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yanderenightmare · 10 months ago

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TW: noncon, yandere, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, angsty, also a little fluffy?

fem reader

Discussions about superiority and inferiority between Alphas, Betas, and Omegas have become more popular lately. It’s always been many people’s opinion that the weak should cater to those stronger than them—but a debate with that as its topic is unsavory. Unfortunately, they’ve found new ways to phrase it.

A resonating “Unmated Omegas are a danger to themselves!” garners much more sympathy…

And with the rise of people talking about it in the media, it was only natural to move the conversation into school as well.

You keep your head bowed in class as the chill runs down your spine. You feel the glare of thirty fellow students—the points of their teeth, too, and how they snicker under their breath. It’s always been rather scary being an omega, but you can’t say you’ve ever felt quite so alone.

The teacher’s an alpha, so why should he care how what he says impacts you? He’s preaching to the choir, and you’ve never had the right to sing. The three other Omegas in your class have all chosen to stay home. They probably have the right idea—wait it out until it all blows over.

But you don’t know when that might be… You don’t know if that will be.

Society is on the precipice of critical change—new politics, new laws, new systems, new rights that separate you from them. You wallow in fear of the outcome, lying awake at night and scrolling through the news under the safety of your duvet. The statements seem endless. You wonder, why are all politicians Alphas?

You don’t want any of the things they’re suggesting—mating homes to help you find the perfect Alpha to bond with, systematic pairings done from birth, auctions. Is no one going to suggest they put shock collars on all Alphas and Betas to keep them in check? They’re the ones who need to—

“Your scent is distracting the whole class—don’t you feel ashamed?”

It’s too easy for him to have you bent over the desk, your wrist on your back in his big fist as he wraps his tie around them. He and his goons stand around, all smiles—watching—enjoying it. It’s as if they’ve planned the whole thing, the way two of them peel away from the crowd to grab each their pick of your feet. Parting them, they use your own shoelaces to tie them to the desk legs.

The ringleader laughs. There’s an awful smell coming off him in waves—it makes you quiver. He flips your skirt up and whistles at the sight, showing everyone your ass and cotton undies. The bulge he presses against you is enough to make your tears spill despite how hard you’d fought to keep them at bay, knowing it only arouses them further.

“Aww, don’t cry, little bitch. You should be happy,” he coos, leaning over your trapped form to whisper right at your ear. “Don’t you know? You’ll never feel happier than you will bouncing on my big Alpha dick. It’s all your little Omega cunt dreams about, isn’t it?” He snickers, fiddling with his belt buckle—you flinch at every sharp clink as he jostles the metal. “Well, salvation is here—”

“Keep it to yourself.” Another voice breaks through the sounds of hollers and cheers.

Your eyes open to see him. You despise how your heart jumps in relief.

“Oi, you—” the guy at your back challenges, stepping away from you and toward the interruption.

“Yeah, me,” he states blankly, jaded. He eyes the rest of the guys with disinterest—five betas, zero threat—before telling them, “All of you. Scram.”

They all take a step to walk out as if his voice alone had compelled them, but then the previous guy interjects, making them stop in their tracks again. “Tch—you know what they’re saying. All unmated Omegas are free game, and I won this one. So back off.”

It was like watching a match of tug-of-war.

“Heh,” the intruder laughs. “That rule only counts for Alphas.”

You spot your aggressor's fists curl—there’s a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. “I am an Alpha, asshole.”

“Really?” he feigns, sizing him up with a cocky tilt of his head. “Couldn’t tell.” He doesn’t seem fazed in light of the aggression—actually, it seems to amuse him if anything. “To me, you smell no different from all these other Beta losers.”

He takes a casual step forward, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face—baring canines with grace.

“But if you wanna prove it, I’m ready when you are.”

It’s quiet after the declaration. The betas are unsure who’s side to pick, none of them eager to get caught in the middle. It becomes a competition purely between the two Alphas.

Without backup, your aggressor backs down and leaves.

“Thought so,” your savior jeers, showing the crowd out, closing and locking the door behind them.

It’s quiet after they’ve left.

You hide your face. Listening to his footsteps approach—he sighs when taking the place of the former guy. He doesn’t touch you, though.

“Y’know…” he starts. “That guy might be trash, but he isn’t wrong…” He picks up your skirt and drapes it back in place. “None of this would ever happen if you weren’t unmated.”

You speak through grit teeth. “Untie me.”

He chuckles familiarly at that, clicking his tongue at you. “What? Aren’t you gonna say please?” But he does what you say anyway. Squatting down, he starts with your ankles.

The scent of your fear still lingers in the air despite your tough act. You’ve always been so steadfast, ever since you were kids, even when it does you no good. He frees your feet—one, then the other, slowly—he even reties your laces into pretty bows before he’s done.

He remembers it being so obvious. The sun rose in the morning and the moon at night, and you were supposed to be an Alpha while he a Beta at best. You promised you’d be by his side to keep him safe forever, and he wanted nothing more.

But then puberty hit, and nothing was as you’d imagined.

He stands and unknots the tie keeping your wrists restrained.

You immediately push him off—already storming away.

“Do I get no thank you, no nothing? Always so stubborn—” He grabs your arm.

You spin around, an unnatural snarl on your face. “Let go!”

You’d have been a terrifying Alpha. But as fate has it, you’re not. And you shouldn’t act like it. It only lands you in trouble.

But he doesn’t say that.

“You been watchin’ the news?” he says instead, ignoring your cry and keeping a firm grip on your arm. “Seems like auctions are winning the voters. You know what that means?”

He feels you flinch, followed by a quiver. He can tell. No matter how good you are at hiding it. He can see—the way you’re fraying at the edges, barely holding it together. Always acting so strong. He can’t tell whether you enjoy torturing yourself or if you’re just that good at convincing yourself you’re fine.

“Pretty soon, new authorities are gonna come storming in here, roundin’ up every sorry unmated Omega they find, and put ‘em all on a farm where pompous Alphas can have their pick of the litter.”

He can never tell what you’re thinking, but he knows he doesn’t need to tell you any of this. You’re not stupid, you never have been. He knows you already know. But…

“You should decide now while it’s still your choice.”

You must be terrified. He understands. But truly… it’s obvious what you have to do, isn’t it?

“It’s not like you have many options.”

It’s obvious. It always has been.

You don’t meet his eyes. You haven’t for a long while. Actually, you haven't since both of you got your test results. He understands this wasn’t what you had in mind, but you can’t afford to mope about it forever—

“How am I supposed to choose any Alpha when you’re all such assholes…”

Your mutter stunts him. It wasn’t what he expected. Or, the words were more or less exactly something he’d expect from you, but that voice—quiet and soft, dangling on the brink of sweet. If you’d said anything else, he’d have taken it as a confession.

“Can't argue with that,” he ends up chuckling again.

You hate how easy this is for him. He would cry at every turn when you were kids. It’s unfair.

“But you can’t keep doing this, either,” he states. His voice is soft, paired with that ugly authority they all have when talking to you—talking down to you. “Just look where it gets you—scared and exhausted because of it. At least have the brains to stay home.” He says it as if it’s a joke, but you both know it isn’t. His chuckles are light—far from fullhearted.

He bends down, trying to find your eyes. He still holds onto your arm, knowing you’d sooner stomp away than listen to him. His other hand brushes your cheek gently, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You hear the call from the rafters—it’s not about what you want anymore. It’s about what you need.”

That’s what they say, isn’t it? What you need. You want to slap him. Scratch him with claws, bite his throat out—make him choke on his own words. Need? What you need is for them all to fuck off.

You mean to say it with the same sentiment, but something hard and rough in your throat makes all your words come out wobbly. “Mate an Alpha to stay safe from other Alphas. What a joke.”

You bow your head further. The tears return. They burn as they trail down the sore streaks from before.

He’s never seen you like this. He won’t lie, it makes his pants tight—feeling the urge to suck your cheeks, hold you close and comfort you. But knowing you right, you’d probably never let him. Your face would probably scrunch up in disgust, punch his gut, knee his groin, then turn on your heel and leave him on the floor wheezing.

You really would have made the most terrifying Alpha.

“The world isn’t fair,” he agrees. “But you get nowhere cryin’ about it—do it my way, and you’ll never—”

“Have any freedom,” you cut him off with a sniffle.

It’s about the most adorable thing he’s seen in his life.

He gets why you don’t like Alphas—they’re all gross. He makes himself sick sometimes. He can’t believe he’s getting off on watching you have a mental breakdown. There’s something seriously wrong with his side of the species. His throat’s tight, mouth watery with the urge to reap your vulnerability.

Suppressing it only makes his inner beast furious. Some of that aggression comes out in his next words.

“I’m sorry, but the world doesn’t give a shit about your freedom.”

The grip around your arm tightens, and you look up in shock—watching his narrowed eyes through your watery ones.

“What you need is safety—now more than ever. Or do you like being preyed on by every Alpha around the corner?”

Your bottom lip trembles at the reality of it—a little while ago, you were almost—

“One of these days, I'm not gonna be here in time, and you’ll be a slave to some fucking—”

He huffs and hangs his head. His hand loosens up—it trembles where he holds you in place.

“In all honesty, I think I’m more scared than you,” he whispers under his breath. “I think I might kill—”

He stops himself again. You don’t know if it’s in an effort not to frighten you or himself.

“Speak about needs…” he begins anew, now softer. “I need to know you’re safe. I need to—” He looks up. His eyes are back to being round. “I need you more than you need me, probably.”

There’s a desperation on his face. It almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears himself.

“So… please?” he begs. “Will you keep me safe like you promised and stay by my side?”

Your tears dry and prickle. Looking into his eyes now, you see the same boy you knew back in your childhood—that one who’d chase you all over even when you’d call him a sniveling crybaby. You realize, Alpha or not, he hadn’t changed all that much at all.

“It’s not like you need my permission,” you end up saying.

You’ve always been so hard-headed. He has to smile. “No, but I want it.”

You nibble your lip. You can’t believe you’re at the mercy of this big dumb hunk of… you don’t have the words to describe him. He wasn’t exactly a crybaby anymore.

“Okay. You win.”

His eyes widen as you bear your neck with a stretch. Head high and shoulders slack.

You swallow thickly. “Get it over with.”

He shudders at the sight. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but now it almost seemed too soon.

“We should be supervised by a professional—you know how wrong things can go—”

“Hurry up before I change my mind.” Your eyes remain shut, and your lips pursed.

His tongue grows thick in his mouth at your bark. A sudden stroke of performance anxiety makes his palms sweaty, hands heavy and shaking. But then the sight of your soft neck has his mood shift, becoming drowsy.

He has no control over the growl that begins rumbling from his gut.

But he doesn’t apologize for it either.

He bends forward—breaths on your chest before he licks your throat. You can’t help but whimper at the warmth. He watches you through hooded eyes—your usually angry face is now all cute, riddled with anxiety you try hiding paired with the grim anticipation of pain.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing the spot softly. He sways you against him, then lifts you up on the desk for you to sit. Grazing your neck with teeth when feeling your hands tangle two fistfuls of his shirt. He expects you to push him away, but you don’t—you tug him closer instead as if silently telling him to hurry up.

But he doesn’t want to rush, doesn’t want to lose himself—that’s how accidents happen. So he sticks to sucking gently, only tiny nibbles that leave your skin hot and lightly bruised in their wake.

You give a moan once he finds the spot, and he growls in restraint upon the pretty sound—feeling you relax despite being threatened with his teeth right at your artery. He almost humps your leg in return, feeling the boil of blood pump him hot and heavy in his pants—breaths turning equally hot and heavy, each one laced with rust.

Drool coated your neck in a cool sheen, soothing the marks made beneath it, while his lips and fangs aroused pleasure in the spot that now ached for the sting of his bite.

“Please,” slipped from your mouth while tugging him closer.

His eyes, completely drunk on the pretty prayer, had only a slim rim of color left surrounding the hungering bottomless pits, blown full and black with opium.

No one could come and take you away from him now. Not with his print so pretty on your neck. You were his—just as you were always supposed to be.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Natsuo, Amajiki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Yuji, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ DS – Tanjiro, Zenitsu

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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friskyfreddie2024 · 5 months ago

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America: You Fucked Up

You could have chosen Hope. You chose Hate.

You could have chosen Empathy. You chose Enmity.

You could have chosen a New Beginning. You chose the Nazi.

We could have finally been rid of this cancer on American democracy. He could have been banished to obscurity, remembered only as the worst president in American history, and finally held responsible for his numerous crimes.

The ignorant, racist, misogynistic, white supremacist, pathologicial liar is now going back to the White House. He is a convicted felon, an admitted sexual predator, a total fraud, and a demented old man. He belongs in prison.

What did you do?

You ignored that the U.S. economy is the strongest in the world, that inflation is at its lowest level in four years, that unemployment is at its lowest level in three years. You believed the lies about how terrible the economy is. I knew better.

You forgot about his 30,000+ lies while he was in office. I remember.

You forgot about his complete mismanagement and ignorance over COVID, resulting in the deaths of over one million Americans. I remember.

You forgot about the saber rattling over military exercises in the pacific, when Kim Jong Un threatened us with nuclear missiles, causing us to fear whether we'd see another day. I remember.

You forgot about waking up every morning dreading to hear the latest abomination he tweeted. I remember.

You forgot about "very fine people on both sides." I remember.

You forgot about "only the best people" like Betsy DeVos, Rick Perry, Tom Price, Scott Pruitt, Steve Mnuchin, and many others who were given cabinet positions despite having zero qualifications for the job. I remember.

You forgot that 40 of his former cabinet members and dozens of former generals and officials refused to support him, saying he was "unfit to serve." I remember.

You forgot about January 6, "fight like hell". I remember.

You forgot that when he was told that his vice president was secured because the rioters wanted to kill him, he said, "So what?" I remember

You forgot about The Big Lie, "Release the Kraken" and 60+ failed attempts to overturn the election in the courts. I remember.

You forgot about "I just need you to find 11,780 votes." I remember.

You forgot about "They're eating the cats! They're eating the dogs!" I remember.

What now?

When a woman suffering an ectopic pregnancy dies because she doesn't have access to medical care, that's on you.

When they take away your neighbor, your co-worker, your friend, and deport them, that's on you.

When a woman is forced to suffer the agony of carrying her rapist's baby to term, that's on you.

When a transgender kid harms themselves because they can't get the medical care they need, that's on you.

When your middle-class taxes GO UP, while billionaires get even more tax breaks, that's on you.

When schoolchildren are killed by an assault rifle in a mass shooting, that's on you.

When children grow up ignorant because you banned books and dictated how history is taught, that's on you.

When Grandma can no longer afford a comfortable life because the Social Security she paid into all her working life, and provided income on which she now depends, has been cut, that's on you.

When violence against Jews, Asians, Hispanics rises again, that's on you.

When prices on the goods you buy skyrocket due to tariffs, that's on you.

When Ukraine, deprived of our support, is overrun by Russia, that's on you.

When the U.S. is the laughing stock of the world (as we were 2016-2020), that's on you.

What should you have done?

You should have exercised critical thinking skills, recognized the thousands of lies you were being told, recalled that his administration had four years to live up to his promises and failed at all of them. You should have realized that he is a profoundly stupid individual who doesn't give a shit about you or your family or anything except himself.

You had the last nine years to see that, and you still fell for his bullshit.

#Trump #Fuck Trump #Drumpf

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zriasstuff · 8 months ago

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This is a kinda random request but how would the sytherin boys react when they see boxers in your room assuming it’s another guys when it’s actually yours. I wear boxers so i just randomly thought of this. 💗💗

This is actually fire, I gladly imagined how this situation would play out. Although some things go similarly, I tried to differentiate their reactions and actions a little bit. Enjoy this crack :)

Slytherin boys x reader

How come you’ve been in a relationship for some time already and they don’t know that you wear boxers ? God knows, maybe they’ve just had a rough day and all critical thinking tends to fly out the window. Jealousy and fear of losing you are hard emotions to control…

Theodore Nott:

when Theo sees them, he aggressively cups your face and pierces your soul with his hunter like eyes all of a sudden

“that’s one skinny bastard that you’re fucking behind my back, does he even have a dick?”, he refers to your own boxers, that are obviously a few sizes smaller

“Tell me, how come you’re such a slut that having me isn’t enough? you actually have to find yourself a side bitch?”

it took some time to recover from his harsh scolding, but soon enough your brain worked again and spat out the right words

Theo backs up in shock when hearing your explanation that made a lot of sense

As a returning favor he should get a scolding too for immediately jumping to conclusions and not communicating properly, but they’re all a bunch of hotheads anyway

It all turns into a funny anecdote though, which also serves as a reminder for him to trust his girl

Tom Riddle:

as soon as he sees them lying around somewhere his expression becomes stoic, brows furrowed just the tiniest bit and lips pursed

of course you noticed even the slightest change, so you reach for his hand to ask him what was wrong. you remember though that sometimes he just gets stressed because he has so much to think about

without properly getting to know the situation he would want to insult and intimidate you, he immediately fumes and threatens: “you are dead to me, and you are going to regret this”

his words and tone especially made you want to cry, you felt yourself curling up, standing beneath his tall frame, not even knowing what you did

he was not only mad at you, but also at himself for letting his guard down, which led to him being played like a fool. there was nothing more important that his self worth and dignity to him

still, you begged and whined for him to stay and when you finally understood that he saw “another guys” boxers on your floor, you actually scoffed and remained speechless for a while

although he was slightly paranoid that you might be lying to him, he saw how distressed you were when he wanted to break up, and that’s something you can’t fake (he still is very wary though, and has to pretend he didn’t just imagine ways to kill and torture “the other guy”)

Mattheo Riddle:

like his brother, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone hurting him, only the other way around

especially with his abandonment issues too this makes him jump from zero to one hundred

but unlike Tom he actually wants to hear your side, to decide how he should handle this and scorned at you: “for fucks sake, you’ve been cheating on me? I don’t know if you thought I was never going to find out, but keeping his bloody boxers is just disgusting. You care to explain?!”

He even picks them up from your bed, and throws them into a corner, shooting them and you a disgusting look

You don’t appreciate his attitude at all, and if that boy knew that he just threw your own boxers, he’d be down on his knees

You can’t take this seriously and tell him “never seen a girl wear boxers?”, that made things so awkward, and Mattheo quickly apologizes, hopefully you’d forget about this…

Draco Malfoy:

His jealousy promptly get the better of him and he thinks about all the idiots that have tried hitting on you, or ever liked you, which one of them was it?

He couldn’t believe that anyone was worth jeopardizing your relationship, but apparently so

Grabbing you close to him, while pointing at the boxers, he growls “so whose are they huh? Carter? Lewis? You better tell me it’s not that stupid Potter”

While you’re talking, he is still so mad that isn’t even hearing everything that you’re saying, he physically couldn’t calm down when thinking about you jumping into bed with someone else

He would take the boxers too, observing at them closely, and then somewhat sneered “I didn’t know girls also wore boxers”

Draco wouldn’t necessarily be a fan, but came to the conclusion that what you wear under your clothes really wasn’t any of his business

At some point he also wants to see what you look like wearing them, and they actually looked kind of cool

Blaise Zabini:

just like all the others, his thoughts immediately jump to violence, for instance how to get the other guy admitted into the hospital wing

but something makes him stop and think—why wouldn’t you even bother to hide them somewhere? did you think he was so incredibly blind, or did you actually have nothing to hide?

Still his temper gets the best of him and accuses you of being “shameless” and asks if you were trying to insinuate that he “wasn’t good enough” because you’re wrong and he can fuck you better than anyone else

He always thought that everything was going well, so you being unsatisfied was really the last thing he expected

Fortunately everything gets resolved quite easily since you reassure him, and you even tease him about his jealousy

For the rest of the night, Blaise in fact proves that he can fuck you the best. That was the best apology for doubting you in the first place

Lorenzo Berkshire:

He gets extremely upset and has an outburst too, but with a hint of self consciousness, asking you how you could do this to him, when he’s always trying his best

Enzo also relies on guilt, wanting to make you feel like absolute shit, he says stuff like “i gave up being a player for you because I love- loved- you so much, but apparently you see me as nothing

You have to try your hardest to make him see how ridiculous he was being, and he demands you tell him how you would never cheat on him

Seeing you in your boxers for the first time also makes him smirk, you could really rock anything

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winterscaptain · 13 days ago

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focus. (18+)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this is texting-as-foreplay, lets be real also, derek and emily being nosy is canon behavior. follow up tomorrow!!

beta'd by @ssaic-jareau who basically should be credited as a co-writer at this point.

words: 6.9k content advisories: language, sexual content, oral (m&f receiving), sexually explicit language, if ur grossed out by bjs (like haley lmao) go ahead and skip a lil bit of this, sexting

minors dni and i'm not kidding!!!

summary: “texting is a supremely secretive medium of communication - it's like passing a note - and this means we should be very careful what we use it for.” --lynne truss. november 14th, 2011.

Your finger traces your lip as you stare through your computer monitor, completely lost in the rather distracting and intrusive memory of about 10 hours ago. You haven’t moved, scrolled, or typed anything in eight minutes.

“That’s it, baby, let go. Let me see.” Aaron’s hand slides up your chest in the valley of your sternum and stops at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so pretty like this, so—“

Your phone buzzes. You jump and grab it.

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (1)

8:04am Hey. Focus.

You swallow, taking a breath and shaking yourself out of it. You can almost feel him watching you from his office.

8:04am I was focused.

8:04am Not on your work.

8:05am Focus is focus. 8:05am And what, did you want me to start writing a report about last night?

8:06am Depends. Are you citing sources? Quoting directly from the text?

Your lips press together, fighting a laugh as you reply, your thumbs flying.

8:07am You have a performance review coming up. There are team evals in there, you know. 8:07am You should be nicer to me.

8:08am Sweetheart, I know you don’t have any complaints about my performance.

Your stomach flips. Your pulse kicks up—so violently that you have to set your phone down and turn away from his window.

And that is exactly when Derek walks up, arms crossed, his eyes far too critical for this early in the morning. You can almost hear Aaron’s stupid little chuckle from your desk.

He’s probably so pleased with himself right now.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s going on?”

You school your face into something neutral. “What?”

“That.” He gestures to you, his eyes narrowing. “That little smug thing you’re doing.”

“I am not—”

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, no way. You’re texting someone. Someone who’s putting that look on your face.”

You pointedly pick up your pen instead. “No. I’m working.”

Upstairs, Aaron leans back in his chair, watching this unfold with entirely too much amusement.

Your phone buzzes again. You pick it up, ignoring and combatting Derek’s attempts to read it.

8:10am We really need to work on your poker face.

8:11am “Working.”

Your jaw tightens. You’ll just keep it in your hand.

Derek, watching way too closely, tips his head. “You sure about that?”

Another buzz.

8:11am You owe me an email, you know. We’re both in that thread with CARD.

You exhale through your nose.

Derek leans in. “Who is it?”

Your phone buzzes again.

8:12am Whatever you do, don’t glare at my office.

Your eyes flicker toward the window—before you can catch yourself.

8:12am Good catch! 8:12am You’re terrible at this. 8:12am :)

Before you can shut Derek down, Emily strolls in with her coffee. “What’s going on?”

Derek betrays you instantly.

“Oh, nothing, just that someone is texting us, making us smile like an idiot during business hours.”

The royal “we” is absurd.

Emily’s entire body perks up. “Oh my God, who?!”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are both insufferable.”

Derek smirks. “And you have a man.”

Emily gasps, delighted. “Is this the same man?”

Your phone buzzes.

You do not look at it.

Emily zeroes in. “You didn’t even check that. That means something. Who is it?”

Derek leans against your desk. “Wouldn’t say.”

Emily presses her hands together. “Who do we know?”

Your grip tightens around your pen.

Another buzz.

8:14am I’ll rescue you if you want. 8:14am But you’ll have to ask nicely.

You let out a slow breath. Jesus, Aaron.

Emily gasps, pointing at you. “Ohhh, it’s someone we know.”

Fuckin’ profilers.

Derek nods, arms crossing. “See? I knew it. It’s gotta be someone in the Bureau.”

Emily tilts her head. “Or adjacent. Task force? Military? Hill staffer?”

Derek rubs his chin. “Nah. She’s the one smiling. He’s gotta have the upper hand.”

Emily squints. “It’s an instructor.”

Derek snaps his fingers. “It’s totally an instructor.” He turns to you. “You have a teacher thing, right?”

You take a deep, steady breath. “I do not have a ‘teacher thing.’”

Bzzt

8:15am News to me.

If he makes me laugh right now, I swear…

Emily gasps again, her brain working overtime. “It’s an agent in another unit.”

Derek nods immediately. “That checks out. You like the brainy ones.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, it’s SWAT.”

Derek tilts his head. “You do have a type. Tactically competent control freaks, mostly.”

Your eye twitches. “Can you just? Go back to your office and work on something?”

Derek grins. “Are you working?”

“We’re just asking questions.” Emily sips her coffee, looking way too proud of herself.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I hate both of you.”

Derek pats your shoulder. “That’s love, baby.”

He and Emily do, in fact, make their way out of the bullpen, looking over their shoulders every couple of steps.

Your phone buzzes.

8:18am Enjoying yourself?

You reply.

8:18am Fuck. Off.

The reply is near instantaneous.

8:19am Make me.

You walked into that one. And you nearly, nearly start typing before you catch yourself. You drop your phone face down and lean back with a sigh that is, unfortunately, also a smile.

Bzzt

You turn to your computer and take a breath, replying to that thread Aaron mentioned, just for the bit.

Bzzt

It’s hard to keep a straight face, but you figure now is as good a time as any to practice your impression of Aaron. You make a point of responding with alarming efficiency to emails he and Derek are CC’d on, totally neutral.

Bzzt

...

Bzzt

Some case notes. Very clean, very crisp.

Bzzt

You glance at your phone, face down on the desk.

He really wants my attention…interesting.

Your email chimes.

FROM: Morgan, Derek F SSA <[email protected]> SUBJECT: I stand corrected So you actually are working?? — SSA Derek Morgan, JD, MS

You roll your eyes and reply.

Bzzt

You ignore it, your fingers flying.

TO: Morgan, Derek F SSA <[email protected]> BCC: Hotchner, Aaron B SSA <[email protected]> SUBJECT: I stand corrected I’m always working!! Xx :)

You answer another—this one actually from Aaron, with a deliverable, no less. You flick the finished attachment into the email and send it, sitting back in your chair, finally picking up your phone.

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (7)

Seven?!

You turn in your chair to look and find him minding his own damn business (for once), his right elbow resting on the desk, his jaw resting in his hand, his left hand on his mouse.

With a short little interested hum, you unlock your phone.

8:20am That face you’re making isn’t very professional. Do you need a break?

8:21am I looked over your notes from the CARD briefing. You missed a line in your summary.

You absolutely did not.

8:23am Probably distracted. Long night.

8:27am Be honest. Are you working, or are you writing a very detailed mental recap?

8:34am If you’re sore, you can blame me. But I don’t think you’re complaining.

Alright. Amping things up. You take an even breath through your nose and resist the urge to shift in your seat.

The effect he has on you really isn’t fair.

It’s never been fair, but now he knows.

The next set? Back to back.

8:41am You looked so sweet last night, your pussy holding onto me so tight. I almost felt bad making you cry. 8:41am If I sat you on my desk right now and spread your thighs, how wet would I find you?

And then—a laugh.

Sharp. Stunned. Shocked. Uncontained.

You slap a hand over your mouth and spin slightly in your chair, eyes wide—no one in earshot. No witnesses.

Thank God.

You exhale hard through your nose, heart pounding like he touched you, like he whispered that filth against your skin instead of wrote it, in front of God and everybody, on your phone.

You dare to glance up.

Aaron’s at his desk. Stoic. Unreadable. The very picture of professionalism.

Same posture: Left hand on his mouse. Right hand curled under his chin. Not even glancing your way.

Unmoved. Untouched.

Like he didn’t just send you… that.

You recover, returning to your work, and decide to ignore him.

+++

You answer emails.

Update a case file with some unsurprisingly salient notes from your conversation with the case officer yesterday.

Finish the interdepartmental CARD summary with irritating precision.

You sip your coffee. Adjust a typo.

You don’t look up.

Behind the glass, Aaron’s dying. Phone balanced on his knee. Seven messages and no reply.

Not a glance. Not a twitch. Not even a ghost of a smirk. A glassy lake, placid and serene.

You’re pretending he doesn’t exist.

And he’s pretending not to notice.

+++

You scroll through the messages again.

Each one, slowly.

Letting them settle. Letting them simmer.

Your jaw tightens. Your mouth twitches.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

It doesn’t work.

Your thumbs move fast.

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

Send.

Delivered.

And then?

You set your phone down. Face-down. Spin back to your monitor. And get to work.

Like you didn’t just throw a match.

Like you’re not waiting for the smoke.

+++

His phone buzzes and he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he picks it up and unlocks it.

Messages Second (1)

He shakes his head. Just one? You’re joking.

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

He exhales hard through his nose.

A soundless laugh. A blink slower than the last.

His jaw ticks once, just enough. He checks on you.

Unmoved. Insane.

And it’s not even 9am.

+++

You continue to work.

Actually work.

You finish two emails. Format your draft for that consult follow-up. Review a request for cross-divisional resource hours.

You even refill your coffee.

It’s virtuous, really. Professional.

Except your phone stays face-down.

Not even a glance.

Just enough self-control to make him suffer.

Just enough to make yourself ache.

And then—conveniently, mercifully, maybe even a little cruelly—you remember the consult analysis. The really good, publishable one you both started in the spring before Pakistan, finally rounding out with your contributions.

You need his signature.

You could scan it later, you could wait until lunch, you could even pretend it’s not urgent—but the printer is right there, and you’re feeling generous.

Or reckless.

Or both.

You hit print.

The pages whirr out behind you.

You take your time walking it upstairs.

+++

He doesn’t look up right away.

His pen scratches against the page—form review, by the look of it. His brow is furrowed in that way it is when he tries to pretend he’s concentrated.

A legal pad open beside him, mug near-empty at his elbow, tie just a little crooked.

God, he’s trying to act normal. It’s absurd.

You knock your knuckle twice on the doorframe and step in, the file in your other hand.

“Need your signature on the consult analysis from the spring. Strauss is looking to publish.”

He looks up—slow, measured.

His gaze tracks from your face to the paper, then to your eyes.

And there’s a beat.

Just one.

One breath of awareness, of weight, of memory.

“Of course,” he says. Like it’s nothing.

You step forward, set the page in front of him.

He doesn’t touch it right away.

Doesn’t pick up the pen.

Just looks down, eyes catching on the line above his—your signature already there.

He stares at it.

Just for a second too long. He lets himself imagine for a moment—

Same page.

Same line of text.

Same name, different hands.

That’s enough of that.

You watch his eyes move—slow, reverent. Like the presence of your signature has undone him more than the texts ever could.

Then his pen moves.

He signs.

A flick of ink. A practiced stroke.

The crossbar of the A forming the crossbar of the H in a familiar, unbroken, almost star-like shape.

But it’s deliberate. Personal.

“You gonna read my section?” You almost hoped he would. It is, honestly, really good.

He shakes his head. “Don’t need to.” He pauses, his voice smooth, but tight. “Anything else?”

“Not right now,” you say, your voice just as even.

But when your fingers brush as you take the page back, his hand lingers.

And your pulse jumps.

+++

The ride home is quiet. Your car is “under recall” this week so you can drive in together in the mornings.

Jack is in the backseat, almost snoozing in his car seat after a full day of kindergarten.

The sky is soft with dusk. The traffic hums low and steady. Your hand finds his on the center console like it’s muscle memory. His fingers slide between yours without looking.

And that’s it. Nothing else.

Just that small point of contact—warm, grounding, maddening. His thumb strokes yours once, absentminded.

And the ache rolls through you like a swelling tide.

You know those fingers. You know that pressure.

You know how those fingers feel deep inside you.

How they move when he’s coaxing you open, when he’s making you come apart.

You know how those hands pin you to the mattress, cup your jaw, catch in your hair, press bruises into your hips and thighs.

But here, in the car, with Jack humming to himself in the backseat?

He’s just holding your hand. Like he’s done a thousand times. Like it’s innocent.

But it’s not. It’s excruciating. Every red light is a punishment.

Every slow turn another second of not kissing him.

You glance over once.

He’s watching the road, jaw tight, the tendons in his wrist shifting as he adjusts his grip on your hand.

“You okay?” You ask, voice low.

He nods. Swallows. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine,” you lie. Your thumb drags over the pulse point at his wrist.

It jumps.

Neither of you say anything else.

+++

You’re still shaking out of the tension when you walk through the door.

But Jack barrels ahead—backpack flying, shoes kicked off, jacket on the floor.

“Can we have quesadillas?”

Aaron looks at you. “What do you think?”

You’re a little touched he’s asking you at all. “I think that’s perfectly fine as long as they have a green friend.”

Jack groans. “Carrots aren’t green.”

“They are not,” you concede. “But lucky for you I think we have some buttery garlic broccoli.”

He pulls a face. Aaron smiles.

You pause, your brow crinkling as you study the little trail he’s made. “Shoes and jacket in their spots please! All items in this house have homes; let’s make sure they get there.”

+++

The kitchen is warm, lived-in, as the two of you work side by side

You dice peppers while Aaron taps butter into a pan. Jack sets the table and gets started on homework. You’ll have to re-set the table.

Aaron brushes past you once, then again, his hand grazing your back every time—like he can’t help himself.

“You’re in my space,” you murmur, sing-song.

He hums. “You like it.”

He’s got you there.

+++

Jack talks about a classmate’s science fair project and how his teacher said he was good at reading aloud.

Aaron listens like he doesn’t already know this—like he didn’t read the progress report that morning.

You keep one eye on the broccoli, one ear on the rhythm of their back-and-forth, and think, maybe, that this is easy.

Too easy, almost.

It’s not alarming.

Jack clears his plate without being asked. You rinse, Aaron dries and loads the dishwasher (incorrectly, but it’s fine).

When you pass him a glass, he takes it and kisses the side of your head without thinking.

You freeze, the dam broken.

Then you keep going.

+++

Jack brushes his teeth. You read the first few pages of Charlotte's Web while Aaron finishes an email on the couch.

Already dozing a little, Jack asks, “Will you be here in the morning?”

You lean down and kiss his forehead. “Yessir. That’s the plan. Dad and I will take you to school tomorrow if you’re okay with that.”

He nods.

You continue to read.

+++

The moment his son’s door clicks shut, the air shifts.

You don’t even make it halfway down the hallway before his hand catches yours—spinning you into his space like a secret.

You gasp, stumbling slightly, and then he’s right there. You let him pull you into his chest, hands flat, fingers spread across low across his abdomen, under his ribs, the heat of him radiating through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He exhales slowly, but you can feel how tightly wound he is. You can feel it in the way he leans just enough to rest his forehead against yours, like he needs the contact to settle.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, voice low enough that it brushes against your collarbone. “That look you gave me in the office… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You smile, slow and shameless. “Of course I did. And you started it.”

His hands slide down your back to your hips. He doesn’t grip hard, but the pressure is steady, heavy. “You have no idea what it did to me—watching you work, ignoring me, knowing you were doing it just to get under my skin.”

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle and facetious all at once. “I think I have some idea.”

He groans softly, then leans in to kiss you fully—deep, thorough, with the kind of patience that makes your knees weak. His mouth moves like he’s trying to make up for every minute he had to keep his distance. You feel his restraint thrumming beneath the surface, taut and barely holding.

“I watched you dice peppers,” he murmurs against your lips. “I stood beside you and tried to pretend it wasn’t killing me.”

“You’re very dramatic,” you whisper.

“You’re very mean,” he returns. His nose brushes yours. “And I love it.”

You laugh, quiet in the dark, and that’s when he crowds you, walking you backward until you hit the wall with a light thump, just enough to jar you. He doesn’t press—just stands close enough that your chest brushes his with every breath. He braces one of his hands on the wall by your head.

“We made dinner together,” you murmur, still breathless. “Cleaned up. Read bedtime stories.”

His eyes are darker now. “And I only touched you once.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

He grins, actually grins, and kisses you again, a little rougher now. His hand moves under your shirt, skimming your skin, reverent. His mouth wanders down, under your jaw, under your ear.

“I want you,” he says against your throat, almost like it hurts. “I want all of you. And I want to take my time.”

Your hand slides between you, drawing his face back to yours with a hand on his jaw. You kiss him back, and it’s messier this time. More honest. He’s pulling at your shirt and breathing hard and you’re already thinking about how fast you can get to the bedroom.

“You better,” you say between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about your hands since noon.”

He laughs into your mouth. “You want to start a list?”

“Already done.”

He presses his mouth to your neck, to the hollow behind your ear, and you feel the heat pulse between your legs like muscle memory. You could come undone right here, just from the promise in his voice.

“Bedroom?” you ask, already breathless.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping at your place tonight.”

“No,” you agree. “I’m really not.”

“Good.” His voice drops, lips brushing your cheek. “Because I plan on keeping you up.”

He kisses you like he’s nineteen again and never learned patience. You return the favor.

It’s messy.

Open-mouthed.

Teeth and tongue and lips that won’t stop moving.

His hands are under your shirt, on your hips, your ribs, your bra. He can’t decide where to land, just knows he needs skin. You’re already gasping against him, fisting the hem of his t-shirt, dragging your hands up his chest, raking through his still-long hair.

He palms your ass like he’s trying to memorize it.

You laugh breathlessly against his mouth. “You good?”

He shakes his head and kisses you again, harder this time. “Not even close.”

You tilt your head to deepen the kiss and he groans—actually groans, still quiet enough for the hallway—into your mouth, pressing you firmer against the wall. Your knees go soft, but he’s already there, already holding you up with a thigh between yours, grinding slow and heavy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’ve got me,” you whisper, just to say it.

His breath catches.

“I know.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Still messy, still hot—but with a kind of wonder that makes your chest ache.

You stay there like that—teenagers, idiots, completely obsessed—for another full minute before you both remember you have a perfectly good bed down the hall.

And then you’re leading him, taking him by the hand to his own bedroom while he walks behind you, a stupid grin on his face.

The door closes behind him.

You move quickly then.

Turn. Step into his space.

You crowd him back until his shoulders hit the closed door. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just enough to remind him who has the upper hand. Who’s in control.

And the shift is immediate.

He exhales—shaky. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick down to your mouth. His turn for muscle memory.

But this time?

He’s waiting on you.

You lean in, slow and certain, your voice soft and dangerous as it brushes against his lips.

”So,” you start. “Those sneaky little texts today.” You press your lips to his and he moves to reciprocate. You pull away. He chases. He runs out of leash. His eyes narrow.

“You think about laying me out on your desk and having your way with me?”

You tilt your head. Sweet. Mocking. A blade wrapped in silk.

“Hmm? Is that what gets you through? Thinking about how wet I’ve been, all day, just for you? Hm?”

And Aaron—

He dies.

His head tips back against the door with a dull thud, eyes fluttering shut for half a second like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. His breath leaves him like a man in freefall.

“Ahh, fuck—” he groans, a hand coming up to your waist, not to stop you, just to hold on. “I lose. It’s over.”

You giggle, dropping all flirt. “Was that even a question?”

Even after everything you’ve said—how sharp you were, how in control—you can see the shift in his expression as he lets it hit him all at once.

The humor. The heat. The play. The way you’ve been messing with him all damn day like it’s nothing.

You watch him grin, slow and helpless, that rare little huff of breath through his nose like he can’t believe his luck.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, his voice still rough from everything you’ve stirred up.

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the one who got flustered by a desk fantasy, Agent Hotchner.”

He shakes his head, full smile now. “You are endlessly adorable.”

You blink, taken off guard by the softness. “That was not the goal.”

His hands slide up your sides like he’s claiming territory. “Too bad. You’re also infuriating and smart and—” his fingers trace your jaw, his eyes drinking you in like he might never get another chance— “so precious to me.”

And it’s not a line. It’s not a play. It’s the truth.

You feel it settle in your chest like something warm and permanent.

You kiss him again, and this time it’s different.

Less teasing. Less push and pull.

More give. More yes.

You take his hand and back toward the bed, this time without the fire of a dare.

This is just you and him.

Falling.

And when he pulls you into bed, laughing softly into your neck, he says, “You’re trouble.”

You breathe, smiling against his mouth. “You love it.”

You kiss him with that same mischievous little smile you wore by the door—but he’s not laughing now.

Not when you sigh into his mouth.

Not when your hand drags up under his shirt.

Not when you lean into him, feeling his arousal through his jeans and he groans like he’s been holding it in all day.

Because he has.

He’s been hard since that text exchange.

Since 8:30am. 11 hours ago.

Since the second you looked at him across his desk like you knew what you were doing.

He rolls you under him with aching care, like you’re precious and breakable and his.

His lips find your neck. Your collarbone. Your jaw.

His hand finds the buttons on your pants and gives himself a little space to slide his hand between your legs.

He freezes for a second. “Wow.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” you tell him, your fingers tracing up his shoulders, into his hair. “All day.”

He kisses his way down your body like he’s mapping familiar territory, hands under your thighs as he lays you back and slides your pants down. The mattress dips with his weight, and he settles between your legs without a second thought—like it’s his rightful place.

His tongue parts you gently. He starts slow. Testing. Tasting. Worshiping. And then he finds your rhythm and locks in like a man with a mission.

You arch with a gasp, hips rolling against his mouth. Hands locking him in place by this hair.

“Jesus, Aaron—”

He hums. “Jesus isn’t here. Just me.”

You laugh and he retaliates.

His fingers curl under your knees, spreading you open just enough to angle deeper. He licks like he’s starving, tongue flicking fast, then slow, circling just right, pressure building in your spine. Your hands scramble for something—his hair, the sheets, your own chest—and then it crests, all-consuming. So fast you almost can’t enjoy it.

You fall apart in a gasp and a moan, thighs trembling around his ears. Your stomach clenches, chest rising in sharp waves, breath stuttering out of you.

He doesn’t stop until you twitch.

Only then does he sit up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wearing the most satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” he says, voice warm and cruel all at once. “That was fast.”

You glare at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and breathless. “You’re such an asshole.”

He grins and kisses your knee. “You’re welcome.”

You’re still catching your breath, panting softly through your nose, thighs twitching as you come down. Aaron’s weight shifts next to you, one hand trailing up your ribs as he slides up your body, the other smoothing a hand over your face like he can’t stop touching you.

You press a slow, messy kiss to his mouth. You can taste yourself there, warm and sweet and heady, and you hum against his lips, smug.

“Your turn,” you whisper, already pushing gently at his chest.

You ease him back against the pillows, straddling his thighs as you kiss a line down his stomach, your fingers dragging light as static. He’s been hard. Already warm in your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to see him twitch. Just to hear the sound he makes when you squeeze gently at the base. You kiss his hip.

“Wait.” His voice is low, rough as he sits up on his elbows. “You don’t have to—”

You tilt your head and smile. “I want to.”

Maybe just for one second he’ll let himself enjoy something. Maybe.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says. You can see it behind his eyes, the worry, the hesitation, the discomfort (you imagine) at being the sole object of your attention.

You look up at him with the most devastating set of doe eyes he’s ever seen , his cock resting against your cheek. “Then die grateful.”

You kiss the tip, letting his precum string from your lip to the head. You make sure he sees it.

“Let me show you something,” you say, lips brushing the tip.

He groans when your mouth wraps around him—hot, wet, patient—your tongue flicking the slit, collecting what’s left. You start slow, lips plush, hand curling at the base. You use your tongue like you’ve got time, hollow your cheeks until he hisses. His hand settles in your hair—not to guide, just to ground. But you want more than that.

You hum low in your throat and sink lower. The stretch burns behind your jaw. Your throat starts to resist. You fight through it.

You use that trick, where you tuck the thumb of your non-dominant hand into your palm, squeeze with your fingers. It works.

You breathe through your nose. Let your hand work the rest of him while you adjust your angle, relax your mouth, let gravity help.

And then you take him all the way.

The stretch is obscene. You choke. Just a little. Your eyes water immediately and you swallow around him, pulse pounding in your ears. His thighs tense under your palms. He makes a noise like he’s lost the ability to form words. You pull back with a slick gasp, drool catching on your lip—and then you go back down, slower this time, your hand moving in tandem.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice cracked. “Sweetheart…”

When you look up at him through your lashes, eyes glassy, mouth full of his cock, he swears under his breath. His hand scrabbles uselessly against the covers.

And then you grab his wrist. Guide him. Place his hand at the base of your skull and nod, pulling off with a pop. “Use my mouth, baby. Show me what you want.”

His breath catches. And then he does.

It’s gentle at first. Testing. You keep your eyes on his. Let him see how much you want it. Then he gets bolder—deeper, slower thrusts, like he’s watching every reaction, every tear tracing down your cheek, every stretch of your lips around him, every gag. His hands hold tighter, giving him a view.

When you moan around him, he actually believes you like this, thrusting into your mouth with a little less fear.

Not brutal, not fast. Just enough to make you choke a little, enough to make you drool, enough to have you making pretty noises every time he hits the back of your throat.

Your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen with every stroke. Your throat works, swallowing around him. You’re soaked to your thighs, your orgasm minutes ago complimenting the throbbing of your clit in time with your pulse. You keep one hand wrapped around him, jerking him off when you come up for air.

Your other hand slips between your legs, addressing the ache one orgasm hardly touched. Your sounds grow more desperate, turning up the temperature until he feels like he’s going to burn alive.

When he pulls you off, spit strings between your mouth and the head of his cock. You’re breathless, dazed, panting through parted lips.

He drags you up for a kiss—deep and messy, his fingers still tight, pulling your head where he wants it, his hand sliding between your legs. And when he finds how wet you are, he actually groans into your mouth.

“Are you seriously getting off from having my cock in your mouth?”

You nod, wordlessly, still catching your breath. He groans again, almost a disbelieving sound.

“I have to pick between fucking your mouth and filling you up?” he murmurs, breath shaky. “That’s cruel.”

“Then make a choice.”

He turns you around, rougher than usual, but careful in all the right places. You’re already on your knees, chest pressed to the sheets, back arched, when he guides himself to your entrance, running the head of his cock through the slick.

You gasp, pushing back. The hand on your hip leashes you, his tip dipping shallow. He can see the stretch already. You need him, right now.

“Aaron, please, I—“

“Yeah?” He grits out, his jaw tight. He’s playing like he’s in control but he is absolutely wrecked by this phenomenal image in front of him. “You want it that bad?”

“I want to feel you. I need you to fill me up—please.”

Since you asked so nicely…

He presses in further, still just the tip—and already you’re pulsing, clenching around him and squirming. Already, he’s in the trenches out here.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, breath shaky.

You whine. “Aaron—please—I’m begging, I swear—I need—“

“I know. I know.” He smooths a hand down your spine and finally moves, dipping into you a little deeper each time. “I’ll get you so deep, you won’t be able to walk right until Monday.”

You whine again, gripping the sheets.

He slides into you until he bottoms out, a delicious pressure you can feel in your ribs. Slow. Intentional.

Then—he’s not slow anymore. He pulls out almost all the way and pulls you back, strong and fast, until your ass makes contact with his thighs, jolting you forward

You moan. It pulses through your body. You feel the stretch down to your toes, his hand gripping your hip as he pulls back, then thrusts again. Each push sends you forward on the mattress. Each snap of his hips sharp against your skin. The sound of it—slick and rhythmic—is filthy. His hand slides around your thigh, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision.

Your head turns. You’re shaking. You can’t stop shaking. You reach out behind you and he takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his over the small of your back.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he says, low and dark against your back. “Taking me that deep. Choking on it. Eyes all wet for me.”

You whimper. He growls.

“I know you wanted me to come in your mouth,” he mutters, voice fraying. “But I needed to be inside you. I needed this.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to reach your soul—deep, slow, relentless. His fingers never leave your clit. You break apart again, pulse throbbing through your cunt so hard it pulls him deeper, makes him swear again.

“Jesus—baby—keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

Your voice is ragged. “Then don’t.”

And when he finishes, he presses as deep as he can go, locked inside you, his hand still between your legs. Still stroking. Still touching. You relax around him, your shaking muscles spent.

You’re still trembling when he pulls out, slow and careful, like he’s trying not to spill a drop.

It doesn’t work.

You feel the rush of it, warm and slick, already falling down your thighs. Heat snaps from your clit to your chest as you feel his cum slide out of you. It should be messy, maybe even embarrassing, but it’s not. Not with him. Not when he groans like he’s the one overwhelmed by the very sight of it.

(He is.)

His hands stroke down your back, reverent, steadying you as you rise onto your elbows. He bends behind you, breath hot between your thighs, and then—

“Aaron—” you whisper, already overstimulated.

But his mouth is on you. His tongue lapping at the mess between your thighs, tasting you both. His hands slide up your back, gentle, worshipful, while his mouth devours you like prayer.

You gasp. “I—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“This isn’t for you,” he says, kissing the back of your thigh.

You laugh, breathless. “Oh.” Your newly freed hand drifts back, playing with his hair. “Excuse me, sir.”

“You’re excused.”

His tongue. Long, slow strokes, chasing the mess he left behind. He groans into you, hands spreading you open like he wants to see everything. (He does.) And then you feel it—his fingers sliding back inside, two at first, maybe three, and he’s careful, gentle.

Too gentle.

You’re already soaking, already stretched, but it doesn’t stop him from using what’s left of him inside you to ease the way. He pushes deep, tongue circling your clit with maddening patience, and your whole body shudders.

When you think you don’t have anything left, he always knows better.

“Aaron—” Your voice cracks.

He hums like he’s pleased with himself. One long, slow curl of his fingers inside you and you see stars. Pressure climbs so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. You claw at the sheets, hips rocking back against his hand, desperate.

“I don’t think—” you try, but then his mouth closes over you again, and you surrender to the inevitability.

“Yeah, there it is. Yes, you can.” You can feel his words against your skin. It’s very distracting. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet but firm, guiding you through it like he’s walking you across a threshold. You can feel it building in your belly, burning behind your ribs, your whole body tightening around the pressure.

“Don’t run from it. You’re doing so good—so good for me.”

His mouth doesn’t stop—tongue laving your clit just the way he knows you need, not fast, not frantic, but devastating in its precision as he speaks into your skin. His fingers keep stroking you inside, curling up into that spot that makes you see white.

“You’re close—I can feel you. Come on. Let go.”

You’re keening now, legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, your body winding tighter and tighter. You fight to relax, knowing he can get you there without tension.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just give it to me.”

He sounds like he’s begging now, but not because he needs it. Because you do. Because he wants you to fall apart, to feel everything he can give you.

“That’s my girl. Let me feel it. Come for me, come on—”

And when it hits—when the heat crests and your breath escapes in a broken moan—he doesn’t stop.

“That’s it. There she is.”

He groans as you pulse around his fingers, your thighs quivering. He keeps licking, kissing, letting you ride it out. Falling at your feet.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, more breath than voice, his cheek brushing your thigh, his fingers still buried deep as aftershocks roll through you.

“I could watch you fall apart forever.”

When he finally pulls back, he kisses the small of your back. Soft. Grateful.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You know that?”

You can’t answer yet. Your brain is static. All you can do is breathe, trembling and wrecked, hips twitching when he kisses the inside of your thigh. He guides your hips down, sliding one knee at a time back on the coverlet until you’re flat and relaxed.

It’s slow, and soft, and absolutely sticky with the afterglow. You’re still trembling a little—not quite shaking, but your limbs feel loose and jelly-warm, your muscles useless in that delicious, just-fucked way. You can’t stop smiling, which would be embarrassing if Aaron didn’t look so smug about it.

He kisses your forehead first, then your cheek, then your jaw—working his way back up until you turn your face into his and kiss him full. Sweet, unhurried, a little lazy. You can taste the both of you on his tongue and—

Maybe you did want him to finish in your mouth.

“Can you walk?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes. “Rude.”

“Valid question.”

“Some of us are still young and spry and very capable.”

He grins, presses another kiss to your temple. “Mhm. Tough talk.” He swats your ass and your breath chuffs with a little, exhausted noise. “Alright, my little baby deer. Up you go.”

You do your best to follow instructions, but your legs are indeed so shaky you have to hold onto the bed frame for stability.

You look over your shoulder. “I hate when you’re right.”

He looks awfully satisfied with himself as he saunters over to you, around the bed to your side.

You swat at him, but he tucks an arm under your back, another behind your knees, and carries you to the bathroom like the smug, post-orgasmic man he is. You nuzzle into his chest and mutter something about how absurdly hot it is that he can lift you like this after a rousing round of extracurriculars.

He helps you wash up—warm cloth, gentle hands, careful kisses to your shoulder as he towels both of you off. You brush your teeth together in companionable silence, bumping hips when you lean for the sink. You spit and catch his eye in the mirror.

He’s already looking at you.

“Staring,” you tease.

“Admiring,” he corrects. “I’m allowed.”

You narrow your eyes playfully and say, “Don’t make me kiss you again.”

He shrugs. “Make me.”

”That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

So you kiss him again, low and slow. He holds your face in his hands like you’re made of glass, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones.

By the time you finally crawl into bed, your body’s humming, your skin smells like his, and you’re wearing one of his old academy t-shirts. You curl into his side like it’s instinct. His arm hooks around your back. Your leg slides over his. And he exhales, like the day is finally over.

Like this is the part he was waiting for.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, mouth near your hairline.

You nod. “You?”

“Never better.”

You nuzzle into him and whisper, “I believe you.”

+++

tagging: @duchesschameleon @chronicallybubbly @derekluvbot @jhiddles03 @soupyamanda @percysley @viennasolace @youngcowisland @beyscape @reidfile @littlemisskavities @lily43sblog @sochalant @lostinthefandoms11

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #tali talks cm #aaron hotchner

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a-hermit-pining · 2 months ago

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I saw this on Twitter (i forgot the @), but it really got me thinking. What would your hc be if the boys were playing the game and you were the mc? I hc that Caleb would save every "y/n laughing compilation" he comes across, rafayel would edit y/n's face on random fish and make crack edits and from his alt account he would drop the most gorgeous fanart, and for some reason I feel like sylus would use "quality time" religiously

Hi anon, thank you for sending this in ^^

I completely agree with your takes. Here is my take to compliment yours.

Rafayel: Is the undisputed Fanart King, sketching your character from every angle, in every possible outfit. If an art contest exists, he has already submitted three entries before anyone even knew it was happening. But beyond his artistic obsession, he is also the cursed glitch hoarder. While normal people would be horrified at a headless version of you appearing in-game, Rafayel takes screenshots for exclusive content, considering it a divine blessing from the tech gods. Despite his god-tier art skills, he has zero patience for level locks that force him to wait before progressing, so instead of playing at a normal pace, he rage-quits for months, then returns to binge the game in one sleepless week. His camera roll is half fanart, half stunning in-game scenery that he edits like it’s going in an art gallery.

Xavier: Does not play games for casual enjoyment. He plays for answers. He is a speedrun menace, hitting the first dialogue option before the text box even fully loads. If he gets stuck, he immediately transforms into a lore-devouring beast, reading every spoiler possible just to figure out how to proceed. The only thing keeping him from fully losing his sanity is his refusal to buy premium currency, his pride dictates that he must grind every last diamond by sheer willpower alone. And so, he hoards gems like his soul depends on it, progresses at breakneck speed, and once he’s finished all available content, he descends into 3 AM theory rabbit holes instead of doing something sane like, you know… sleeping. He probably has a color-coded spreadsheet tracking all the route impacts.

Zayne: No one would ever suspect that the infamous, critically acclaimed AO3 writer Frozen Seal, master of soul-crushing angst and tender, breathtaking romance, is actually the stoic, overworked cardiologist Zayne. His fics have a reputation for being so emotionally devastating that readers leave essays in the comments. His update schedule? Completely dictated by his hospital shifts. His author’s notes? Usually something like "Sorry, a patient coded. Will update later." Writes the most heart-wrenching, steamy romance scenes with surgical precision, leaving readers sobbing and sweating in equal measure. Has the smut writing skills of an ace author- which are god tier. Daydreams about you constantly, except when he’s actively resuscitating someone (Even he has limits.)

Sylus: Sylus owns everything. Every premium outfit, every pose, every CG. His entire paycheck is funneled into this game, and no one will ever know the full extent of his power. If questioned about how he maxed out every possible feature, he simply smirks and says, “Skill issue.” But despite single-handedly funding the dev team, he is infuriatingly secretive about his content. His in-game gallery? Locked. His premium screenshots? Hidden. Some speculate he has developers tied up in his basement feeding him exclusive content, but according to Sylus, it’s simply the fruit of his labor. Strangely enough, despite having literally everything, he still has beef with the gacha system and will cuss out the algorithm if he doesn’t get his way.

Caleb: Is cursed with abysmal gacha luck, pulling three-star memories every single time without fail. He suffers, but at this point, he embraces the suffering like a tragic hero. His nights are spent watching crack compilations at 2 AM, laughing silently to himself like a man on the verge of losing his mind (he is this 🤏🏻close). By all accounts, he plays the game rationally until your character appears, at which point all logic is abandoned. He has every single one of Zayne’s fics bookmarked, and he doesn’t just skim he analyzes them like scholarly literature, leaving long, heartfelt comments. And, of course, in the quiet solitude of his room, a freakishly realistic body pillow of you sits on his bed. If questioned? He doesn’t even blink. "It’s a limited-edition collector’s item."

#lads headcanons #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #fluff #role reversal au #asks

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colossrat · 3 months ago

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How Captain Marvel Discovers Batman's Secret Identity

Batman give so much of him for his acts, in bruce wayne or in batman, he is a fabulous actor. his posture, voice, microexpressions idk, everything humanly possible and impossible, he did to keep people as far away as possible from connecting his masks.

but there wasn't a 100% guarantee that no one would notice… well, he was very careful with the most obvious and even the least obvious things, but he wasn't such an idiot to think that no one would ever, under any circumstances, would find out about him. This has happened before, my god, Tim found out in the most unlikely way he could think of at the time. still, he was in shock. He was in the meeting room with some other heroes waiting for the time to start, and there he was facing Captain Marvel…

"What did you just say?" batman asks, he wanted to hang himself right there when he realized that there was a tremor in the back of his voice.

The captain's eyes widen, almost panicked.

"oh... i didnt mean nothing by that! its just... I don't want to offend you! I just couldn't help but notice that you have lip fillers… like, relax! It's super discreet. I only noticed it probably because I can see the needles' holes, even though it's half healed. and-- Is that why you didn't come to the last meeting? It's recent, right? I know you weren't like this the last time I saw you. but like, zero judgement! I know how society judges men in these scenarios, I think it's super cool that your masculinity is strong and resistant to criticism- Not that you will receive criticism! again, it's SUPER discreet, I only noticed because I notice things like this occasionally… I think."

he was falling over himself with his words, clearly nervous because he commented on what he noticed without meaning to, perhaps out loud… batman swears it felt like he wasn't even talking to him, whispering to himself "lip fillers?" Batman doesn't know that this was little Billy, confused by the information that Solomon dropped into his mind.

Batman didn't try to stop the babble of words that came from the other hero's mouth, still in shock from the fact that he had noticed that he had had a cosmetic procedure. Well, it's not like he could appear like Bruce Wayne out there with his face all crumpled up from taking so much beating, he needed the procedures to continue with a playboy face… he just never expected anyone to recognize such a minimal change. since he only carried out the procedures in a super subtle way... but marvel noticed and not just that.

The captain's eyes squinted, now falling on the bat's chin and jaw.

"Is that botox…?"

They look at each other in pure silence. Marvel adjusted his posture, uncomfortable with the eye contact.

"I'm going to keep my mouth shut, sir, Batman sir, don't worry. No one will notice anything. It's really cool, by the way, you're like a jewel, a very polished and.. jovial one" and he then walked away to sit on the chair more as far away as possible.

Well, it wasn't the end of the world yet… Batman tried to ignore it. He tried not to die of paranoia over the fact that someone had noticed such a small detail. Everything was going to be fine, the chances of the captain also knowing that Bruce Wayne recently had lip fillers and some botox were minimal… but not zero.

He really tried not to be so paranoid… but it was difficult, and he ended up distracted during a gala and got kidnapped, because of course he was. and of course that for some reason it was doctor sivana working with lex luthor, of course then captain marvel got involved in the rescue. OF COURSE.

He tried to avoid eye contact immensely, giving all his attention to Superman, who was also there. Clark was confused, he thought maybe it was because he hadn't revealed his identity to Marvel yet. But he really needed to go if he wanted to get information for his article later, so he left Bruce Wayne in Captain Marvel's hands with an apologetic expression.

Bruce tried to be positive, and it screamed a lot of things. He tried to think that there he was a playboy and it was super common for him to also have some cosmetic procedures on his face, maybe Marvel wouldn't assimilate him and Batman like that out of nowhere… but then he soon remembered that Marvel could see the needle holes, the microscopic, healed holes from the needles… it didn't take two seconds of looking into each other's faces for the captain to turn white paper pale.

His mouth opened like a dead fish's, and Batman knew he saw it. fuck.

they stared at each other for a few minutes. silent and harrowing minutes. They were literally frozen in that moment for so long that Superman came back with the information he wanted, with a super worried expression because he didn't understand what happened there.

The captain, noticing the new presence, realized that he had been in shock for too long already.

"ahm… so, bruce-- sir, bruce wayne… sir… sir wayne. mister…? ah-- um… I'm going home… in silence… and I I'll keep silent… ok? again, it's super discreet and you don't have to worry, ok? Maybe a little, but relax. Superman, sir. bye..."

and he flies away in a beam of shame, perhaps. Superman looks at Bruce with palpable confusion.

bruce then takes a deep breath and looks at clark

"can you tell I have lip fillers…?"

and clark goes pale.

"no…" "just a little bit…?"

Bruce snorts in displeasure. the kids will never let him forget it if they ever find out. They can't find out...

But they probably will because Damian has a strange friendship with Captain Marvel's Tiger, of course.

#billy batson #batman #bruce wayne #superman #tawky tawny #shazam #captain marvel #dc #English is not my first language #headcanon #doodle #fic ideas

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twilightau · 5 days ago

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LOVE VIRUS 2; L.DH

synopsis — you finally left the ER department, but why do you keep popping up in Haechan’s life and mind?

genres — first love au, co-workers-to-lovers, doctor au

pairing — general surgeon!lee donghyuck x nurse!fem!reader

warnings — language, mentions of death, incorrect medical descriptions, fire accident, lots of HC going back and forth with his thoughts, medical setting, lot of pov changes

word count — 7,6k (part one) 5,6k (part two)

author’s note — this fic is based off the j-drama ‘an incurable case of love’! but besides some events and the premise, they aren’t similar. i also added doses of other k-medical drama moments in the work, mostly because i am far from medically educated so i apologize to any of you who are reading this.

a/n part 2: this part switches focus between haechan and y/n a lot. whenever it’s haechan-focused, he will be referred to as haechan (in y/n-focus he is referred to as donghyuck).

HAECHAN: all the voices say the same thing.

There was no turning back. As much as people like to think that he is socially stumped, Haechan wasn’t. Being socially aware, but not acting upon it is a choice, and it was always the most time-efficient choice in his opinion. The opinions of others don’t matter, everyone knew he had the skills to match his attitude, so why bother being likable when a doctor’s job is to save people?

His nth consultation ended with another pair of wary eyes looking at him. He told them exactly what the surgery was and what their chances of survival were, yet the patient only turned away once the rookie nurse added some sugar-coated words to his story.

It’s so stupid how people let themselves fall into meaningless words of hope. They’d be ready to fight Haechan over well-formulated diagnoses with realistic predictions, but once you pitch in with some sentimental words about healing, they are always easily satisfied. You throw in one of your sweet and kind smiles and the patient is sold.

It frustrated him how much of those smiles he has been seeing lately. Somehow, after he revealed that he remembered you, it was him who became hyper-aware of you. He can’t even properly criticize your work anymore because it did actually improve, and you knew it because you have been flashing proud little smiles at him whenever he didn’t tell you off on something he did before.

Haechan was sure that the thoughts of you would quiet down after you finished your ER rotation and continued on to other departments. But it really didn’t help that you ended up at cardiology and Mark was somehow so fond of you that he always mentions you whenever the surgeon went out for a drink with the cardiologist.

(“Nurse Y/N baked some cookies for the team today, they were crazy.” Mark told his friend while stuffing his face with another piece of chicken. Haechan sipped his beer, trying to focus on anything but the image of you smiling brightly with a tray of cookies.

“She even made a special version, which Jeno approved to give to his patients.” The surgeon hummed with indifference – at least he tried to. “Yo, are you even listening?” Haechan’s eyes flick to Mark with annoyance.

“Well, sorry that I don’t want to hear about Y/N and Jeno being some sort of charity towards their patients. I’m not exactly invested.” Mark gaped at his friend, who grabbed his glass to take a huge sip. “No way, you are into her, dude.” And the surgeon spat his drink all over Mark with zero guilt.)

Even worse, you keep showing up in his barely-there free time as well, present in his house, talking to his cousin like you’ve known her for years when it has been literal months. The two of you are always watching some cheesy rom-com whenever Haechan looks over at the living room from the open kitchen, which he only entered for some water by the way.

Tonight was one of those nights where you came over while your roommate was out with her friends. Karina brought home some fried chicken and the two of you were enjoying your meal with an episode of Perfect Match a background noise.

“Girl, I can’t believe it's only been three months since you started here. You already received a request to start in the cardiology department which is very impressive.” This news was unknown to Donghyuck, he sits up a little straighter, his laptop and work long forgotten on the kitchen island.

You shake your head profusely, “I only got the offer because the team thinks I do well with the patients. Besides, the majority of the team already knew me before I started.”

It was true, the cardiology department was where your roommate Minjeong was stationed. It would be no surprise if she recommended you, as well as Mark, although he would have done it for different reasons.

“So what?” Karina stretches out the ‘a’ for dramatic effect, “Wasn’t it Jeno that turned in that request?” She continues to press the topic further, and Haechan knows his cousin. She was trying to get on his nerves. He directed his gaze to the living room to confirm that Karina was indeed eyeing him. The conversation the cousins had once resurfaced.

(“I think you should try dating again, Haechan.” His cousin casually dropped while they were having dinner. Haechan scoffs, pointing his fork at his cousin accusatory. “Just say you want me together with your little friend and be done with it. Don’t beat around the bush.”

“Okay, fine, let me be honest. Y/N is a great girl, and if you don’t act on it fast, she will be taken in no time.” Although Haechan saw you in a professional light most of the time, he was still a man who could objectively confirm that you were attractive. But you were so different from him that he couldn’t imagine himself with you.

“I doubt she is that popular, Karina. You are overreacting.” He tries to play it nonchalantly, if she notices, she doesn’t mention it. The two ate their dinner with small bickerings on random topics, but the thought that there was someone in the cardiology department didn’t sit right with Haechan.)

At least he didn’t need to ask Mark about it anymore now that his cousin had revealed the name of the guy. Haechan absolutely refuses to ask his best friend even remotely about any female, knowing he won’t live it down if it comes to Mark Lee. It was however quite surprising that Jeno requested you to join the cardiology department, after all, Jeno wasn’t much of a social butterfly compared to his co-worker Mark. But his sweet smile and mellow nature made him popular amongst the female staff of any department.

It wasn’t jealousy – he knows for sure (no he doesn’t)– but wonder? A small piece of him was kind of proud that you managed to establish a steady image of yourself that became well-liked by the cardiology department. He wasn’t jealous, really. Part of the rotations is to see which team would fit best for each rookie nurse. Haechan also knew that there were very few nurses who ended up applying for the emergency department, feeling an overwhelming responsibility to work hard and fast under very unappealing circumstances.

Haechan is about to open his mouth to throw a teasing comment your way, itching to see how you’d react, but his phone goes off. An emergency alert.

He looks up to see the same expression on Karina’s face, the two cousins stand up in unison and rush to get their stuff. The surgeon notices you walking toward him as he packs his laptop into his bag.

“What happened?”

“Emergency alarm, all available staff are asked to come and help out.” He doesn’t look up, rushing into his room to grab his remaining necessities before exiting and walking toward the door. You stand there with Karina, the head nurse looking at Haechan, her eyes asking for help.

“Y/N wants to come, too.” Haechan frowns, frankly speaking, he didn’t have time for this as he should be rushing to the hospital, but he somehow still finds time to argue with you on this.

“When I said all available staff, I meant the ER and related staff. General surgery is always called in for these things. The cardiology staff on shift will cover what they need just fine.” He waves you off, putting his shoes on and opening the door, already rushing down the hallway to the elevators. But if Lee Donghyuck had spent just as much time with you as Yu Karina had, he’d have known how persistent you actually are, strutting into the elevator with Karina.

You don’t even spare the man a look, a smug smile on your face while you wait for the elevator to reach the ground level. Haechan hides his forming smile behind a scoff. “Did I lose your respect after you rotate in other departments, Nurse Y/N?” You turn around to face Haechan with a smile, and the man forgets to keep his composure for a second, but snaps back before you – or his cousin – can notice.

“In case you didn’t know, I am free to apply for any department now that I’ve completed the obligatory rotations. Besides, there are people out there who need help right now Dr. Lee. I don’t think refusing to help hands is the efficient choice right now.” Haechan rolls his eyes, not missing the detail of your word choice.

♡

The accident site wasn’t far from your apartment complex, Haechan had to make the quick decision of sending Karina off to the hospital as head nurse and took you with him to the accident site.

“Hello, this is doctor Lee Donghyuck from general surgery. I’m going on-site to assess the situation. Please send over one medical unit and extra emergency kits.” Haechan pauses for a moment to look at you, “I already have one nurse with me.” He informs the emergency response center before taking a sprint.

This wasn’t his first time on an accident site, he knew the drill but repeated it nonetheless for you. “Make sure to stay close to me. You are here to assist me, and I am here to assess who we can and cannot treat. Nurse Y/N, what you are about to see will be upsetting, but I need you to stay clear-minded, okay?” His voice was more gentle as he spoke the last part, but he knew the moment the two of you set eyes on the site, that your heart must be heavy and racing just like his.

Haechan was shortly informed on the phone that a fire broke out in a neighboring high school; he already knew that there would be a lot of injured students. But knowing never softens the blow. The sounds of crying, coughing, and screaming students momentarily freeze the surgeon, but the moment he looks at you, he knows he has to stay strong to keep both of you afloat. He grabs your hand, telling you to follow him towards a temporary set-up tent where paramedics are already busy dividing tasks.

“I’m doctor Lee Donghyuck from Neo-Seoul Medical Center, this is Nurse Y/N L/N. What can we do to help?” A tall paramedic turns to the two of you, his face looks strained but he manages a polite smile and shakes your hands. “I’m glad help could come this fast. I’m the captain of unit A, paramedic Johnny Suh. We are currently waiting for the clear sign to enter the building and look for survivors. It’s best that you two start with labeling all the students who managed to get out already. You know the codes?”

“Yes,” Haechan answers curtly, it wasn’t unusual that people underestimated him because he looked young, but he didn’t waste much time on the thought and rushed to the first students he could find.

He checks the pulse of a still-laying male student while a female sits next to him on the ground, crying. You assist Haechan with all the tools he needs to check on the non-responding patient while he asks the conscious female a few questions.

“Give her a green label and him an orange label,” Haechan instructs before standing up and looking for the next patient. He hears you tell the girl that orange means the boy will be fine and the girl cries out louder, thanking the two of you.

♡

Y/N: that fire that burns dangerously.

What felt like hours went by while Donghyuck and you checked patient after patient. Yangyang and Sion joined the scene to help lift part of the burden as on-site medical staff. You tried your best to keep up with Donghyuck while trying to keep your head cool. There were so many students, and young lives that will hold this disaster as a tainted memory for a long time.

You knew you’d been here way too long, the fire wasn’t completely out yet and the paramedics did warn you to take precautions. The mask on your face started to feel suffocating and it was obvious that both Donghyuck and you needed a break before you exhausted yourself in these extreme conditions. Your hand reached out to call him, but you froze at a familiar cry near the two of you.

“Somebody, please…” A weak female voice calls out between coughs, you whip your head around and run without warning Donghyuck. Her voice was something you wouldn’t forget. You have laughed with that voice, cried with that voice, and screamed with that voice at one of the scariest moments in your life: it was Minnie’s voice.

“Minnie.” Her name leaves your lips with a gasp, she is dirtied with soot and trembling. You rush to her side and hug her tight, just relieved that she is alive. You feel her take a deep breath for a moment before she breaks out in coughs again. She pushed you off her with frantic eyes, trying her best to tell you something, but you were too close to the smoke and you didn’t doubt that she had been for a longer time.

“R-riku oppa–.” She forced the words out between coughs before you signaled paramedics to take her away. You jump on your feet, and a slight dizziness clouds your vision momentarily when you look around you. If Minnie has been so certain to not flee any further, it must mean that Riku was within reach. You try your hardest to see through the fire, unknowingly walking closer to the building, too desperate to save another child. The sight breaks your heart like a stone through a glass wall; Riku lies unconscious near the exit, a large object on top of his upper body, making it impossible for him to escape.

It wasn’t instinct, nor was it reflex. The complete opposite snapped in you, all the care for your own safety flew out the window the moment you saw the teenage boy. Your legs weren’t yours, your strength wasn’t yours, everything was automatic and with no thoughts. The object was heavy, likely a fallen piece of the ceiling, but you managed to lift it just a bit.

You shut your eyes and focus all your strength on removing the object, not even realizing that a group of paramedics and Donghyuck himself have found you and are helping out. Only after you felt like there was no strength left in you did you open your eyes, the object was off Riku’s body and Captain Suh was performing CPR. Donghyuck looked at you with concerned eyes, but his words didn’t register in your mind as exhaustion seeped into you. The last thing you remember is his arms around your body and the impact of something hard.

♡

HAECHAN: between you and me.

Haechan saves lives. It was one of the most normal things to do for him, hell – he was a professional after all. A general surgeon working in the emergency department, he was used to seeing people in very bad shapes and situations. These weren’t limited to the ER, but also on the accident sites. Haechan has always been the few doctors that were dispatched the most often whenever a disaster broke out. Thanks to his expertise, he knew exactly what and where the injured could go for the best treatments. He was also well aware of the procedure at the sites. Never would he call himself a sucker for rules, but he knew the importance of protocol and why they existed in the first place.

Yet he didn’t hesitate to run after you when you were obviously breaking any and every point of the set rules. Yet he even helped you out with your ridiculous quest to save a student that you were not capable of doing on your own. Yet he risked his life to push you out of the way because you were too caught up in the situation to stay aware of your surroundings.

Doyoung expected a lot of things from Haechan, but to tell him off on something he had done perfectly for so long was a surprise.

“This report doesn’t make sense, Donghyuck. You were supposed to be the best of the batch, but you’re messing up your entire fast track with a rookie mistake?” Doyoung rubs his hand over his face in frustration. Haechan was not a promising resident anymore, he was already at a similar level to some of the senior surgeons. If he had to be honest, Haechan might be better at certain surgeries than Doyoung himself.

It’s stupid, that’s what it is. Haechan made one mistake and the board jumped on the opportunity to humble the cocky surgeon. Haechan knows it’s unfair, probably anyone with a little more insight on the situation knows that this was a personal attack on him. But even as Chief of General Surgery, his power knew limits.

“Listen, I can’t get you back on track soon. But the good side is that the kid you saved was a close relative of the paramedic team on the scene. You might have temporarily lost your chance at promotion, but at least you got a paramedic team on your beck and call.”

Haechan didn’t speak much, just listening to Doyoung’s rants and nagging before leaving his office. He opens the door to catch you sitting in the waiting area. He knows he has to leave as soon as possible before you catch him, but his lingering gaze delays his moves and you look right up to his walking figure.

“Dr. Lee!” You shout through the hall, Haechan’s body freezes, allowing you to run up to him and hold his sleeve. A feeling of deja vu rises in Haechan, along with other things he is not ready to identify. “I need to talk to you, please.” The surgeon takes a deep breath and turns to you, a stoic expression hiding his uncertainties.

“Is it true that you lost your spot on the fast track?” Haechan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny anything, too focused on not looking into your eyes. “Why?” You ask with a crack in your voice. If Haechan was too nervous to look in your eyes before, he is now terrified to catch your gaze. He is afraid of all the things he will say, and all the things he won’t say.

“Nurse Y/N, you should worry about your own conversation with your superior. Leave my business alone. Hell, leave me alone for once” Haechan snaps, misplaced anger in his words as he shrugs your hand off his sleeve and walks away. He didn’t look at your face, but he pictures your pained expression in his head, and he hates it.

Just like that, the two of you didn’t speak for weeks. You ended up choosing cardiology and were currently in Dr. Lee Jeno’s OR team. Maeda Riku was in fact one of the latest patients you assisted in Jeno’s OR, and due to the complicated surgery ending successfully, the entire team was invited to a conference to share the experience.

Haechan was a bit proud – or a lot – of your growth throughout your time at Neo-Seoul Medical Center. You still seemed a bit clumsy, but you were definitely quicker on your feet and managed to soothe the hearts of many cardiology patients. The general surgeon can act like this is all information he heard from Mark who seems to think Haechan needs weekly Y/N-updates (Haechan is kind of curious, he won’t lie), but deep down he already knows that even without Mark, Haechan will always look out for you from a distance.

“I’m telling you, dude. Lee Jeno is going to confess to her in Busan and you will end up single for the rest of your life!” Mark rubs his face in frustration, and his friend slash colleague’s passive behavior is ticking him off. Haechan’s face remains neutral, he grabs another strip of meat and puts it on the grill, he shrugs after seeing the cardiologist unmoving staring at him. “What does that have to do with me?”.

He’s feigning ignorance and he knows it. Haechan is still foolishly lying to himself that he doesn’t know about your… affection for him. You liked him silently, innocently, like anyone would feel about first love. But your little crush wasn’t the problem here, it was his growing love for you. While you just rekindled your previous crush on him, you set Haechan's heart ablaze in the most unsuspecting manner. One day he thought of you as the annoying new rookie in his department, preparing himself for any mistake you could make. But the next, he would be going home in between shifts, ‘resting’ and wondering whether you’d come and visit his cousin.

Suddenly, your mistakes weren’t annoying anymore and your care for patients softened his expressions. Suddenly, he didn’t mind having to eat your slightly sour food when you decided to cook Karina and his dinner. Suddenly, every extra mile you went for the people around you warmed his heart. And suddenly, that warmed heart became yours.

He doubted it at first, his feelings. Maybe he hadn’t met a fanatic rookie in a while – although Yangyang’s rookie days were also quite eventful. But Haechan knew for sure that you weren’t just a temporary infatuation when he ran into a burning building for you. He knew the consequences, the risks, but he didn’t care.

It felt unfair to you, who was just starting a career and exploring the medical world, to be tied down to a man with a bad reputation with colleagues who might affect your future.

“You’re telling me you aren’t going to fight for her?” Mark pushes, clearly his friend was hiding something but needed something to switch him on.

“I’m telling you she deserves better.” And Mark Lee was quiet about it, because Haechan was many things, and arrogant was at least in the top three words anyone would use to describe the surgeon. To have his colleague and long-term friend admit that he might not be the best option was out of the world, and so must his love for you be as well.

♡

Haechan sighs, swirling the champagne in his glass as he watches his colleagues and fellow medical professionals socialize. Through Mark’s effort, Haechan managed to get a few days off to join the conference in Busan, and now he is forced to come because Doyoung thought a conference was the perfect way to torture Haechan for his misbehavior.

He was right, it did feel like torture for Haechan. But it was because he was in a room filled with pretentious people, or because the catering was way too healthy and he needed something sweet.

It was torture because you were the most beautiful person in the room, and it was Jeno Lee who stood by your side. You wore a simple maxi dress which could have looked dull on anyone who didn’t glow like you. Your kind smile was given left and right and you laughed at all Jeno’s dry jokes. Haechan hated everything, but he loathed himself the most for not being the man next to you.

He goes outside and looks for his lighter, hoping that a long good smoke will help him escape. The surgeon spots Mark’s approaching figure and sighs again. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You smoke again?”

Haechan tries to flicker the lighter again but fails. “What else am I supposed to do in this situation? Fucking go and tell her? Ever since she entered my life, she has been prying open that shitty door that I didn’t know existed?” Haechan drags a hand through his hair, throwing the lighter away in frustration. “I can’t do that, Mark. Whenever I picture myself next to her, I can only think of myself as a medical mentor. I don’t have anything else to offer. I pale in comparison to her shining nature and it’s making me sick that Lee Jeno is going to walk away with her tonight.”

“But what about your own happiness, though?” His friend asks him. Haechan fakes a dry laugh. His back is still turned towards his friends as the general surgeon stares outside. “I could never put myself before her. I think I’ve known since that high school fire that it will always be her before me.” It sounds so cliche, too sickly sweet for Haechan to say, but if he won’t confess, the least he can do is tell his friend what has been clouding his heart and mind for months.

Haechan was frustrated, anyone could tell by his shaking shoulders. Lee Haechan felt like a loser, but he was too hopeless to do anything about it. A soft hand caresses his back to comfort him and the voice he had missed was finally speaking to him again. “Everyone deserves happiness. And everyone should move on from the past.” Your words were so simple and genuine like they always were. Haechan turns around in shock to find you standing next to Mark – who is wearing a smirk with only slight hints of guilt in his eyes for letting you listen to a highly personal conversation.

♡

Y/N: don't ever let it die.

The banquet went by in a daze, and your mind drowns in thoughts of Donghyuck. For which reason was he here, miles and miles away from the hospital, in Yangyang’s spot at an event he deemed a waste of his time? A room filled with greed-filled people and flashy decor, chit-chat, and food that wouldn’t satisfy his picky palate. But on the other hand, this was exactly where he was supposed to be, between the powerful and skilled.

Your untouched glass received a soft cling from Jeno’s glass. He gives you his ever-so-sweet smile. “Y/N, if you need to go, you can. I can handle the rest of this event alone.” You think back on the words that Winter spoke to you right at the beginning of your intro week at the hospital. How Donghyuck was far from your type. Lee Jeno was your type: he was hard-working, loving, and honest with his heart in anything he did. Even right now, in one of the most important moments of his career, he was willing to let you go because you wanted to.

“They haven’t called out your name yet, Jeno. I can’t miss your spotlight of the night.” He looks down, and the corners of his lips falter. “Y/N, I don’t want one of my biggest nights to also be the night where you make one of your most regretful mistakes.” He still avoids your eyes. A few moments of silence pass between you two while you search for the right words to say.

“I’ll be okay, you can go now, Y/N.” Even though he maintained his body language perfectly fine, you knew deep down that he was hurting too. You stand up, his body flinching ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry, Jeno.” Jeno Lee would have been your answer in any lifetime, but this is that one lifetime where your heart called another name.

♡

You saw the scene unfold in front of you. Donghyuck’s back was facing Mark and you, Mark was telling him things you knew bits and pieces of thanks to the talkative hospital staff. Haechan was crying, his lighter abandoned, and his words losing their firmness as he slowly crouched down. Mark doesn’t comfort him, instead, he turns around and looks at you. His eyes told you enough and you walked towards Donghyuck with caution.

“Everyone deserves happiness. And everyone should move on from the past.”

Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, all hopes shattering as you kissed him, but he wasn’t kissing you back. Your mind was a mess; did you read everything wrong? You were sure about him, but was he still doubtful about you? You push him away, embarrassment and anger fill you as you jump on your feet and flee the scene.

You didn’t need to guess who was chasing after you when you entered the elevator. A heaving Donghyuck stops the elevator doors right before they close by forcing his hand between the tiny gap. You frown at him, “Surgeons should be careful with their hands.” He clicks on the 7th floor and only starts speaking once the doors close and the two of you are alone.

“Why did you leave the event?” He is asking the question because he selfishly wants to hear you say that you still like him. After everything that just happened, Lee Donghyuck still needed more confirmation.

“Why did you chase me here?” You fire back, hiding your embarrassment behind a thin veil of anger. He didn't answer, his actions and words were making you scoff. “If you can’t decide what you want. You shouldn’t have come after me, Dr. Lee.” The doors open and you hurry out, Donghyuck just one step behind you.

“Y/N, wait!” He stops you from closing your hotel room door, his brows pinched together as he tries to open the door, but you refuse. “Dr. Lee, don’t waste your breath on me.” The door doesn’t move, you know he’s still holding it in place, not pushing it open unless you allow him to, but not letting it shut him out because he knows this will be his last chance.

“Don’t talk like that.”

Your grip on the door loosens and Donghyuck pushes the door open entirely, his body suddenly way too close.

“What?”

“Don’t talk so negatively about yourself, I don’t like that.” He says, two beats of silence pass before you stammer another noise of confusion.

“And why should that matter to me? Why should it matter whether you like the things I do or not?” The back of your leg hits the edge of the table and you put your hands behind you to realize the table is stopping you from escaping him.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer your question and takes half a step back and suddenly, you see him. He is furrowing his brows in frustration, and rubbing his sweaty palms against his dress pants. He is nervous to screw this up. He is nervous to screw up his chance with you.

Lee Donghyuck always held the rope in his hands. He is prideful and arrogant, talented and intelligent, structured and always in control. It was time to see if he would rather have his pride and control, or you.

“Did you mean what you said downstairs?” You ask him, mustering all your courage to act confident.

“I did, I do.” He answers immediately.

“What else did you tell Mark that should have been said to me?”

“Being with me will be hard because I still don’t know how to be thoughtful towards others. I still don’t know how to take care of someone instead of fixing them physically. Heck – I don’t even know how to talk about my own emotions properly, but please listen to me when I say this Y/N. Are we very different from one another? Yes, and logically that should stop us from already. I will probably upset you more than make you happy. But whenever I think of my future and my dreams…” Donghyuck stops his rant to take a deep breath.

“I know you are part of each and every one of them.” His eyes were searching for some sort of answer in yours. Darting left and right, looking for a glimpse of hope between the two of you. It took you all your willpower to suppress your smile.

“I don’t deserve to beg you to choose me. But if there is even a small percentage of ‘like’ left for me.” His eyes are shining with all his emotions. Bare and raw. He is laying out all his cards – his feelings – out for you to take or leave.

He takes a deep breath, “I will take it. I will cherish it because you are my Sun, Y/N L/N. And even if you only allow one single ray of sunshine upon me, I will gratefully bask in that warmth and light forever.” His hand comes up to your face to wipe away your tears and you smile, bursting out in laughter at his words.

Never did you expect Lee Donghyuck to talk like a poet, let alone a very desperate one at that. Having the upper hand was something you had wished for from day one when he oh so confidently smacked your mistakes in your face, but it has become clear to you that he had placed the rope in your hand a long while ago.

He musters an uncertain smile on his lips after you’ve been laughing for some time. “Please Y/N… say something to me.”

“When did you realize you liked me?”

“I realized I liked you when I started doing things I never did before. And I knew I love you when the thought of not having you around started to annoy me more than when you make basic mistakes.”

“Gosh, where did that cold jerk go? You sound so sappy.” You tease him, hands trailing up his forearms.

“If I were ever to hear all of the things I just told you, I might die from embarrassment.” You nod in agreement, face nearing his neck as you speak. “Don’t give me ideas I might use against you.” He smiles down at you, “I’m ready for any challenge you give me, I will prove myself.”

“Alright, we will see about that. First challenge; replace our first kiss from downstairs with one I won’t forget.” And he didn’t need to be told twice to oblige.

SEQUEL SNIPLET ♡

"Dude, you literally cannot ask me to run your ER while you're on your honeymoon. I cannot manage my duties in cardiology and emergency at the same time!" Mark complains, signing off another form head nurse Karina handed him a few minutes ago.

"Remember when you tricked me into confessing my feelings for my wife at that conference in Busan? I consider this payback." The cardiologist can already imagine the stupid smirk on his friend's face.

"I literally helped you get laid and get a wife?"

"In the most embarrassing way I've ever imagined. She literally still laughs in my face whenever she sees a lighter. Besides, both Doyoung and Jaehyun signed it off already. You can't go back unless I am back, and I am not back until my wife had enough of me." Mark rolls his eyes at his friend acting all smitten.

"Such a simp." Haechan laughs at the other end of the phone.

"See you in three months!" The cardiologist's eyes grow wide at those words. 3 months?!

taglist: @jaeveil, @lanadreamie, @pinknini7, @undomielsql, @yxnghyxck, @hyuckysunflower, @ypoom151999, @tinyzen - thank you for your patience!

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#nct dream x reader #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan x reader #nct au #jeno x reader #lee jeno #haechan angst #haechan fluff #nct dream imagines #nct fluff #nct angst

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