commented and turned your head towards Chishiya. "Did you ever suspect me as the witch?"

Chishiya eyed you for a moment.

"You could have pulled it off," he admitted. "With those knives and all."

"Aw, i'm touched," you smiled, hand on your chest. "If i was proven to be the witch, would you have been able to burn me in the fire?"

"Well," Chishiya started slowly and turned his face back to the crowd downstairs. "Everyone just wants to survive and get out of here, right?"

You didn't say anything back, only followed the events happening two floors down.

After everything had finally started to calm down, the fire suddenly spread and Niragi stepped inside, looking like he had been thrown into the fire too but got out before turning into complete ash.

"Oh, shit," you mumbled.

Niragi started to shoot in every direction possible with his rifle, not caring who he hit with the bullets. He wanted everyone here to die, that was for sure. He shot not only vertically everywhere, also up in different angles.

That meant, also right into your direction. Chishiya pulled you back, but just a second too late. You felt burning pain on your right shoulder and right after your leg, blood starting to pour out of the wounds. You stumbled backwards, but Chishiya managed to catch you and held you up by your waist.

His eyes widened when he saw your shoulder being painted red, as well as your leg.

"This just isn't my day, is it?" you chuckled, trying to ignore the pain radiating through your arm and make fun of the situation.

Chishiya didn't have much time to start patching you up right now, you had to leave this place as soon as possible to get to safety.

"Wait a moment, i'll be right back," he said and left you there on your own for a moment, running to the room where you had previously been. For a minute you were afraid he had actually left you here to bleed out, not wanting to deal with your injuries.

Chishiya grabbed a first aid kid, towel and brought them with him as he hurried back to you as fast as he was possibly able to run.

"Hold these," he said and gave you the kit and the towel, then scooping you in his arms. He knew he couldn't run very fast carrying you, but it would be faster than dragging you by his side.

It didn't take too long for people to burn the witch and finish the game just before the time would run down to zero. You had finally passed the last game.

As you sat outside and watched the mansion burn down among all the other survivors, Chishiya was by your side sewing the bullet wound shut with a needle and thread. The bullet had exited your body on the back, so Chishiya was more than thankful that he wouldn't need to start operating on you any deeper.

You had started to look pale and feel dizzy for all the blood loss, but you managed to stay conscious. He had wrapped the towel tightly around your leg. It had been white, but was now dyed half red.

"Shiya..." you mumbled, but he didn't lift his face towards you, only concentrated on stitching you up. "I promise i'm not getting hurt on purpose just to get you to touch me."

Your words did amuse Chishiya and you could see a slight smirk on his face.

"Good, because i don't have any more supplies to left to treat your wounds," Chishiya said and cut the thread off, leaving you with clean stitches on your skin. He finally looked into your eyes, looking serious and worried. "Let me know immediately if the stitches open and you start bleeding again, got it?"

"Are you like a doctor or something?" you smiled and bit your lip.

"Something like that," he answered, and you could see a little smile on his lips as well.

"I've never slept with a doctor before," you admitted. "Before the Beach, i mean."

"Was it on your to-do list?"

"Might have been," you said. "Along with a firefighter, of course."

"Too bad we didn't have firefighters at the Beach," Chishiya concluded. "Would have saved us a lot of trouble. Or if there was, they clearly failed their job miserably."

"Perhaps," you said slowly. "I would have still chosen a doctor first though."

"Hm, really?" Chishiya wondered. "Good to know. So, your type is men who can save you from trouble?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress," you scoffed, coming off as offended and a bit too defensive.

"And still i did have to carry you out of there," Chishiya pointed out.

"Shut up," you said and gently hit him on his shoulder.

"You'll promise to take it slow with your arm and leg, okay?" he stated seriously.

"Of course, doctor," you teased and bit your lip. "How can i ever repay you for taking such a good care of me?"

"I have a few things in my mind, but i think we should go somewhere private first," Chishiya reminded and sat next to you, putting his hand around your waist for a moment.

"Why aren't we already leaving then?" you asked and brushed your finger against his collarbone, right by the zipper of his hoodie.

"Tempting, but i'd rather have you rest for a moment," Chishiya said and pulled you tighter against his body, whispering right into your ear: "But don't worry, i'll make sure to find us some time alone."

His hot breath against your ear sent chills down your spine.

♤♡♧◇

A/N: I'll have update for the Child of Hearts too at some point no worries, just have to figure out some scenes for it and shape it a lil bit 🫶🏻

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

 ← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That’s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

[pennyellee]

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: 22K/tba release date: 02.18.25 beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, mild yandere behaviour (warnings were reduced to avoid spoilers)

author's note: ionoiafhoianfoaif, yalllll, I was writing this like foreveeeeerrrrr. So this is where it all basically started in my head when I created the retelling of what happened around the year 1996. Still, somehow Champagne Confetti and Anubis got out first, mainly because I will continue them, but this is one shot exclusively (I'm open to filler tho). Why? The story of Princess and Hoseok never dies throughout both the fics that are already out and those that will only come. Mainly with Anubis' chapters, you'll get to see them. I'm just as nervous to put this out as I am with every fic but very excited to throw Elixir in the world. I'm simultaneously working on my MA diploma thesis so bear with me when I'm radio silent, but I love you all! I appreciate you reading my stuff my good little fairies ♥ I'll see ya at Hobi's birthday! ♥ Enjoy!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, bloodshed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, and old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

main masterlist 𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

Winter 1995 You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟎𝟐.𝟏𝟖.𝟐𝟓

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story is up for reading, you can write in the comments and I'll create a tag list!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think Tim and Dick would deal with going to this specific: Bar/cafe/coffee/candy shop to buy something just to have the excuse to see another customer they started crushing on after a conversation the first time they went there and at some point down the line after asking this customer s/o out, they find s/o’s stash of goodies from the place in a draw in the kitchen at s/o place and s/o walks in on this “I forgot about those in there. I needed an excuse to talk to you”?

A/N: The temptation to write a full out fic for Tim was so real. 😭😂Honestly, this is by far the cutest request I've gotten

Dick:

The original purpose of going to the animal cafe in Bludhaven with Damian was so he could get the teen off his case. For ten days, he would come and terrorize him every night in an act of revenge for all the crap he was given by the whole family for getting grounded. Yes, as the eldest sibling he shouldn't have teased him so much but come on. The teen ran around Gotham, taking down each criminal while holding the giant Bat Signal in its lit state. How could he not? 

Promising to take him there for a whole week, it was on the first day of the seven he met you and the gray rabbit who would eventually become his wingman in winning you over. Resembling Haley, it was as if the rabbit knew the two of you were meant to be when the small thing hopped from you to him, then turning his head towards you to beck you over so Dick could get guided on how to hold and properly pet him. Every day, the rabbit would do this, leading the two of you to get closer to one another where soon, it started to come as natural for him to walk up and sit next to you. 

He knew he was completely hooked as Damian had once come up and whispered with disdain how he was “ogling” you, to which he still argues he was admiring. It was what led to him to start bringing Haley to the cafe on his days-off, smiling as he always saw you with the same fluffy, gray rabbit in your lap, munching on a carrot whenever he entered the shop. All to take a chance and worm his way into your heart.

Now he’s happily living with you under the same roof. Along with becoming Haley’s other parent,  you’ve been helping him get situated with the newly adopted rabbit he saved during his last mission (though he has yet to bring up that the rabbit was actually illegally acquired and was formerly used to energize a bio weapon). 

For right now, he’s helping you find your library card, scorching the whole unit from bathroom to the living room. 

“Did you check your desk yet?”

“No, I didn’t get that far!” 

While you go through the dresser, he stands behind you and goes through your desk. Keys, notepads, paper clips, oh wait. Maybe? Pulling a card out from between your notebooks, he opens his mouth to tell you he may have found it only to stop from recognizing the logo and the date written on it. 

“Did you find it, Dick?” You ask when you don’t hear any shuffling from him for a while. 

“No. But,” he waves the card at you as you turn to face him, “I didn’t know you had a crush on me for that long.” 

His smirk stretches wider into a grin, gleefully watching your confusion and frustration merging into horror as it registers what exactly he’s holding. 

“I… completely forgot I left that there.”  Your voice barely above a whisper to which he nearly tells you it’s fine since he got you to flush from head to toe. 

Instead, he takes a step forward, his fingers gingerly wrap around your wrist before pulling you towards him. Nuzzling his cheek into your hair, he occasionally lifts his head up and presses lips on your forehead, nose, and cheeks.

“Cute”, “precious”, and “I love you”s are what he says in between each one before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

He chuckles from the random noise you make when you duck down to hide your embarrassment. Then sighs in content, words unable to express how he’s fallen head over heels for you all over again.

Tim:

The day he first met and had a crush on you was definitely a memorable one. It started as two random, sleep-deprived students standing in line at the only coffee shop closest to campus. Until he, his sleep deprived mind, and caffeine withdrawal spilled his coffee onto you as soon as he got it off the counter. Great first impression he left as you both went into full out panic, you trying to tell him it was fine while he kept apologizing and promised to, at least, pay for your drink. 

He still cringes at the moment, especially when he later found out once he was on friendlier terms with you, that you were more upset that it was your favorite shirt that had gotten ruined. Your Red Robin shirt to be exact. But now looking back, had it not happened he would’ve never gotten your number, nonetheless talked to you. It would’ve become another normal day in his life without the person who currently gives him joy in his life.

He lost track of how many times he went to that coffee shop just so he could bump and get closer to you.  For a while, coffee became his go to for caffeine when Babs had asked once why he was pouring the coffee from her coffee pot rather than drinking his usual energy drink during a Batfam meeting. 

As the saying goes, hard work pays off. Currently, he’s helping you pack so you could move to what you affectionately call his “dingy old” boat to which has upgraded to becoming somewhat habitable after you visited him more and helped organize his space and belongings. 

“Hey, did you pack your stuff in the drawers?”

He picks up the word “no” coming from the bedroom. Giving you the heads up he was going to start working there, he grabs another empty box and continues to open the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing stands out, the typical utensils organized in their respective holders until his hand nudges onto something in the very back corner that holds your silverware. 

A tiny smile dances on his lips as he pulls out and recognizes your stack of punch cards to the coffee shop the two of you now frequently go to together. You did mention you always liked that place long before the two of you dated. Never thought it was this much. Giving it a good look, he starts considering where he should place it since it was obvious that you were keeping them until the date on the very top card registers in his head. 

“Tim? What are you doing? Do you know how many times I called you-”

His fingertips matching the same red as his neck and face, he wordlessly turns towards you. Slowly your face starts turning the same color, your lips in the shape of a tiny “o” from recognizing what exactly he was holding and what mostly just occurred.  

“You… liked me?” He couldn’t manage uttering the “for that long” part out loud. Thankfully, and another reason why he loves you, you’re quick to catch on what he means as you start looking everywhere but him. 

“Y-Yeah.” It comes out so softly yet he can hear it loud and clear. “I, um, needed an excuse to see you again.” 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making when he walks up to you. Nor did he have any thoughts in general. His head is in the clouds  right now, finding out how much he’s loved back that makes him love you even more. Adore you even more. Softly he brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“I love you.”

And he leans forward to seal his words in both your and his heart.

[belliexpog]

heyy i was wondering if you Could do Sae byeok x fem reader and reader is pregnant. Like Maybe headcanons on the things she would do While you are pregnant like making sure you ate Well (you two would go to her moms house a lot and her mom would say to you, to eat more While Sae byeok is just adoring you) makes sure that you are comfortable when cuddleing, never lets you lift a finger, is there when you are feeling really sick in the morning, tries the thing Where she is behind you and she gently lifts your tummy releaving All the pain in your back and tailbone. (She adores the way you dip your head back on her shoulder and close your eyes, humming How Good it feels as she lift your tummy) and more.

thank you and have a wonderful Day or Night.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two babies in one- Sae-Byeok

(headcanons in points + writing)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The discovery:

Her jaw would drop in shock that the insemination actually worked

"BABY, WE'RE PREGNET!"

She would certainly cry with joy.

Headcanons:

With confusion on her face, she holds up the small, light wooden box, opening it slightly. You shift your position on the bed, sitting up better to see her reaction, with an anxious smile. And She gives you a suspicious look and opens the box. The box was lined with gray crepe paper, but she didn't pay any attention to it, seeing a gray baby bodysuit and the pregnancy test on top. "Baby...Is this...?" She asks, looking at you fearfully with a gleam of hope in her eyes. Your smile widened, and you placed your hand on your stomach, nodding. The girl opens her mouth in shock and puts the box aside, throwing herself on top of you on the bed, kissing you all over. "Baby, we're pregnant! Oh my god..." You let out a laugh, nodding and wrapping your arms around the girl's neck. Her expression suddenly changes, becoming worried. She rolls over, now lying next to you, and places her hand on your belly. "I can't crush the baby..." She murmurs, worried. You He let out a loud laugh and pushed her hand away. "The child is still a seed. There is nothing to crush here."

Telling the mother-in-law and Cheol:

Her mother was super happy, as it was her dream to be a grandmother.

Cheol smiled and said, "A new friend!"

Sae's mother gave you several tips on what to do, what not to do, what you can eat and what you can't eat, everything you needed to know, and Sae listened very carefully, taking mental notes.

Your mother-in-law was the most helpful person ever, often coming to your house to help with things while Sae worked, taking Cheol with her so he could distract you.

Her mother-in-law also makes a point of filling your plate with food, now with less fat and more nutrients, because "it's a mother and her baby who were eating"

First Trimester (Weeks 1-12):

Even though the girl (Sae) HATES reading, she bought pregnancy books to help her to better understand your mood changes or physical disposition.

She bought a new mattress just so you could sleep better, since, according to her, "the book said that in the first trimester of pregnancy, pregnant women could spend a lot of time sleeping."

She doesn't get irritated by your mood swings, just confused. But she takes a deep breath, nods her head and just goes with the flow, not wanting to disagree with you.

Headcanons:

You were exchanging kisses lying in bed, when suddenly, you get up and run to the bathroom. The girl quickly got up, sitting on the bed, seeing you going to the bathroom. As soon as she heard vomiting sounds, she quickly He got up and went to the bathroom, kneeling beside her and grabbing her hair, pulling it away from her face. "Oh baby..." she murmurs, mostly to herself, looking at you with concern. She didn't get up from the floor until you were completely okay. She helped you getting up and washing your face. She made you lie down while she went to get you food.

Second Trimester (Weeks 13-26)

She is SO happy to see your belly growing.

Believe me, she started to become a thousand times more affectionate. Kissing your belly, talking to the baby and helping you to sit.

She drools when she sees you in maternity dresses, or just in your underwear. She simply thinks you look magnificent with your huge belly.

She massages your feet every night, and this gave her the opportunity to buy several body creams thanks to your influence.

Headcanons:

You walked around the store, actually you walked and Sae carried the cart with the groceries, eventually asking you what else was on the list. She didn't really like the idea of you going out and making some kind of effort, but since she knew that it wasn't healthy to spend all your time sitting or lying down every day, she made an exception. Sae crouched down, looking at the section of shower creams and gels. "You like vanilla, don't you?" She asked, picking up a vanilla shower gel and looking at the label. The older woman gave you a quick glance, as you stood with your legs slightly apart, one hand on your back and the other on your belly, lightly patting your face as you looked at a moisturizing cream. "Mhm...Vanilla is perfect" You mumbled, picking up the moisturizer and opening it to smell it. Sae nodded and smiled, standing up and putting it in the cart, seeing the cream you had put on She raised an eyebrow and looked at you. "Me and the baby have to have our skin moisturized... And smelling good." You say, running your hand over your belly and smiling slightly. Sae shrugged, turning to walk again. “That makes sense.”

Third Trimester (Weeks 27-40):

She started to be more careful with you, as she knew that the birth was near.

She would always go with you to the bathroom and help you if you needed it.

At night she would NOT sleep until she was sure you were asleep, because she knew you were having trouble falling asleep.

Every time you woke up to go to the bathroom, she would sit on the bed, watching, and only go back to sleep if you were also asleep.

She started to prepare the delivery bag: With the baby's clothes, your clothes, some hygiene items, diapers for you and the baby, a blanket for you and another for the baby.

You also decorated the baby's room, but it was Sae who did everything, you just gave orders and opinions.

She always got scared when you had contractions.

Headcanons:

"But why paint the colors pink or blue? Use a light gray. When the child is born, the kid will decide. We don't even know if the child will like pink or blue!" You said, leaning against the doorframe, with Sae in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips, looking at the walls. She nodded, and then looked at you "You're right, princess. Gray it will be!" She said, and smiled looking at you. "And put an armchair or small sofa on that wall, it will look nice. Now I'm going to the bathroom, I'm worried." You said and turned around, walking quickly with difficulty,with her legs spread and her hands behind her back. Sae held back her laughter and followed you to the bathroom.

Labor & Delivery:

Headcanons:

As usual, at 9:30 pm you were already asleep - or trying to -. It was then that one night in January, at 11:00 pm, some strong contractions woke you up. You woke up, moaning in pain.It stopped for a few seconds, but not even a minute later the contractions started again, moving up your back and into your belly too. Sae woke up to the groaning, and immediately said, "You wet the bed..." She mumbled, sitting up in bed, but when she saw that it was too much to be pee, all her senses awakened. "Oh, fuck!" She stood up and walked over to your side of the bed, helping you up. "Shower... Let me take a shower..." You moaned, leaning against her. "No fucking way, honey! You're going straight from the car to the hospital!" Luckily, the delivery bag was already in the car. She reached into her bag, put your cell phones in there, and grabbed the car keys. "Can you walk?" You looked at her, leaning on the bedroom vanity, with your hand on your belly and shook your head. She nodded and walked over to you, picking you up. "I'm training for the future," she jokes, leaving the room, making you laugh in the midst of so much pain. You chose to have a natural birth, aware of the pain, but wanting to feel it. The birth, besides being painful, was at the same time wonderful, because as soon as your little figure arrived in your arms, you immediately stopped crying, you felt as if you were falling in love again, cause you really were. You looked at the face of that tiny being, seeing your features in it. How did such a thing come out of you? Was that cutie less than 50cm tall that would one day come out of your wings? Tears rolled down your face, Sae's hand brushed away the hair stuck to your forehead and smiled. "Hold on, you're the mother too." You said, lightly lifting the baby in your arms. Sae shook her head and smiled. "Let the doctors take the baby and take care of him/her. I have to take care of another baby." You smiled, and the doctor came closer, wanting to take the baby. With a little pity you handed the child into the doctor's arms, and watched him leave. You turned your head to Sae and smiled. "It's so tiny..." The girl let out a laugh and pulled the chair behind her to sit closer to you. She sighed, sitting down and took your hand, stroking it, while the other stroked your forehead. "It's true, princess... It's very tiny..."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @vigilxntesht @wtvlmaosstuff

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MAN THIS IS SOSOSOSOSO CUTE

I love you anon for this idea 🙌🏽

Hope you liked it babies!

Xoxo!

[glasvera]

smut & fluff with rivals!star lord x fem reader please,,,

Prepare to have your teeth rot <3

Hearts and Ribbons

Star-Lord x Fem!Reader

Description: Your boyfriend interrupts your beauty sleep to present you with a Valentine's gift... of himself!

Warnings/Disclaimers: SMUT (18+ only, Minors DNI!!!!), cursing, vaginal sex, cowgirl position, Star-Lord being canonically insufferable with his sense of humor, lots of fluff and comfort

A/N: I really let my cringe fly with this one. Star-Lord was actually stupid fun to write because of the joke potential. Also, I let the feels propel me forward, so this is barely proofread and I apologize.

Word Count: 2.9k

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!”

You groan sleepily, rubbing your eyes as the light to your sleeping quarters interrupts your slumber with its artificial yellow glare. With your brow furrowed, you narrowly blink one eye open to see who the perpetrator of this punishable offense was, and groan again when you see your boyfriend grinning ear to ear in your doorway.

“Peter,” you grumble, “what the hell? Why did you wake me up?” He winces at the irritation ringing clear as day in your voice. You wipe the sleep from your eyes as your vision begins to clear. “...and why are you in a bathrobe?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot!?” he exclaims as he stands at the side of your bed. You sit up to get a better look at him, your hair falling messily around your face. When you blink at him tiredly, giving him an unamused look, he sighs in defeat. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Well, back on Earth it is. I’ve been keeping track. Call me your calendar-ling.”

He’s too proud of that.

“Mmff… well we’re not on Earth, so…” you mutter in annoyance as you lie back down and tug the covers over your head. “...we can do Valentine’s in about 3 hours or so. Need my beauty sleep”

“Aww,” he whines, and it should be annoying, but there’s something adorable whenever he pouts like a little kid. “And to think, I got your present ready and everything!”

Your ears perk up at that. Material girl living in a material… universe, or something like that. He sees he’s piqued your interest and grins cheekily. His hand gives your comforter an experimental tug, just to see if you’ll let him, and you finally relent, rolling back over to face him.

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, giving him a slight smile as you start to sit yourself upright again. “What’d you get me?”

Tongue-in-cheek, his hand finds its way to the tie of his robe. The fuzzy fleece-like fabric zips with a whisper when he pulls it loose. It slips off of his shoulders and crumples to the ground in a puddle of cloth around his feet, leaving him entirely naked as he proudly places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. A red ribbon criss-crosses his body, wrapping around his waist, his pecs, outlining his thighs, until finally it all comes together in a perfectly tied ribbon around his half hard penis.

“Me!”

Of course seeing him wrapped up like a pretty present is enough to get you a little hot and bothered. But he had interrupted your sleep presumably for Valentine’s sex, so in turn you had to tease him. With your best poker face, you cross your arms and look unimpressed.

“Oh. I was hoping you made breakfast or something,” you tut.

He deflates immediately, his arms flopping down at his sides, and you almost feel bad. “Well, I… I mean I could go grab--!”

You interrupt him with an airy giggle and take his hand in yours, pulling him onto the bed with you. It’s not the most graceful thing, and he lands with a soft “oof” on top of you while half crushing your rib cage, but you quickly pull him into your embrace. Your arms wrap around his neck while his find their place at your waist, though he does still look a bit befuddled by your sudden change in attitude.

“I’m kidding. Well, mostly,” you snicker before kissing the tip of his nose, loving the way it crinkles. “I am a bit hungry…” you add teasingly. The pad of your index finger trails along his jawline, tilting his chin up to press your lips softly against his. “...and you seem to have wrapped up a perfect snack just for me.”

His eyes darken slightly at the seductive purr of your voice, and he props himself up on his elbows to hover over you. “Oh, I’m a whole Happy Meal, babe.”

“You are the worst,” you respond with a giggly snort, but you contain any further laughter as you press that same finger to his chest, trailing along the line of the ribbon he’s wound himself in. Your touches travel lower, fingertips grazing along the soft silk almost ticklishly. While your eyes follow your hand, his are locked onto your face, watching your expression with rapt attention and studying the details of your face. He could probably draw it by memory if he were any good at that sort of thing, but he could never grow tired of looking at you. Feeling his gaze burn into your very soul, your eyes flicker back up to his.

“I’ll be anything as long as I still get to look at this gorgeous face,” he breathes. It’s so genuine that your face heats up immediately and your expression softens as your heart clenches in your chest. He could say a thousand pick-up lines, a million terrible jokes, make you groan and roll your eyes a billion times, but he could never stop you from loving him. Hell, you loved him because of that, and so much more, not in spite of it. Your palm rests against his cheek, and he leans into it happily. 

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” you tease, the mirthful lilt in your voice ensuring he knows you’re kidding.

“Said,” he corrects you with a cheeky smile as his fingers card soothingly through your hair. “Now those words are all yours.”

“Sweettalker,” you hum as you toy with the neatly tied bow between his legs.

He gives you a throaty chuckle. “You know you love it.”

You hum your agreement before your hand wraps around his cock, the heat of your palm drawing a hiss from his lips as you begin stroking him languidly. He kisses you hungrily then, nipping and tugging at your bottom lip before his tongue is dancing with yours. Bracing himself on one elbow, his other hand grips your hip before sliding up beneath your nightshirt, groaning into your mouth when he cups your breast.

With every flick of your thumb over the tip he’s bucking into your hand, precum dribbling forth as you collect it on your fingertips and smear it over his length. He’s so hard, so ready and needy for you, and it makes your mouth water in anticipation. His lips leave yours, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, and you tilt your head to the side to give him better access as he leaves heated kisses along the column of your throat.

“Peter,” you breathe reverently, exhaling a blissful sigh when his fingertips roll your nipple between them.

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “‘Could listen to that all day,” he muses aloud before he continues sucking a dark spot into your skin.

“Mm… maybe I could record my own mixtape for you then,” you chortle as your hand quickens. “Let you listen to my moans, the sounds of you fucking me…”

A broken moan staggers from his throat as he bites down onto your neck and you gasp softly. Well, now you have his birthday gift planned, at least.

The wet heat of his tongue laves up your neck, soothing the reddening mark and indent of his teeth. “I think I prefer the live show more.”

“Then why don’t you give me a show, lover boy?” you taunt as you guide the tip of his cock to drag up and down the dampening fabric of your underwear. You bite your lip and suppress the soft moan in the back of your throat when he brushes against your clothed clit.

He shakes his head, his blonde hair tickling your face as he suddenly sits back. Now it’s your turn to let out a dissatisfied whine, and he takes way too much pride in the way you pout up at him. You’re a complete mess, with bruised lips, hickeys lining one side of your neck, and your shirt pushed all the way up your chest to expose your breasts. No, he has something else in mind entirely.

“You’re the star, babe. And Star-Lord deserves VIP treatment, don’t you think?” He takes himself in hand then, swatting yours away as he taps his cock against your inner thigh. “I wanna watch you ride me,” he says huskily as his eyes meet yours. There’s so much want, so much raw desire in his gaze, that it makes your heart pound in your chest. You need him so badly that denying such a request or even making fun of such a cheesy use of his hero name never crosses your mind.

You scoot over wordlessly, and he grins wickedly before flopping onto his back. It was an undeniably tantalizing view, seeing him wrapped head to toe in that shiny red ribbon. You shimmy out of your panties before throwing your leg over his hip to straddle him. His hands find your waist again before sliding up, cupping your breasts as you make a show of removing your shirt and your hips rock against his. He could feel just how wet you were when his dick slides along your slickened slit, and it drives him crazy. When your hands rest atop his, guiding him as his fingers squeeze into the plush of your tits, he lets out a shuddery groan.

“Like this, Star-Lord?” you ask with mock, saccharine sweetness. He bucks up into your heat. Oh, how he loved when you used his moniker in the bedroom.

“Fuck, yes, baby. You’re so sexy,” he rambles, moaning when your grinding makes the tip of his cock nearly slip into your sex. You line him up properly then, easing down onto his length almost too easily, and he grips your thigh possessively as his head falls back against the pillow. You take him to the hilt and he snaps back up, watching where the two of you meet as you immediately begin bouncing up and down with breathy moans. “That’s it. Give me a show.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your brows knit together while your lips part with your soft “oh”s and “ah”s. His hand falls from your breast so he can admire the way your tits bounce with your movements. The sensation of a loose silk knot nudging your clit every time you come down is strange but not unpleasant. Peter sees you looking down at it and chuckles.

“Look at you. So needy that you can’t even properly unwrap your toys before you play with them,” he teases before pressing his palm flat against your stomach and finding your bud with the pad of his thumb. The added sensation leaves your thighs quivering around him, and you bite down softly on your finger to muffle the keening sound in your throat. You want to tease him back, to point out how he’s calling himself your toy, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Instead he lifts his hips up just a bit, nearly setting you off balance as you gasp and lean back to brace your hands on his knees, and he thrusts up into you at an angle that has you seeing stars.

“Oh, fuck!” you curse, barely remembering to bounce back against him as he pounds up into you. He knew your body too well, knew every spot, every way to touch you to turn you to putty in his hands. Your eyes are too busy rolling back into your head to see the way he smiles devilishly up at you. Watching you come undone because of him was intoxicating, and he was absolutely drunk on you.

“That’s it, Y/N, keep singing for me like that,” he praises you, swiping feverish circles into your clit in time with his thrusts. “Let the whole ship know who’s girl you are.”

That idea shouldn’t turn you on, and in your right mind that would be the last thing you would want to think about, but the thought of it now has your walls clenching around him and milking him for all he’s worth. Pressure coils low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every nudge of his cock head against your g-spot and every flick of his thumb on your pearl. Your moans turn into begging and praising.

“Yes, yes, Star-Lord, yes!” you babble between pleasured sighs. If you keep that up, there’s no way he’ll be able to last much longer. He pulls you down, earning a surprised yelp that he muffles with a searing kiss. He doesn’t relent, pistoning in and out of you as your moans grow higher and higher in pitch. With a tilt of his head the kiss deepens, and your mind goes hazy with desire while your tongues engage in another messy battle that leaves your head spinning. It’s all too much and finally the coil snaps, and you orgasm deliciously while your cries are swallowed by his kisses. He can’t hold back anymore, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you down before going into an absolute frenzy. His cock hammers into your sensitive walls and he buries his face in your chest, moaning and groaning as you cry out from the overwhelming sensations. 

Your name leaves his lips over and over, uttering it like a prayer before he lets out a guttural cry, stilling and spilling himself into you.

The two of you slump against each other on the bed, panting as the afterglow washes over you. Resting your head on his chest, you roll your neck so that your cheek is smushed against his shoulder. In your post orgasmic bliss, your eyes gaze up at him lovingly, and a dopey smile spreads across your face. Peter looks down at you and smirks, bringing a hand up to brush through your now even messier hair.

“You know I love you, right? For… for you, I mean,” you murmur as you stare into each other’s eyes.

He gives you a quizzical look. “I… what do you mean?”

Your hand rests on his chest, and you draw lazy circles into his skin with your fingertip. “That I don’t need you to be Star-Lord. That I fell in love with Peter Quill, the man, and not Star-Lord, Guardian of the Galaxy.”

His eyes widen for just a moment before they narrow and soften. Arms wrap around you tightly then, squeezing you into a hug that nearly relieves your lungs of all their air.

“I… I know,” he responds, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “Even if it’s still hard to believe sometimes.”

It’s rare that he lets himself be insecure around anyone. You do your best to return his hug, draping your arms around his shoulders and pressing soft kisses to whatever skin you could reach. Taking the moment to savor each other, intimately enjoying one another’s embrace, you allow your eyes to wander about your room and… wait, hold on… when did…?

Strings of paper hearts, seemingly cut out by hand, zigzag and drape from the ceiling all around. A box of chocolates rests on your nightstand next to a vase of gorgeous flowers.

“Did you…?” you start, lifting your head to get a better look around you.

Peter’s laugh rumbles in his chest. “Finally noticed?”

“I-I…” you stutter, embarrassed at the realization that you had been entirely oblivious to the rest of his preparations until now.

“Figured you’d just wanna skip to the main course, so I didn’t say anything,” he teases with a wink. He reaches over, divesting the box of its lid before procuring a chocolate and offering it to your lips. You playfully roll your eyes at him before opening your mouth, taking the morsel gently between your teeth. It’s good. You haven’t had chocolate like this in a while. Your eyes close and you hum in satisfaction, and your reaction brings an ecstatic grin to his face.

“I’m glad you kept track,” you admit, “of Valentine’s, I mean, but… why?”

He takes a deep breath before answering. “We… we’re in space all the time. Dealing with, you know, other planets and types of people. Different rotations, different calendars, different days. It gets hard to keep track of time passing or even when it’s supposed to be day or night. But since you and I are both from Earth, it… I guess it feels important. To remember, I mean. It grounds me, even all the way out here in space.”

You smile fondly at him and lean up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “That’s surprisingly poetic of you, Peter.”

He snorts, giving you a playful flick on the head. “I’ll have you know that many people have told me I have an excellent way with words.”

“Imaginary friends don’t count, you know.”

“Hey!” he exclaims as you fall into a fit of giggles. It’s impossible for him to stay mad when you look so perfect, so sweet, so comfortable and at home in his arms. The back of his fingers brush along your cheekbone, and your giggles gently fade into bare titters as you continue to flash him a toothy grin.

“I love you,” he breathes out.

Your heart flutters no matter how many times he says that, and you lean into his touch. “I love you too, Peter. Happy Valentine’s day.”

[33max]

if you have the energy can you write about maxy going back to the factory and playing with all his engineer and mechanic friends?? i think he would be wild on the plane ride over with daddy, he's so excited!!! happy flappies running through the factory looking for his friends 🥰

I accidently wrote 3250 words and I'm not even sure it is what you asked for… and it is so far from perfect and not really edited 🤭 but I hope you like it anyway!

“Ready, Max?” Daniel says as he hauls both his and Max’s bags from the bedroom and into the living room.

Max is sitting on the sofa playing a game on his iPad, he’s been obsessed with it recently and can sit for nearly an hour making burgers for the tiny little customers on the screen. It’s a great distraction for when Daniel really needs to get some things done, like today, when he had to pack their bags to spend a week at the factory in Milton Keynes.

“Yesh,” Max says around his binkie, he’s feeling extra small today and hasn’t taken the binkie out for anything other than the snack that Daniel gave him earlier.

Max serves one last customer before handing the iPad to Daniel to pack in Max’s backpack. It has all of the things Max might need on the plane to make the journey a little smoother, like his noise-cancelling headphones and his fidget squishy.

“Let’s go then!” Daniel says, holding his hand out for Max to take. It does mean he has to carry two backpacks on his back and two suitcases in his right hand. Better that than Max trip down the stairs. He’s not as dexterous when he’s like this.

Max has Mr Roar’s paw in one hand and Daniel’s hand in the other, and as they walk carefully down the stairs Max chatters away about seeing a big pirate ship from the balcony that morning, apparently it had a monkey on the flag and a huge crate of bananas spilling out over the deck.

The parking garage is in the basement of their building, and it’s usually very quiet as it is only for residents of their building, but as they open the door to the garage somebody revs the engine of their stupidly loud sports car making Max whine and bury his face into Daniel’s shoulder. His hands come up to cover his ears and he starts sucking on his binkie at a much faster pace than before.

“It’s okay, Maxy,” Daniel says, putting their bags on the floor to properly comfort Max. His boy doesn’t like loud noises and needs Daniel’s hands covering his ears as well as his own. “They’re leaving now, look, there they go. Say bye to the loud McLaren!”

“Bye,” Max says as the car drives out of the parking garage. His face is in a little pout and he is not happy. “Naughty car.”

Daniel tries not to laugh. Big Max would be appreciative of that noise, he would probably moan directly in Daniel’s ear about the sound of the engine, but not Little Max. Little Max’s ears are more sensitive.

The car is parked close by. Daniel has decided to take the Audi. It’s bigger, comfier for Max, and more inconspicuous with the fully tinted windows.

They got the windows blacked out a few months ago because Daniel could not stand the idea of the paparazzi getting their hands on photos of Max like this. It made him feel sick to the stomach. His anxiety even reached a point where he did not want to take Max out when he was little, he didn’t want Max’s sweet face all over social media for the world to see.

It was actually GP who had suggested they do this, and it has made a world of difference. Daniel doesn’t worry about taking Max out in the car anymore.

“Can you get in while Daddy puts the bags in the boot, Bud?” Daniel asks, trying to get Max to help him out a bit, but Max shakes his head and stays attached to Daniel’s side while he loads their gear.

Max is not feeling very independent today. It’s fine, they sometimes have days like this when Max won’t want to leave Daniel’s side. Daniel suspects that will change once he realises where they are going, anyway. Max knows they are going to the factory for the first time this year, but he hasn’t quite realised what that means yet.

He hasn’t realised who else will be at the factory with them and Daniel can’t wait to see Max’s reaction. His boy has really missed the team over the winter break, perhaps even more than he did last year.

There have been a few times this winter when Max has woken up from a nap and waddled over to Daniel in tears because he misses his friends. Especially Uncle Jeep.

“Let’s get you strapped in, Baby,” Daniel says, opening the passenger door to the RS6 and encouraging Max to climb in. Max does, but he climbs in knees first and then has to awkwardly twist until he’s sat properly on the seat.

“Good boy,” Daniel praises, grabbing the straps of the seatbelt to buckle Max in. They have a six-point harness-style seatbelt in the passenger seat for Max.

It’s perhaps overkill, Daniel knows. But there was one time before they had the harness fitted that Maxy had very inconspicuously taken the normal seatbelt off of his shoulder without Daniel realising. The moment Daniel had to brake at a red light Max’s head had almost bonked the dashboard. Daniel had yelled out of fright. Max had cried because of the yelling. It was a whole thing, and so within a week, Daniel had the harness fitted.

“All done,” Daniel says, kissing Max’s soft tummy where the buckle sits.

“Thank you,” Max says politely. It sounds like tank yoo around his binkie and Daniel can’t help but smile at how adorable that is.

The drive to the airport is fairly uneventful. It’s only half an hour but the car lulls Max to sleep before they are even out of Monaco and Daniel ends up listening to an audiobook of Roald Dhal’s The BFG all by himself.

“Baby,” Daniel whispers when they arrive, stroking Max’s cheek to try and wake him up.

Max whines. Turning his head away. His cheeks are flushed with sleep and he’s clearly not wanting to wake up.

“Baby,” Daniel tries again, stroking a hand through Max’s hair this time. “It’s time to get on the plane.”

Max doesn’t even whine this time, he’s fast asleep.

Daniel subscribes to the idea that if a little does not wake up naturally with careful rousing, then they must need the sleep, and there is absolutely no way Daniel is going to pull Max out of a deep sleep just to get him onto the plane.

The perk of owning a private jet is that they can often drive straight up to the hangar where the plane is, with no reason to even enter the airport. So, Daniel can carry his boy all of twenty metres.

He climbs out of the car and signals one of the crew to grab their bags. The jet has three regular crew members, a pilot, a copilot, and a steward.

“Sorry to ask you to do that,” Daniel says to one of the crew members, his name is Adam and he is the copilot, Maxy loves Adam because he keeps the fridge stocked full of strawberry Frubes.

Adam waves him off as he grabs the bags from the boot. “It’s fine. Is the little man sleeping?”

“I’m pretty sure a hurricane could hit and he wouldn’t wake up..”

“We’re expecting some minor turbulence just after take off,” Adam tells him. “Sorry, Danny, but you’re going to need to get him into one of the seats. We need everyone buckled in today.”

Shit. Daniel was hoping to transfer Max directly onto the bed. Max has an entire room at the back of the plane for his little self, filled with plushies and toys and slightly more soundproofed than the rest of the plane. It is where they usually go when Max is small.

“Damn,” Daniel says as he unbuckles Max and lifts him out of the car, making sure that Mr Roar is tucked between them. He rests Max’s head on his shoulder and then encourages Max to wrap his legs around Daniel’s waist. It comes second nature to them both after all these years. They’ve done this more times than they could count.

Max stirs a little as Daniel climbs the stairs to the jet, but doesn’t wake up, even when Daniel gently places him in one of the chairs. Daniel reclines the chair and grabs some blankets, trying his best to make it as comfortable as Max’s bed would be. Luckily, Max still doesn’t wake up.

“Morning,” Suzanna whispers as she makes her way through the plane. She’s their steward and she absolutely dotes on Max. “Can I get you anything? Do you want me to make a bottle for when he wakes up?”

“That would be great actually, yeah.”

“I’ll make it now so you have it ready for take off. Did Adam let you know we are expecting some turbulence?”

“He did. Hopefully, Max will sleep through it, you know how he gets when it gets a bit bumpy.”

Max is terrified of turbulence when he’s small. He sobs and screams as the plane bounces around. Daniel suspects that this is something Big Max is afraid of too but just will not admit.

It’s not long before Suzanna brings Daniel a bottle for Max, and then they’re taxi-ing down the runway.

Daniel keeps an eye on Max during take-off, looking out for any signs that Max might wake up, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even wake up when the plane starts to bounce around in the turbulence that Adam and Suzanna warned them about, which Daniel is very grateful for.

In fact, Max sleeps through most of the flight, only waking up when there are around twenty minutes until they land at the private airfield outside of Milton Keynes.

“Hello,” Daniel says gently, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of his seat to knee in front of Max’s. “Did you have a nice sleep, baby?”

Max nods, finding Mr Roar in his lap and cuddling him tight. His cheeks are so pink and his hair is sticking up at all angles. It’s adorable.

“Do you want a bottle?” Daniel asks, grabbing the one that Suzanna made from the warmer.

Max nods again, yawning so wide that his binkie falls into his lap.

“Here you go,” Daniel takes the lid off of the bottle and hands it to Max. Sometimes when he’s sleepy Max will insist that Daniel holds the bottle, but today he takes it himself, holding it up to his own mouth to drink.

“Good boy,” Daniel tells him, stroking a hand through Max’s hair. “You’ve been such a good boy, Maxy.”

Max smiles around the nipple of his bottle. He loves being called a good boy.

“Yes, yes you are,” Daniel says, reaching a hand out to tickle Max’s tummy.

The final descent into Cranfield is uneventful. Max finishes his bottle and Daniel texts GP to let him know they’ve nearly arrived.

Daniel cannot wait to see Max’s face when he realises who is coming to pick them up from the airport.

“Have a good day, Maxy!” Susanna says as she waves them off of the plane. “See you soon!”

“Bye-bye, Suzieanna,” Max says, giving her a quick snuggle before following Daniel down the stairs and off of the plane.

“Careful, Max,” Daniel says, as he tries to guide Max down the steps. “Gentle feet and safe body, remember?”

Max nods, carefully watching where he steps. Putting one foot in front of the other and making sure he doesn’t slip on the wet metal stairs. He’s too busy watching his feet to notice who is standing about twenty metres away, leaning up against the side of a black BMW SUV.

Daniel flashes GP a smile. Any second now…

Only when Max’s feet are firmly back on solid ground does he look up and spot Gianpiero. Then the next thing they know Max has let go of Daniel’s hand and is running full pelt towards the man, Mr Roar swinging in the wind as they run.

“Jeep! Jeep!” Max shouts excitedly.

“Hello,” GP says, holding his arms out for Max to leap into before hoisting the little onto his hip. He holds Max close, spinning him around, and kissing the top of his head. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Jeepy! Every day! I missed you big!”

“You missed me big?” GP laughs, “How big?”

As Daniel is walking towards the pair he sees Max start to wriggle on GP’s hip and yell, “Oh no! Jeepy put down, put down!”

GP puts the boy down immediately. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Daddy! Help!” Max says, panicked, looking back towards Daniel. Max has dropped Mr Roar to the ground and is pulling at the front of his sweatpants frantically. “Excited wee!”

Oh shit. Max is dropped younger than usual and Daniel let him sleep for a few hours, gave him a bottle, and then let him sprint full pelt at GP in excitement. Of course, he’s nearing an accident.

Daniel starts to run towards them, but before he makes it even a few metres, GP has stepped in for him.

The older man quickly turns Max to face the car, stands behind him, and shimmies his sweatpants down – enough for Max to let go up against the rear tyre of his car.

“There you go,” GP says, “Nothing to worry about.”

GP quickly picks up Mr Roar and cradles him under one arm before Max realises his plushie fell.

This is why Daniel trusts GP with Max, he springs into action when Max needs it. He doesn’t automatically look to Daniel to sort Max out when there is no time. He trusts his instincts and acts, Daniel wonders if it’s something to do with how well he knows Max from all the years of being his race engineer, or if it is just a GP thing. Always ready to prevent the next disaster.

“Sorry, Jeepy.” Max sniffles as he pees.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” GP tells Max firmly as Daniel finally reaches the pair. There is no room for disagreement in GP’s voice, he will defend Max even when Max is being hard on himself.

“Is that better, Max?” Daniel asks, placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Daddy’s so sorry that he didn’t check if you needed the bathroom before we got off the plane.”

“Yeah,” Max says as he finishes, looking up at Daniel sheepishly. “Feels better now.”

Daniel inspects the damage, only a tiny leak on Max’s underwear, GP had stepped in just in time. The underwear will dry and Daniel can get Max changed as soon as they reach the factory, so he pulls both Max’s underwear and sweatpants back up.

“Let’s get you in the car,” Daniel says, opening the back door and helping Max climb into the back seat. There’s a six-point harness belt in the backseat. GP had it installed over the summer break when he took Max on a couple of days out while Daniel was in the US for work.

Daniel is once again thankful for the race engineer’s presence in Max’s life and how much he cares. Not just when he’s big, but when Max is like this too.

Daniel kisses Max on the tummy, where the harness is buckled, and then he closes the door. Leaning up against it for a couple of seconds before turning around to face GP.

“Thanks for that,” He tells GP, as they shake hands in greeting. “He’s dropped pretty small today, I probably should have seen that one coming to be honest…”

GP waves his hand in the air, brushing it off. “It happens.”

“Jeepy is driving us to the park!” Max announces as they climb into the car, he’s flapping his hands excitedly. A sure sign that he’s happy. It makes Daniel chuckle, Max has a habit of saying things that he wants to do, rather than what they are actually doing.

“Jeepy is driving us to the factory, Max,” Daniel corrects, looking in the rearview mirror at the boy.

“Yeah. And the park.” Max nods, “Jeepy always takes me to the park, Daddy.”

“We like the park, don’t we, Max?” GP says and Max hmm’s in agreement. “Maybe tomorrow we can go.”

Max is looking around the back seat, patting himself down, and Daniel knows what he’s looking for. Mr Roar and a binkie.

But he’s not the only one who notices what Max needs.

“Here,” GP hands the boy his plushie, at the exact same time that Daniel says “Here,” and hands Max his binkie.

“Tanks,” Max giggles, taking both items.

It is not lost on Daniel how in tune with Max’s needs GP is.

When they arrive at the factory, the first thing that Daniel does is usher Max into the bathroom to change his clothes. He wrestles the excited little into some soft navy blue sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, his usual factory attire.

And then it’s chaos.

As soon as Max is dressed he is darting for the bathroom door to make an escape into the factory.

“Maxy, safe body!” Daniel shouts after him, trying to remind the little to slow down a little.

It’s no use. Max is running straight at Calum, who must have been going out for a cigarette, arms flapping in excitement as he squeals in happiness at the mechanic.

“Look who it is!” Calum laughs, catching Max before throwing him a foot into the air and catching him again. It never ceases to amaze Daniel how strong the mechanics are, lifting Max up like he weighs nothing.

“Missed you, Cal!” Max tells him through giggles, “Throw me again! Throw me again!”

Calum does. Again. And again. Until Max is out of breath from giggling so hard and Calum places him back down on his feet.

“Take me!” Max demands a cheeky smile on his face.

“Max…” Daniel interjects, trying to remind Maxy that manners are important.

“Take you where?” Calum asks, confused.

“Hannah! Pedals! Jon! Paul!” Max says, taking Calum’s hand and tugging him towards the offices. “Jeep!!!”

“Jeep is parking the car, baby,” Daniel reminds him. The older man had dropped them at the entrance, the best place for an excited boy, before heading over to the parking lot.

“I can take him to see everyone,” Calum says to Daniel. “If that’s ok with you? I’ll take him to see everyone while you go and see the big man.”

Daniel does have a meeting with Christian to get to, and it is important for the team that everyone gets time with Max like this. When he’s small and innocent and so happy to see everyone.

“That would be great,” Daniel smiles. It’s easy to watch Max interacting with the guys, and Daniel knows that they are safe here. From judgment, but also from prying eyes.

As he watches Calum walk Max towards the back offices, he hears Max ask “Where’s Jonathon?” and his heart clenches a little bit. He has tried explaining to Max that Adrian and Jonathon will not be around as much this year, but that they will be there during the race weekends, and they still love him very much. But it’s hard to know how much of it Max actually understands when he is like this.

“Jonathon is coming in this afternoon just to see you, Buddy,” Calum says, voice getting quieter the further away the duo get. “He wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

[princess-of-the-corner]

ML AU - Public Divorce: Lila

Ok, I need to go on with this for a minute cause. This bit was kind of just a joke, but then I thought about it, & now it’s FASCINATING, and-

Like, the joke is just that Chloé’s parents are going through the world’s ugliest divorce, and dragging everyone else with them, including celebs, so by the time Lila turns up, the class is just DONE on celeb gossip. Like. The number of scandals and rumours, and outright BLACKMAIL this class has been witness to is honestly impressive. And these kids are so over it at this point. Chloé most of all, but the whole class is just burnt out on anything relating to high-profile. They regularly see a classmates parents duke it out on Talent Tonight, they want to talk about LITERALLY anything else. So Lila shows up, starts spinning her stories, and gets … . nothing? Polite indifference at best, outright ignored at worst?? What?? At first, she thinks maybe she’s been recycling tales too much, maybe they need to be EVEN MORE IMPRESSIVE, but that has the opposite effect of what she wants, some of her class starts ACTIVELY AVOIDING HER, so nope, stop that! Lila’s just sitting here, stumped, because what the hell? This has NEVER happened, who doesn’t love good old celebrity gossip??

She’s flicking through her phone on a whim, searching for ideas, ANY ideas, (she has literally never needed more than this, she is truly befuddled) when she stumbles across the cute Fox video, and Kim sees it. And calls the class over. And suddenly Lila’s in the middle of the whole group, cooing over adorable animal videos??? What?? But hey! She can work with this! Who wants to see the new baby elephant at the Oregon Zoo?

After that, it becomes a game of trial and error. ANYTHING regarding celebrities or politics is right out, but cute animal videos seems to work! It spirals into video production and quality with Alya, something Lila actually knows a bit about, so that works too! She tries to steer the conversation to actors in movies, but whoops, shutting down again! Until she throws out a frantic production fact about Star Wars (Did you know Palpatine’s chair could only turn at a fixed speed, but it was too fast, so the actor had to use his feet to slow down the chair? So during that scene where Palpatine is confronting Luke, he’s scooting his chair around so it doesn’t fuck up the shot) and suddenly THAT gets everyone interested again! Alright, maybe it’s just CURRENT gossip that’s out? No, no, it’s stuff about people, but production stories are cool??

But it’s not her usual stuff that gets her interest. Someone expresses frustration with a history project about Italy, Lila offhandedly mentions a fact about it, suddenly she’s being begged to help with the project. She gets praised, it’s so cool she knows all this stuff! So ok! Stuff about Italy! She can do that! A random fact about sharks she retained from who knows where generates a discussion that lasts almost two hours, so apparently any facts work! Equally doable! She’s looking up random things, writing down any that snag her interest just so she can pepper them into conversation. Did you know that slugs have teeth with the same composition as diamonds?? How nuts is that!?

And through all of this, some of her actual interests, like history, or masks, makes it in, and people seem to like that just as well (they’re her friends, they enjoy seeing her passionate). Stories about her travels still come up, but they are barely altered or even embellished. She hasn’t spun a proper lie in six months. She’s kind of baffled by how “low effort” this particular group is, unaware that she’s actually spending MORE TIME on shit here, it’s just that she ENJOYS looking up cool facts, or researching history, or talking about how masks get made, or auditioning for the school play. The class gets her mask-carving lessons for her birthday, and Lila almost bursts into tears, cause holy shit, they remembered! (Her mom just got her a gift card).

Running out of steam, but just … I’d call it Lila accidental redemption, except in this, this all happens before she does anything she would need to be redeemed FOR, so.

(Also, ugly divorce is still happening in the background. At one point, André tries to flirt with Lila’s mom. It goes spectacularly badly. Chloé sends the Rossi’s an apology gift basket.)

-

She’s just. So confused

[lmvari]

⟳ 03. FALSE HOPE

No reply. You shake your head and rub your temples, setting your phone face down and trying to focus.

And then, barely fifteen minutes later, a familiar figure slides into the seat across from you. Kuni, hoodie loose over his frame, hair still slightly damp like he left his dorm in a hurry. A cup of coffee and a bag of snacks land on the table between you.

You blink at them. Then at him.

“What is this?” you ask.

He shrugs, nudging the coffee toward you. "You look like you’re two pages away from losing your mind."

You don’t take it immediately. You steady your breaths, grounding yourself to reality and not letting your thoughts stray from what is actually real.

You tell yourself it’s just coffee. Just your favorite snacks. Just Kuni, showing up unannounced because he feels like it. And yet, something about it sits in your chest, unsettling.

"Seriously," you murmur, staring at the cup instead of him. "Why are you here?"

He leans back in his chair, watching you. "Dunno." A pause. Then, a little softer, "Just figured you’d need a recharge."

Your fingers curl around the cup before you can stop yourself. It’s warm. Comforting. A contrast to the cold pressure in your head from hours of studying.

He noticed these things.

Kuni’s gaze drifts over your notes, your scribbled notes and highlighted texts. He doesn’t comment on the mess, just tilts his head and studies your face. "You sure you don’t wanna take a break?"

"I can’t."

"You look like you need one."

You scoff, tearing open the snack bag. "Yeah, well, I don’t have that luxury."

He just watches you again, unreadable. "It’s late. Continue studying at home.” He ponders for a but before casually adding, “Or at my place. It’s closer.”

You freeze, fingers tightening around the edge of your textbook.

Of course. Of course. You should’ve known. Kuni never just shows up. Never just does things for no reason. He always wants something.

And yet, for a moment, for just a second, you thought maybe…

No. Stupid.

You force out a laugh, shaking your head. "Right. And I’m sure we’d get so much studying done there."

He raises an eyebrow in confusion at the sharpness in your tone. "What do you mean?”

You push your notes into a neater pile, trying to steady yourself. "Nothing." You don’t look at him when you add, "I still have a lot to do.”

Silence. You expect him to call you out, to tease, to say something snarky, but he doesn’t. He just exhales, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. He waits for a few minutes before making a move to stand up.

"Fine," he murmurs. "Don’t overwork yourself, moron."

You hate that you almost believe there’s no ulterior motive behind it.

Yeah, leave because you’re not getting what you want.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE what do you guys think about my writing style? i’d love to hear out your thoughts and if i need more improvement <3

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie e @vi0let-writes @tomsishere

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

[cod-indulgences]

currently feeling ugh with my body again.. could you write small boobs chubby reader (it me) receiving some love with any of the men pls? 🥺🥺

Kyle Garrick x female!reader, insecure!reader, body image issues, low self esteem, small breasts!reader, chubby!reader, tits man Kyle Garrick, angst, fluff, fingering, breast worship, overstimulation, fingering

anon you and others sent me similar asks. this is me too, writing this felt very cathartic and I love you for sending this in. I hope it helps you!.......it's also over 3K

You wouldn't call yourself shy, just....practical. No need to draw more attention to your assets, or lack thereof.

Being fat was sexy, if you were a specific kind of fat. Men didn't come running for apron bellies or thick thighs, if there weren't big, lush tits to balance them out. And even while your flesh had expanded, growing around you like Saturn's rings, your breasts had stayed small. Clothes were a nightmare, and you got in the habit early of wearing crop tops instead of actual bras, wanting to avoid the discomfort of underwrire digging into your belly when you had to bend and move.

And then you met Gaz.

Your crush was inevitable and all-encompassing. He shone like the sun to you, even with that dumb hat, and you were left sighing over him in private. It stayed private though, because one of the first things you'd heard him proudly announce was that he was a tits guy- and your heart had sunk to your shoes. You'd known those sort of men, glancing past you for a woman with cleavage, with the sort of breasts that filled lingerie and bounced enticingly.

So when he started flirting with you- unmistakable flirting, innuendoes slipped in with coffee and invitations to dinner, compliments on your hair and clothes- you decided to take what you could get, as long as you could get it. It might just be a way to fill time for him, but you were so pathetically gone on this man that even the scraps handed out until someone with proper curves came through felt like a feast.

So you accepted the compliments and dinner invitations, kissed Gaz in your doorway and pushed aside the creeping discomfort as his hands curved around your back, your belly bumped up against him before your tits did. You could take this much. Even when the kisses got heated, his tongue slipping against yours and drawing lines down your neck, you kept your clothes on, a barrier to hold off the inevitable let down. You could handle him eventually finding someone better, you couldn't handle his face twisted up in disappointment at the sight of your body.

So when you got bold after a couple drinks and sat in his lap, let his hands rise up and cup your tits through your shirt, you didn't expect the shuddering moan Gaz released into your shoulder, the little "fuck, baby" and how it went straight through to your core. His hand squeezed and you whined a little, nipple perking up as he thumbed across it.

"Gaz- Gaz, wait, shit," you stutter, and he licks across your throat, his mouth lingering at the neckline of your shirt.

He squeezes again, and you moan a little yourself. It's like nothing you've ever felt touching yourself, or the handful of boys you'd slept with, ages ago.

"So sexy, so fucking hot," he says, and it's like cold water down your back.

"Gaz, wait- no, stop!" You push at his shoulders and he goes back, frowning when you climb off his lap. This is worse than disappointment. "I don't- don't fucking lie to me!" You feel too hot, shame burning your cheeks. "Don't give me that shit! I thought you at least liked me enough to not- to not do this-" You try not to let any tears fall. You don't want to cry.

He's just sitting here, staring at you like he's confused. "What? What are you talking about? What lies?" He says, and it's too much.

"The fucking- the sexy shit! Like this- like I'm something you want- just, I'd rather you leave, ok? Just go, and we can pretend it never happened." You sit on the far end of your couch, arms wrapped around yourself. You don't want to look at him, and when he stands up, your mouth trembles. Don't cry. Don't cry.

You expect him to go to the door. Instead he crouches in front of you, and takes your hands in his. You don't stop him.

"Baby," he says, and oh fuck that hurts. "Why do you think I'm lying?" He looks so fucking sad. Big dark eyes and his cheeks are still flushed, and he'd been smiling at you when you took his hand and brought it to your chest.

You can't look him in the eye while you lay it all out. "I know I'm not- not what you want. Or like. And you're my friend and I l-like you, a lot, but you can't do this. You can't say this shit and pretend it's true when I'm the one you're saying it to. I know better. People like me don't get to be sexy." His hand cups your cheek, and brushes away the release that managed to slip out. "So you can go, and I'm sorry it went this way, but I can't sit here while you're wishing I had the curves I know you want."

Gaz doesn't leave, or move away, and when you dare to glance at him you get shocked to see his eyes are wet. His other hand let's go of yours to cup your other cheek, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. "If I ever," he says, and kisses your eyelid, "meet any of the fuckers who told you things like that," your other eyelid, oh, your heart, "I'm going to kill them." He kisses your lips, soft, and you whimper at the tenderness of it.

"You, just as you are, are so sexy to me- no, stop," and he holds your face to look at him instead of away. "I don't know who started you thinking I want tits more than you-"

"You did!" You burst out. "You say it all the time, talking with the soldiers, about how you love a nice set of tits on a woman, how the breasts are the best part, whatever else, it's practically a catchphrase." The words are bitter in your mouth. "And I'm not just the fat girl, I'm the bad kind of fat, without anything good to balance out the bad. That's just how I am, and I thought I would be okay with the dates and the flirting, because I knew it wouldn't last anyway. But I'm not, and I'm sorry I wasted your time, and just....I just..."

He looks surprised, and then upset again. "No, baby, no. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would- sound like that. Look, okay yes, I love breasts, always will, but don't you get it's not about them being big for me? I don't care what size. I just," he laughs, a little incredulous, "I like tits. Big or small, whatever, they're all fucking awesome!"

You yank his hands away and he falls back on his ass, surprised. "Not like me! Not when the little ones are on top of, of all this!" You grab your stomach and shake it, flesh bouncing, a reminder of just what you carry. "I haven't been little anywhere it matters since I was fucking twelve."

Now he's standing up, looming over you. "Okay, first of all- you think I'm that fucking shallow? That all I want in a woman is how she looks? Fuck you." You swallow, suddenly ashamed. "And two, if you think you're that unattractive, you need to open your eyes. If you'd put your weight down on me properly instead of hovering like I was gonna break, you'd have known just how sexy I find you." He cups his hand over his groin, and you stutter, too close to eye level where his fingers outline a thick, heavy shape. You had been hovering, uneasy at sitting fully on his lap, when he'd sucked on your neck and touched your chest. Gaz boxes you in, hands on the back of the couch, and puts his face up close to yours. "If you tell me to go because you don't like me, then I'll go. But I'm not leaving just because you think I'm going to be fucking disappointed at seeing more of the body I've been jerking off over for fucking weeks."

His mouth crashes into yours, and you moan, all tangled up with emotions, shame and desire, the embers of lust fanned when he sucks on your tongue. He's big and strong around you, the smell of his skin and soap filling your nose, and when Gaz encourages you to turn and lay flat you obey. He settles over you, his hips wedged between yours, and you both moan together when he hitches up a little and rubs up against you. Two layers of pants mean you can't feel much, but it's enough, and he does it again as you mouth shakily at his cheek, sucking on his earlobe. It's messy and a little high strung, and your eyes are still teary when Gaz lifts his hand to your chest and waits until you swallow hard and nod. His fingertips are gentle, tracing the curve of your breast until they find your nipple again, and you fight down the wave of shame as you see how his whole hand covers you. Barely enough for a handful, that just can't be what he wants, you're not enough- but he's looking at you with such dark, hot eyes, and when you whine a little as his fingers start to play with your nipple, you see his pupils dilate. Fuck.

"No bra?" He murmurs, and pinches just a little through the fabric of your top, just enough to make you squirm under him.

"No," you gasp, "just a shirt and a- a crop top thing, I never wear them," and he moans a little, a soft fuck that he breathes out before suddenly getting his mouth onto your other breast.

You squeak, it's hot and wet, his tongue working your nipple through the thin fabric, and your thighs open up a little more as he grinds against you. He's just- he's enthusiastic, pinching and sucking, pressed up against your body from head to hip. There's a warm liquid lust pooling in your belly, and your chest heaves as you gasp for breath. You can feel him now, no hovering, hot and hard up between your legs.

Suddenly your clothes are too much after all. You push his shoulders, and as Gaz sits back tug at his shirt, yanking the collar up over his head until he starts helping. He's gorgeous, full pecs with little dark nipples that perk up under your fingers, the muscles of his abdomen flexing when you gently trace along his iliac crest, a little shivering twitch going through the flesh. His cock is bulging out his pants, and you picture it sheathed inside you and feel your pussy gush a little.

Gaz sets his hands at the hem of your shirt, and you clench at the heat in his eyes. You're trying, you're dizzy with arousal and so turned on you can't speak, but there's still fear there. But he's so, so sweet, and you want it so bad, and nod helplessly for him to draw the fabric up and away.

Your bra-top comes away with the shirt, and you don't even have time to cover yourself before Gaz has your hands in his, fingers intertwined, and he's fucking moaning over you. "Baby, fuck, if you knew how fucking luscious you look," and he's diving back into you, eating the moans that slip from your lips as he gets both hands on your tits.

Small, too small, but he gropes and squeezes them, letting the flesh fill his palms, tugging your nipples between his fingers. He releases your mouth and goes down again to suck fully on one nipple, and you shout, the sensation of hot-wet suction so much more intense without fabric in the way.

"Fuck, baby, yes- just like that, c'mon," he mumbles around your tit, and you realize you're grinding against his cock. Your pussy clenches and you moan, trying to lift your hips up, aching for something you can't get while you're both still half-dressed. Gaz's skin is silky smooth against yours, sweating, and you squirm a hand between your bodies to pull at the button of his jeans. Two fingers slip in and you manage to rub the base of his cock, feeling the heavy flesh and the heat, and he swears again and grinds up harder.

You're going to leave a wet spot, you realize, and the Gaz dares to oh-so-gently bite down, teeth scraping your nipple, and you feel your body turn to jelly.

It's so good, so hot, like nothing you've ever had. Forget body image or shame, you're reduced to broken moans and begging, you're fucking begging, and Gaz works your pants open blindly to shove a hand down. His fingers scrape past your pubic hair and then he's suddenly there, everything hot-wet-slick, your clit bumping against the heel of his hand as he slips a fingertip against your hole. Then two fingers, sliding in, and he groans so hard against your breast that you can feel the vibrations in your heartbeat.

"So wet, baby, so wet, all for me? All this from these sweet little tits getting the love they deserve?" He grinds his palm in and starts fucking you on his fingers. You can hear the wet sloppy sounds, and it only makes you clench, whining. Your other nipple aches where he's been plucking at it, and when he moves his mouth there instead, you shout and clamp down. "Fuuuuck, fuck baby do that again-" He bites this nipple, and you obey and let your pussy contract on his fingers, perfect and not enough.

You blearily look down and see your chest, Gaz's dark head pillowed on you, his lips sucking at the peak of your tit. Your other breast is littered with little red marks from his facial hair, your nipple swollen and red, and it's so erotic and sensual you can't breathe. Suddenly your tits are sexy, plump little things with sensitive nipples and soft round bottoms, your belly and sides tingling as Gaz drags his fingers over your flesh, groping, yanking at your pants to give himself room to get a handful of your ass. Your hips jerk up, and your moaning climbs in pitch as the instinct takes over, chasing a high that is so close it hurts- truly hurts, your clit throbbing and pussy squeezing where his fingers keep pumping in and out of you.

Gaz lifts his head, holding your nipple in his teeth as he tugs, and his big hot eyes hold your gaze as your mouth drops open on a moan that doesn't end, spiraling up and up as your nipples ache and pussy squeezes, a long hard clench, before it finally breaks into an orgasm that leaves you shaking and limp, sobbing in relief, the new gush of slick around Gaz's fingers dripping over his hand and wrist.

Your voice comes back in stops and starts. "Fuck- fuck, Gaz, oh God, please, I can't- can't-" because he's still fucking you, sitting up to stare at his hand between your legs, pants and panties shoved down your thighs, and you're aware of the bounce of your flesh. The old fear tries to crawl back up, but Gaz is working is cock out of his pants, and you gape at him. He's huge, thick and heavy, so hard he's wet at the tip. When his hand slows you shove at your clothes, trying to get the twisted fabric out of the way.

"You don't have to," he starts, but you kick a leg free and hook it over his hip, pushing his jeans down with your heel.

"I want to," you gasp, and help him guide the tip of his cock to your hole.

Your mind is a little more clear now, and you take the chance to memorize Gaz's face as he slides into you, how his eyes close and mouth falls open, the soft moaning sounds. He's a stretch, and you're slick as sin, you make it work. He hitches up your hips, and you breathe deeply to relax your muscles, and suddenly he's there, all the way in, an ache in your cunt and your clit as thin flesh rearranges around him. Gaz drops his head to your shoulder, braced on one elbow, and his free hand comes up again to cup your breast, squeezing and lifting the nipple up for a kiss.

You get a kiss too, hot and sweet, and moan into his mouth when he finally starts moving.

You're sore and sensitive, whining at each bump of your clit against his groin, as he picks up speed and starts really fucking you- the couch creaks and your thighs open as wide as they can under the onslaught- he's so big, almost too big, and you gasp and tell him this, making him whine in return.

"So big," you say again, and feel his hips stutter. "Gaz, fuck-"

"Say it again," he moans, and you yelp as he sucks again on your nipple, harder, pinching the other and tugging until your back arches.

"Fuck! Fuck, Gaz, you're too big, fucking my- my little cunt-" he grunts and slams in harder, fuck, "god, please, please don't stop, I'm gonna come again!"

Gaz fucks his cock into you like a machine, wet squelches echoing as your pussy clamps down, trying to hold him in, your clit rubbing against his groin and pubic hair, and you come again as he opens his jaw and sucks your whole breast into his mouth- hot-tight-wet, his tongue slurping over your skin, your nipple pulled so tight against the roof of his mouth and your other swollen and pinched under his fingers. You feel the distant gush of your pussy on his cock, the way it's suddenly so much wetter, sloppier, and Gaz shouts into your chest as he slams his hips in and stills, his cock pumping you full of come, grinding up into your dripping cunt to get as deep as possible.

He's heavy on you, but not too much, and as he slows and you both catch your breath you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging. There's a fragile feeling in your chest, under the sweat and aches and tingling skin, and your wordless begging for kisses against his head brings him up to you. He's as gentle as you are, slow and sweet, and the fragility firms, settles.

Gaz chuckles a little against your mouth, and when you hum a question at him, he answers, "I had a whole plan for you. Seduction and shit, take you to a proper fancy place to eat. Get you in an actual bed, especially." You start to laugh as well, seeing the picture you make- you're naked except for socks and your pants and underwear hanging off one ankle, Gaz with his jeans rucked down his thighs and a wet spot on the crotch. Your breasts are swollen and tingling along with your pussy as he gently pulls out, and you wince a little, feeling the aches in your hips and back.

"Not quite what you expected, then?" You tease, but there's a little old shiver down your back.

Bless him, Gaz just lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. "Better than," he says, and holds your eyes with his. "I promise."

It's a heavy moment, and your eyes blink back tears, feeling sweet, precious, so stupid with your previous outbursts in the face of such affection in his eyes- and then your stomach grumbles, and you both burst into giggles. You grin at him. "Is that offer for a fancy dinner on the table still?"

Gaz winks. "Only if I get to have you for dessert after."

[naebaetwsog]

can you make bf!shinyu headcannons? ☺️

。°Shinyu boyfriend headcanons」＊

genre.fluff

warning.non

pairing.tws!shinyu x fem!reader

a/n.here it is, my love for tws keeps growing tho, but how would you guys feel if I started to write for other groups…

Bf!shinyu Who fell first and fell hard but would never make the first move. He needed you to give the first step just so he could take his. (Make it make sense? It doesn’t, but it’s Shinyu.)

Bf!shinyu Who is down bad for you—like, pathetically bad. He thinks he’s being slick, but everyone can see it.

Bf!shinyu Who stares at you all the time. Doesn’t even try to hide it. You’ll catch him, and instead of looking away, he just blinks at you like, Yeah? What about it?

Bf!shinyu Who cute thematic dates are a must—café hopping, bookshop dates, night walks with matching scarves, he loves that cute couple aesthetic.

Bf!shinyu Who is love language isn’t physical touch, but good luck trying to get him to keep his hands off you. (Hypocrite behavior.)

Bf!shinyu Who an average date with him? You sitting on his lap at his place while he plays games, his arm around you, occasionally resting his chin on your shoulder.

Bf!shinyu Who loves you a lot and makes sure you know. He’s not the best with words, but his actions scream how much he adores you.

Bf!shinyu Who there isn’t a single day where he doesn’t leave your place or you don’t leave his without him giving you something—his hoodie, a plushie, a random snack—he needs you to have something from him.

Bf!shinyu Who is the type of guy to immediately take off his hoodie or jacket and put it on you the second you mention being even slightly cold. (You: “It’s kinda chilly” / Him: Already draping his jacket over you “Better?”)

Bf!shinyu Who if you ever steal his hoodies, he’ll act all fake-offended but secretly loves it. Lowkey buys extra hoodies just so you can take them.

Bf!shinyu Who the height difference is crazy—this man is tall tall, and he loves reminding you of it. Expect teasing 24/7.

Bf!shinyu Who gives you princess treatment to the max—he’ll grab things from high shelves for you, tie your shoes, open doors, carry you if you’re too tired to walk (it’s not even up for debate, you’re getting lifted).

Bf!shinyu How calls you every small-person nickname in the book—“shortie,” “pocket-sized,” “mini-me”—but will also act devastated if you try to call him a giant.

Bf!shinyu Who holds things above your head on purpose just to watch you struggle, but the second you actually pout, he’s giving it back with the softest “sorry sorry, here, take it”.

Bf!shinyu Who even though he teases you a lot, if anyone else tries to make fun of your height, he’ll be dead serious like, “Only I can do that. Try again.”

[mkeyztrm]

“ Valentine ”

It’s Valentine’s Day with your boyfriend, Chris. You’ve spent this day together before countless amounts of times. Today feels extra special to you, though. You feel like you should make your day even better, for the both of you. Especially Chris, you wanna make sure it’s extra special for Chris so he knows just how much you love him.

It’s February 14th, your sweet boyfriend’s out shooting a car video with his brothers in some empty parking lot, he promised he’d be home before it got too late. While he’s out you’ve decided this would be the perfect time to start putting his surprise together. It’s 7:30 pm, and your hope is to be finished by 9:00 - 9:30 PM.

You start this project by running to the store to grab supplies. You refer to your shopping list;

——————————

- rose petals

- two bottles of pepsi

- glitter.

- red and pink construction paper

——————————

that should be all you need.

as you get home and get settled, you get everything out and get started on the actual project.

dragging out rose petals and laying them in specific spots, creating a walk way that starts from the front door to his bedroom. You already had fake battery powered candles from last year, so you reuse those candles by lining them up with the petals to add a little character. Along the rose petal walkway, you take yourself to his bedroom where you cut your construction paper into hearts. Each heart you cut out, you write a little “I love you so much, here’s one thing I love about you—”. You lay some hearts out on the bed, and spread the rest around the room.

Before you’re finished you toss some glitter on the rose filled areas, and you lay your pepsi’s on the bed.

“y/n, we’re home!” You hear Chris shout from downstairs. You hear his footsteps stop and hear Nick commenting on the rose trail.

Both of you smiling widely, you ran down to meet Chris, Matt and Nick at the door. You grab Chris by his hand, and take him through the trail, giggling with each footstep.

As you make it to his room, you can’t help but do a little excited strut inside.

“Ta-da!!!! Happy Valentine’s Day, Chris!” You exclaim in joy. He grabs you and gently pulls your waist at him, giving you a little smile filled kiss so show his appreciation.

After he’s finished thanking you and flexing to his brothers that he has the best girlfriend ever, you two sit down on his bed and watch movies together until you both passed out on top of each other.

now you have to figure out how you’re gonna clean up all the glitter.

——————

hi gangie I still don’t really know how to write good so sorry if this is buns 😭 i haven’t wrote in a while and thought it’d be fun to do something for valentines days.

[demigodsanswer]

A little tattoo au smut for your Sunday. Basically, I meant to write the percabeth first date per someone's request, but I ended up just jumping right into their night together. I just really wanted Annabeth to sit on his face idk.

~

Annabeth sipped the last of her wine and found her courage as Percy signed the check. 

“I had a great time tonight,” she told him, racing across the table for his hand. 

“Me too,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“Should we get out of here?” She suggested, trying to remember how she used to flirt. 

Percy smiled and looked away from her, a bit pink in the cheeks. Annabeth held her ground and waited. 

“I’d invite you to my place,” he started, “but truth be told, I’m staying with my parents at the moment, while I look for my own apartment.” 

Annabeth smiled. “Well, that’s alright,” she promised, “Sophia is with Luke tonight. As long as you don’t judge how dirty my place is --” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Percy assured her. 

~

Annabeth poured them each a glass of wine when they got upstairs. They made it though about four sips each before they were on each other. Annabeth couldn’t remember who kissed first, and it really didn’t matter. All she knew now was that Percy’s hand was under her shirt as her hands unbuttoned his. 

“I should tell you, I haven't had sex since Sophia was conceived,” Annabeth said. 

“Don’t worry, they haven’t changed it much,” Percy promised. Annabeth laughed and kissed him again. “Honestly, I haven’t been with anyone in two years, between the research and job market …” 

That was actually quite comforting. 

“The bedroom is that way,” Annabeth said, pointing to the small hallway. 

Percy pulled her off the couch and started to lead her there. Annabeth would have to thank Thalia for her forward thinking with the condoms that morning. Turns out, they were going to see some use. 

~

For going two years without sex, Percy certainly didn’t seem out of practice. His fingers, tongue, and cock knew all kinds of ways to please her. It was a miracle really. She’d always enjoyed sex for the intimacy of it, the comfort of another person there, the feeling of them reaching places in her so few ever had. But with Percy … Well, it turned out sex could also feel really, really good too. 

The sheets under them were damp from her pair of messy orgasms, one as he fingered her during foreplay, and one while he was inside her.

Inside her. He’d felt so nice, hot and hard, moving at such a perfect pace for her. She’d started on top, riding him until she came, and then he’d flipped them over. He’d started at a pace she’d describe as “making love” before really taking her hard, whispering all kinds of filthy things, and showering her with compliments. He’d cum inside her (well, in the condom, really), and the pulse of it was comforting and familiar. 

Afterwards, they just laid there, breathing and sweaty, ignoring the dampness on the sheets and the smell of sex in the air. Annabeth rested in the crook between his arm and his side, her head on his shoulder as traced some of her tattoos with his finger. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she said back.

“I’m serious. That first moment I saw you last week, I mean, I was done for,” he told her. It didn’t sound like a line. Anyway, what would be the point of a line now anyway? He already had her in bed. 

“Oh really?” She asked, nudging him on. 

“I knew I had to ask you out from the first second I saw you,” Percy said. “At the very least, I needed to find all your tattoos.” 

She leaned back a little bit. “Feel free to have a look around,” she said, laying on her back, her body outstretched so he could look her over. 

Percy kissed his way slowly down her arm, then across her chest, stopping periodically to ask if there was a story behind a specific tattoo. Sometimes there was: a favorite moment from a book, a symbol she held dear. Sometimes, she just liked the idea. 

She had a few tattoos on her hips that had been stretched out and cut into during pregnancy. Percy ran a delicate finger over the scar tissue that ran across her bikini line. 

“C-Section?” He asked her, his green eyes curious and sympathetic. 

Annabeth nodded. “She didn’t want to come out,” she told him. “I was in labor for … oh, fifty-five hours I think? In the hospital for forty-something.” 

“Jesus,” he sighed, “you’re a hero.” 

Annabeth laughed and ran her fingers through his already messed-up hair. Percy seemed to lean into her touch, and she was confident that if humans could purr, he would have. 

“I sat at home with Luke watching Lord of the Rings extended editions, just waiting for the contractions to get closer together. By the time Return of the King was over, it was probably still too early to go to the hospital, but I didn’t want to watch the Hobbit movies, so I demanded we leave,” Annabeth said with a laugh. “Then it was forty hours of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.” 

“I mean, a classic,” Percy agreed. 

“Grade A TV, for sure. Anyway, she was supposed to go this way,” she held out her hands straight, resting them in between her thighs to mimic the birth canal, “but she went like this,” she turned her hands slightly to the right. “Her little head was just bumping up against my uterus and they couldn’t get her to move. She was trying to come out neck first. If it was even a hundred years ago, we both probably would have died. After a while, she was in distress, and within minutes I was being cut open.” 

Percy kissed the top of her hand, before crawling back up to kiss her face. 

“I’m sorry. I’m glad she made it here okay,” he said. 

Annabeth smiled. “Yeah, me too.” 

They kissed again, lazy and tender. He stayed on top of her, but his weight off of her, so all she felt of him was what warmth radiated off his body. She let her hands explore him a bit more. 

She had discovered another tattoo on his side. She’d panicked at the sight of a woman’s name, but she’d simply laughed and explained: “My mother.” 

“Oh,” she breathed out, relieved. His single mom. Who he was living with. And then she wondered if she was simply fulfilling some naughty role-play for him. Don’t be an asshole, she chided herself. 

Now her hands roamed past the tattoo to the fat of his waist and hips, and then to his ass. She’d caught him flexing plenty, and knew some of it was taut muscle when he felt like showing it off. But she preferred him squishy. 

“Can you roll over?” He asked between kisses. 

She pulled back as much as she could with her head still on the pillow. 

“Oh?” She asked, eyes wide, smile intrigued. 

He laughed a little. “Sorry, I just meant. I want to see your other tattoos. I assume you’ve got more on the other side?” 

“Oh, right,” she said with a laugh, “sure.” 

She rolled over and let him inspect her. There was a rose on her shoulder. That had been one of her first tattoos, when she was more into color. It was pink with a long stem. She’d only been nineteen when she got it. People said it looked like the rose from Beauty and the Beast, and they were right, but that hadn’t been intentional at the time. 

When she was confident enough in Frank’s work as he graduated from Thalia’s apprentice, she lent him her mostly-blank back to do a traditional serpent tattoo. It was actually cool as hell. But it didn’t have any real meaning, besides Frank getting to actually do it. It had healed pretty well too, although he had since touched it up for her twice. 

The only other thing of note was the smiley face on her right ass cheek. Percy’s attention caught that one right away. He poked it. 

“You’ve got a happy butt,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. 

“That was my first tattoo,” she lamented. 

“Why a smiley butt?” He asked. 

“I lost a bet,” she told him, before burying her face in her pillow. “I was so sure I wasn’t going to lose.” 

“Dare I ask what it was over?” He asked. 

“That I could lose my anal virginity by the end of Freshman year,” she said, embarrassed more than she maybe ever had been in her life.

There was a brief pause, before: “Wait, not a single man at Harvard wanted to do you in the ass?” He sounded shocked, angry, and outraged for her. 

“Right?!” She said, rolling over a bit. She’d tried to lie to her roommate about it, claiming that it had happened, but the holes (ha) in her story started to emerge too quickly. Eventually, she had to confess. “I think I intimidated all of them,” Annabeth said. 

“Probably,” Percy agreed. “Thankfully, I’m not intimidated,” he said, kissing her smiley face. 

Annabeth hummed, curious. “Oh?” She asked, innocent. “I don’t usually let men do me in the ass on the first date,” she told him. 

He kissed her other cheek. “No, but it would have saved you about fifty-five hours of labor if you did,” he teased. 

Annabeth gasped with faux-indignation, rolling over and pushing him onto his back to straddle him. They were close to the other edge now. She’d almost rolled them off completely. 

Percy was just laughing though as she held him to the mattress, her hands pinning his shoulders. 

“You’re impertinent,” she said. 

He just kept smiling. “Oh, I sure am,” he promised.   

~

She didn’t let him fuck her in the ass, at least not yet. She hadn’t done that in ten years, and she wanted to actually impress him tonight. Because if Percy Jackson never called her again, she’d have Thalia hunt her cousin down for her. Annabeth was absolutely determined to have a second, third, and fourth date with him at least. 

Percy wasn’t ready for another round. He looked a bit sheepish when she touched his still-soft cock, as if it was abnormal for him to not be hard again ten minutes after orgasm. Annabeth just kissed him gently, as if to assure him it was okay. 

Percy’s hands gripped her thighs and tried to coax her up towards his face. 

“Are you sure?” Annabeth asked, hovering over him. 

“So sure,” Percy said, trying to pull her down. She still hovered a bit, close enough that he could lick her clit. But after a few teasing flicks of his tongue, Percy pulled on her a bit harder. “Sit down,” he said, his tone commanding and confident. It thrilled her from her chest down into her lower belly and compelled her to listen. She sat down then, careful not to put all of her weight on his neck. Birth had left her with a bit of a Pixar-mom body, not the slender, narrow hips and thighs she’d been used to in her early twenties. But Percy didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to worship her thighs and the cunt between them. 

Annabeth hadn’t sat on someone's face in years. Truth be told, she hadn’t had sex with someone since Luke. She’d had a few dates, but the men she’d gone out with hadn’t interested her, and the one woman had been asexual. (Annabeth had introduced her to Thalia, and they went out for three years, so it worked out for someone). Luke hadn’t been into eating her out. He never seemed particularly that sexually interested in her at all. Even now, his rare kiss was more of a desperate search for love and family than sexual gratification. It was almost funny that the two of them had conceived. 

But Percy … 

“Oh, god,” Annabeth moaned, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself. Percy knew what he was doing. He’d discovered what she liked during the foreplay -- a gentle pattern of circles until the pressure built, then a little suck, and then a little more. 

Percy fingers gripped the fat of her ass tight as she rode his tongue. The pressure was building low in her pelvis. She’d already cum twice tonight. A third time sounded lovely. So nice. So needed. Percy sucked on her clit a little more, and Annabeth rolled her hips against him. 

“More,” she pleaded. Percy curiously sucked on her clit again. “Yeah, yeah,” she confirmed. Percy did what he was told, and Annabeth closed her eyes to focus purely on the feeling. “Oh,” she yelped, closer, closer -- 

Annabeth gripped Percy’s hair as her thighs clenched around his head as she came. She didn’t expect to squirt again; she usually needed something inside her, not just on her clit, but oh, his tongue had been so perfect on her, her body didn’t give her any choice or any warning. Maybe it did, and she was simply too satisfied to notice. Her orgasm soaked her thighs, the pillow under her, and Percy.  

Oh fuck -- 

“Jesus,” she said, climbing off of him quickly, “I’ve waterboarded you.” Percy was just laughing as he wiped at his face. Annabeth’s own face felt scalding hot; she was sure she’d gone red from her forehead to her chest. “I’ll get you a --” 

Percy just grabbed her hand and tugged her down towards him. He pulled her into a kiss, deep, filthy, his tongue slipping into her mouth still tasting like her. Annabeth braced herself on the ruined pillow as he let her taste herself on him. 

“How are people not lining up around the block to date you?” Percy asked her, before pulling her in again, this time just pecking her lips. “You’re fucking magnificent.” 

Annabeth just moaned a little, not exactly sure what to say. So, she chose to just watch Percy move his hand from her face to his cock, hard again, pink tip straining up towards the ceiling. He stroked himself slowly. 

Annabeth pressed kisses into his neck, before sucking gently on a sensitive spot she’d found. 

“Do you want me to do something about that?” She asked, nodding back towards his cock. 

Percy nodded. “If you’re up for a little more …” 

Annabeth tied her hair back. “I am,” she promised. 

(When he warned her he was about to cum, she pulled back and let him finish on her face. It was only fair).

[svnnyd4ys]

oughh Samantha taking after her mother, even when she was younger and not even knowing it.

having visions of Sally (who was always the more rambunctious of the two) falling out of that leftenmost window; of meeting Egbert (who was destined to be with her, always with) at her uncle's stables for the first time. the most important events of her life always came with the same feeling, the same funny turn, the same things would happen every time:

Sally would knock on her bedroom door, begging her to play. (Samantha would turn her down, sobbing once she finally heard the sigh of discontent from her sister as she finally left)

Thomasin would come into the room after she thought Samantha had fallen asleep, and gently brush the hair from her face, before taking a silent vigil by that window. (how still Samantha would be, as her mother would finally be looking at her instead of past her)

she didn't remember the visions. it was always an intense feeling of deja vu, an intense "i've been here before. i've seen this but i can't stop it"

she remembered the migraines. the nursemaids and nannies fluttering and fussing around her. (her father never coming to her room, "Sally needs him more. You have your mother!" the governess would explain, as she and Samantha did their private lessons)

unlike Sally, Samantha loved reading and writing. the lessons with the governess were the highlight of her week, and she was encouraged by her to keep a journal.

so she'd sit in that leftenmost window (the same one that Sally fell out of, the same one that her mother would take her to the astral plane through, the same one that she sees Egbert coming back home from) and she would write.

and when Samantha is finally told the truth, she picks up those journals for the first time in years, and she reads and she writes.

when Egbert comes home, she reads and she writes.

pieces slowly click into place. Samantha is starting to understand herself, but she's not sure that she'll ever be able to forgive herself, or her mother, or her father, not fully. but Samantha feels like herself for the first time in years.

it's just about midnight on Sally's 18th birthday, and she knocks on Samantha's bedroom door. it's tentative, and unsure, and Samantha thinks she might be hallucinating at first, but when she goes and sees her little sister stood there (crooked smile and crooked teeth, and her crooked nose that never fully healed after the window incident)-

"Sam? Do you- Can- Would you like to sneak down to the kitchens with me?" Sally asks. she's nervous and Samantha's nervous. and then Sally starts to turn, "It was stupid- actually- nevermind- I just thought, for old times sake-"

"Can I grab my housecoat first?"

[crushedsweets]

Please feel free to use my ask to talk about your oc, she's neat!

Ahhh thank you!!!

I’ll be honest I don’t really know WHAT to say about her unless I’m given specific prompts … partially because I have a hard time writing for her cuz I can’t settle on a “main” universe and that messes everything up LOL

Anyhow. I think Mayhaps I’ll talk about her ghosts and how those mess with her

Being the only child on the orchard attracted a lot of ghosts to her. Most of them are slender-sick ghosts that died because of him(whether directly or indirectly by proxies or suicide).

It started off as little animal ghosts or other children playing with her or adults just watching her from a distance, standing in the tree lines and disappearing when she walked too close. She would tell her family and they’d be like “okay bonnibel head on inside” believing she was just making stuff up or had imaginary friends

It only took the next few summer before it started getting intrusive and creepy. The adult ghosts walking towards her playing outside, and she’d notice them covered in blood or having animal heads or various other Not Normal Things. It would scare the shit out of her, obviously, but because it was sort of a like… gradual increase in severity, and her family kept brushing it off as her wanting attention, she’d start keeping it to herself while still. You know . Panicking

I Imagine one summer she’d be climbing a tree, jsut having fun as a child would be, and a ghost suddenly appeared at the top of the tree trying to grab her. She falls and breaks her arm. LMAAAAOO. Comes screaming and crying on the way home . That’s one of the times her papa would go storming outside with a shotgun to find whoever tried grabbing Bonnie(setting an example for her.) but he obviously didn’t find anyone. Bonnie had a cast for the rest of summer

After she killed the woman in the forest around age 12, she got a new ghost. It’s the dark figure with the teeth and eyes I usually draw her with! That one followed her all the way to California, even when it wasn’t summer at the orchard. That’s part of the reason she didn’t go back for so long, the guilt/fear of being caught, and cuz she had a CONSTANT reminder of how awful the hauntings were. She could handle one ghost, but several ??!!

After she came back to the orchard in her late teens/early 20s, she started carrying a pistol around in her bag. Mostly because that’s when proxies start actually stalking her. She didn’t used to have proxies on her ass, but now that she’s an adult, slenderman isn’t exactly sure he still wants her roaming around. But he thinks there could be some use for that little. Um. Talent of hers. So it’s complicated

She doesn’t even keep the gun loaded though LOL she Carries bullets in case she needs to load it but she’s very freaked out that she’d accidentally shoot herself in the leg sitting down too quick. Whether it works that way or not

I honestly have no clue how I plan to end her story. Either she goes back to Cali and stays there, or she dies. Or I guess maybe she becomes like… not a proxy cuz slendy would NOT want her ass, but sort of a tool? An asset? Again, using the whole ghost ability to get information proxies might want. This would work in my AU especially cuz the proxies are always trying to ward off the paranormal in Tuscaloosa