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porcelainbirdss · 3 days ago

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the wrong neighbor

summary: after losing your job, you figured a brief escape to the countryside might offer a semblance of peace — or at least a new outlook. alas fate, with its usual flair for wickedness, had other plans. it handed you a new challenge in the form of a neighbor so annoying, his entire existence felt like a joke at your expense.

cw: fem!reader, modern au, fluff, brief mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, slight enemies to lovers but honestly reader is just stubborn, so it’s kind of one-sided, relationship not established (but lovey-dovey still) || wc: 16k

you scrutinized the keys of your 'new' home, which now dangled on the carabiner — you glared down at them, as if their mere existence somehow managed to personally offend you.

there were three facts you could easily discern: you got fired from your job (and maybe it was for the better, because you hated it). the house on the countryside in which you were supposed to temporarily reside in surely looked like a ruin, and your suitcases were so over-stuffed, you barely managed to close them.

oh, and Bubbles was wailing so loudly in the carrier, you were already starting to feel bad for the cat. well, it’s not like you didn’t share its lament — if you could, you’d cry along with the pet.

unfortunately, your woes would have to be put aside now, because the sight of your new place started to steadily appear on the horizon. thank gods, you somehow managed to reach the countryside without your gas running so low you’d have to call for roadside assistance — or a worse scenario, with you pushing the car away from the uneven road.

as you parked beside the slightly crooked, wired fence, you began to wonder whether this whole charade really was a good idea. your decision to take rather long vacations in the countryside was made on a whim — upon losing your job, you descended on a downward spiral, ultimately thinking you definitely needed to reconnect with nature.

everything was going smoothly — you asked your parents for the keys, informed your friends of the upcoming departure (for how long, you weren’t sure), packed and got into your car as if it was the simplest course of action. only halfway through the rather long distance, as you finally drove into the mountainous area, a realization hit you — your knowledge was basically zero. nonexistent.

how do you even live on a countryside? are there necessities, or will you have to drive out into town for everything? how will you deal with the bugs, and the deep silence of night? is the house of your parents, which they bought so long ago, later on moving to the city, still intact? or maybe vandalized?

you were aware of the fact they kept on checking up on the place from time to time, but hey — that’s a village. what if there’s a big nest of wasps located somewhere by the balcony you briefly remember through the blurry memories of a young girl? or — or what if the water doesn’t run? or, since the village is practically hugged by the mountains, what if you stumble across a bear?!

well, you doubted that, because you had no plans of venturing into the forest — but still.

a huff of exasperation escaped your lips as you turned off the engine, quickly pocketing your carabiner and turning to see if Bubbles was alright — the cat seemed fine, now a little bit calmer, as if it sensed you finally reached the destination. you knew your pet wasn’t especially fond of road trips — same goes for you, so it was a relief to open the door of the vehicle, and step outside.

you stretched your slightly stiff limbs, thinking any longer in that car, and i’d go insane. surprisingly, the house looked fairly well-maintained. the lush grass was covered with weeds, and wildflowers, but nothing else was alarming enough to cause you distress. it was really fortunate, because you already had a plenty on your plate, and dealing with any damage would surely push you to have a breakdown in the middle of that sandy road.

with a new-found resolve, you opened the gate, wincing at the loud creak it made upon being moved for the first time in forever. you skipped over the cobblestone steps, unlocking the door — the space inside was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it matched what little you could recall from your childhood days, when your parents would take you to see the house.

they always said it would belong to you — and as a young girl, you never failed to cheer in response, excited to move in once you get older. well, you were all grown now, and upon retrospection, you don’t know what was so appealing to you about living in the countryside — not many opportunities, limited access to most shops or entertainments, vast fields and forests with nothing to do.

but it’s not like you’ll stay there forever, after all. you just came for a quick visit — two or three months, as long as your savings last you — april will pass, then may, and towards the end of june, when summer starts, you’ll be gone. yes, that’s definitely what you’ll do, so there’s no point in dwelling on how boring it could be. you came here to relax, and gather your disarrayed thoughts, not to seek for a new life-path.

once you were done inspecting the whole building, you stepped outside, mentally preparing yourself for the burden of tugging all of your suitcases inside, and then upstairs — a mere thought of that made your determination falter. as for Bubbles… perhaps it would be better to let the cat snooze in your car for now. you didn’t want the little critter to tangle between your feet as you fought with the baggage — anyway, the temperature outside was still low, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the cat overheating.

as you opened the car trunk, ready to wrestle with the weight of your luggage, a rather loud, but friendly voice snapped you out of your deep reverie.

you barely managed to hold back a frown.

"hey!" the man called, and you glanced up, your eyes meeting with two bright-blue hues, already crinkling in the corners as he beamed at you. "are you the owner of this house?"

what do you think?, you wanted to say, but decided it would be better to not make any enemies from the start. you were never too big on people — always keeping to yourself, secure in the small circle of friends you made while working at your former job. still, you weren’t in the city now, and you were completely on your own — so perhaps snarling at the stranger who greeted you with such a cordial expression would be a bad idea.

no matter that something about his overly-kind demeanor irked you.

you studied his rather tall frame, taking note of the slightly old-fashioned button-down shirt he wore, its sleeves rolled up above his elbows, exposing the muscular arms. seriously, was he crazy? if not for your jacket, you’d be freezing, your teeth chattering from the cold. "yeah, that’s me." you answered briefly, trying to force the corners of your lips upwards.

his smile only widened as he strolled closer to you, and you wondered what got him so excited. "oh, is that true?" he asked eagerly, allowing himself to lean on the side of your car, "i saw some people visiting the house, but it was so rare, i actually thought no one would ever move in."

"i’m not moving in," you corrected, trying not to grimace at how casual he was acting, "i’m on vacation. don’t plan on lingering for too long."

the man’s expression seemed to falter, just slightly. "really? such a pity, then. and here i was, thinking i got myself a neighbor." he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

oh. he is your neighbor, it would seem. well, it is only logical looking at the way he suddenly emerged from gods know where — immediately jumping to your side, washing you over with questions and small-talk. still, the thought of having someone like him, as a person living next doors was… excruciating.

you let out a sigh, attempting to hold up your polite voice. "you live there?" you gestured with your head towards the building, internally hoping you were wrong.

"yes!" the man affirmed, outstretching his palm towards you, "by the way, i completely forgot to introduce myself. ah, where are my manners?" he laughed, a little abashedly now. "i’m Phainon."

great — just great. your place was a semi-detached house, so not only was he your neighbor, but he resided in a home practically glued to yours, a singular wall being the only thing that separated you.

you reached to shake his hand without much finesse, wincing at how strong his grip was. "[name]."

"[name]? a lovely name, then." Phainon chirped, bestowing you with the mercy of letting go. "well, i hope we can get along from now. maybe i’ll even convince you of staying here forever, who knows?" he joked, laughing again.

yeah, right. what else? maybe you’ll marry him, and take down the wall separating your houses? seriously, you tried to convince yourself he wasn’t that bad, but now he was genuinely getting on your already fragile nerves.

you reached towards the suitcase. "doubt that."

the man seemed to ignore your slightly irked tone, leaning forwards to look into your trunk. "do you want me to help you with all that? not to brag, but i’m pretty strong, and your stuff looks… well, heavy."

a shudder ran down your spine as his clear, still so friendly and unrelenting voice rang practically next to your ear. at this point, you could make a list consisting entirely of the things that annoyed you about your new neighbor: for one, he possessed an unbearably happy attitude. he was overly-casual, acting as if he knew you for his entire life. loud. said he doesn’t like to brag, but just did that — so a hypocrite.

"thanks, but i’ll manage just fine." you replied, grabbing the handle and tugging the suitcase out, trying not to show how much of a struggle it was.

Phainon blinked twice at your refusal, as if it was something he completely didn’t expect. his lips parted in confusion before he gathered himself, once again donning that wide smile. "oh, but how could i let my neighbor do that all by herself?" he mused, reaching for your baggage. damn those villagers, and their weird conviction of integrity — maybe you really should have just stayed in the city, bothering yourself with the search for a new job, instead of indulging in 'relaxation' time on the countryside. it was hardly worth it, at least as of now.

a grimace appeared on your face, knitting your eyebrows together. you didn’t care for containing it anymore. "i told you, i can do this myself." you muttered, finding an odd sense of insult in the man helping you out — you were capable enough, weren’t you?

you tugged the handle out of his fingers, and Phainon stepped back, the message finally getting through his seemingly thick skull. he cleared his throat awkwardly, chuckling under his breath as he pretended to look around, his bright irises avoiding yours. "oh, i’m— i’m sorry, [name]. didn’t mean to offend you."

with a roll of your eyes, you closed the trunk shut, starting to walk towards the entrance of your house. "bye." you said, audible enough for the man to hear, and leave you alone.

Phainon didn’t protest any further, scratching his nape with a conflicted expression before shrugging and deciding to go back home. at least now his happy-go-lucky demeanor wouldn’t bother you.

a long day of cleaning, and moving in your stuff was already over — you were elated to find out that you, indeed, still had hot water, and the stove was working, even though you had to use matches to get the gas going. Bubbles was a bit unsure at first, anxiously treading the space, but ultimately deemed the new place as good enough. you definitely had to agree with your cat — it wasn’t perfect, but the lull of a quiet road successfully managed to ease your frayed nerves.

in addition, Phainon didn’t step out once to offer any other unwanted help, so that was a plus too.

you fell onto the bed, stretching out your hurting limbs from working so hard — you were planning on going to sleep, but the balcony door seemed especially enticing, so perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check it out as well. you dragged your feet over to the glass door, pushing it open, taking in the crisp air of night, gasping at how beautiful the sight of the mountains was — and then you saw it.

irritation washed over you the second you spotted a familiar silhouette, leaning on the railing of another balcony — right. you almost forgot the design of your houses was a mirror, the buildings being twins of themselves. you cursed under your breath, tucking your head down in hopes that your annoying neighbor failed to notice you — but before you could even move to walk back inside, he already waved your way, a wide smile stretching his lips.

"[name]! hi!" Phainon called, making your blood pressure skyrocket, "did you also want to get some fresh air before sleep?"

an overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over you, as you itched to reply — what do you think?

you scoffed, your feet glued in place, even though you wanted nothing more than to shut the balcony door, swish the curtains, and lie in your bed. "no, i was actually planning on jumping out." you deadpanned.

the man’s features initially twisted into concern, but then he laughed, finally catching up on your sarcastic remark, which definitely wasn’t aimed to offend him, nor his wits anyhow, "oh, you better not. it’s a long way down from here." he said, moving to step closer to your own balcony.

almost as if that was the whole point. "well, yeah, i came here to take a breath, but now i have someone yapping behind my ear."

Phainon shrugged, appearing as if he didn’t take that as an insult, even if his wide smile was now reduced to a mere, weak smirk. "c’mon, i’m just trying to be nice here." he responded, craning his neck to look into your eyes, seemingly avoiding him as they stared into the black outline of the mountains. "you know, i don’t want to admonish you, because i believe we’re the same age—" he paused, "wait, how old are you again?"

"twenty-four."

that evoked an almost triumphant noise out of him. "see? i’m only two years older than you. so, as i was saying, i really, really, don’t want to admonish you, however…"

you sighed at Phainon’s lag, finally meeting his gaze. "however what?"

"you see," the man began, a bit reluctantly, "maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more friendlier? as far as i am concerned, you’re alone here. and so," he continued, prolonging the syllables of the words, "you have to be nice to people. if you keep glaring at everyone, then just imagine how that could backfire! no one around to help, no one to—"

must he always talk so much? it’s not that you were rude by nature, but his presence simply made you irritated. another thing to add to your list — he liked to force his beliefs on others, insisting he was so righteous. and he was a chatterbox.

"or maybe i just don’t find your company all that endearing, huh?" you interrupted his rant lazily, leaning your cheek over your palm. this conversation was starting to exhaust you much more than cleaning the entirety of your house.

Phainon breathed in, placing his hand over his chest, as if you genuinely managed to insult him. “mean! see? that’s exactly what i’m talking about." he huffed out, his eyebrows narrowing together.

you rolled your eyes, thinking that perhaps you truly were a little bit too unkind — but it’s not like you felt especially guilty about it, so you ignored the weak need of apology. "a grown man getting offended by something like that?" you mocked, shrugging. "i simply expressed my opinion. nothing personal."

his lips pressed into a tight line as he looked away from you, his line of vision locking on the rocky line of horizon. "you know, [name], you kind of remind me of someone." Phainon said, drumming his fingertips against his forearm.

you almost caught yourself asking — who?, but you held back, thinking the man was merely trying to pull at your tongue some more. without glancing back, you turned on your heel, starting to walk towards the door.

your movement seemed to snap Phainon out of his short stupor, "ah, you’re going already? see you then!" he called, though this time his voice wasn’t as upbeat as earlier.

"not if i see you first.” was all you replied with, shutting the balcony door with a loud 'thud!', and slipping off your flip-flops.

if you can’t even relax in your own house, then perhaps there was no rest for you in this place — you should start reconsidering your decision, and go back to the city.

——

go back to the city, you did not — one week passed since the moment you found yourself in this countryside, and even though your neighbor kept getting on your nerves, keeping you company during evenings on the balcony, offering you bottles of milk (which for some reason you didn’t get delivered), or waving friendly at you whenever you tended to your overgrown garden — you still stayed. maybe it was something in the air, or the vision of packing everything so soon and having to tug your suitcases back to your trunk was simply too much.

however, no matter how idyllic the time you had for yourself seemed (by which you meant — no Phainon in sight), some trouble came up. Bubbles was acting slightly off — it’s not like the cat was evidently sick, but its movements were slower than usually, and it made you worry. Bubbles was the ultimate highlight of your days, and you loved that animal terribly — so the second you noticed something was wrong, you called up the closest veterinary clinic.

a deep voice on the other side of the phone told you to come visit now — if you had the time, which you obviously possessed in ample amounts — so without further ado, you packed Bubbles into the carrier, and drove to the clinic. it took you some time to find it, which was surprising since you had the maps opened on your phone, and the village wasn’t overly big — but you miraculously managed to arrive before your cat would start to voice its sorrows from having to be driven around through the bumpy roads.

you gently grabbed the carrier, and entered the space, a characteristic smell attacking your nostrils. "hello." you greeted the lady at the front desk, smiling as politely as you could. "i came to have my cat checked up.”

the woman returned the gesture, her doe eyes flickering up from the computer as she examined your form. "and what does seem to be the problem?" she asked, her tone softer than you imagined it would be. most probably, she wasn’t the one who picked up your call.

"uhh," you began, a little unsure, "i don’t know. it’s just acting… off, so i got a little worried."

she nodded with understanding, asking for personal information and the cat’s name. once you were done with all the registering, she gestured towards the door, telling you the doctor was already waiting inside. in response, you sent her a grateful look, and quickly opened the entrance — only to be met with the sight of a face you prayed you wouldn’t have to see today — or ever again, for the record.

"[name]!" Phainon almost cheered, his eyes widening with recognition, "i didn’t expect to see you there. come, come." he ushered you inside, because as it turns out, you somehow forgot how to walk. you moved your feet reluctantly, your hold on the carrier tightening.

you felt absolutely flabbergasted. that fool — that absolute moron — was working as a veterinarian?!

upon taking in his navy-colored uniform, and the stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck, you had absolutely no doubts now. still, you found yourself asking: "you work here?"

Phainon laughed with obvious amusement, raking his fingers through the fair locks. "what do you think?"

ugh, was that déjà vu you were feeling again?

you tentatively settled the carrier down on the table’s surface, narrowing your eyes at the man. so he was the doctor. and he would be taking care of your cat.

"sorry, could i request someone else to take over?” you asked to no one in particular, looking around in hopes that another vet would pop out from the space, and help you out of the dire situation.

your neighbor scoffed with feigned hurt (at least you think it was feigned, looking at the way his eyes still crinkled in the corners). "why, [name], who do you take me for? i’m more than qualified, so don’t worry." he smiled at you now, taking a quick glance through the carrier’s bars. "oh, what an adorable kitten you have! what’s its name?"

"Bubbles.” you responded, curt and bitter as you continued to frown, anxiously chewing on your lower lip.

Phainon nodded in understanding, slipping on his medical gloves before reconsidering. "and is it friendly?" he mused, his blue eyes briefly flickering over to another pair of gloves of thick material, probably made only with the purpose of protecting the doctor’s hands. "or is it as feisty as its mistress?"

you listened to the man’s chuckle, as if the poor joke he just offered was the funniest thing in the world. "friendly enough." you said, tapping your foot against the tiled floor with impatience.

"glad to hear that." he carefully opened the carrier’s little doors, reaching towards your cat, now huddled into the corner. Phainon gave it a gentle tug, but once it refused to move, he sighed with resignation. "it’s scared of me. could you take off the carrier’s top?"

you cocked one of your eyebrows up at him, doing as he told you. "i’d be scared of you too, to be honest."

Phainon huffed at the comment, sending you a halfhearted glare — then, his focus returned to your pet as he picked it up, placing the animal down on the table. "hi Bubbles." he cooed at the cat, running his palm up and down its fur affectionately. the sight almost made your disdain towards the man soften, as you watched him smile so widely at the utterly anxious Bubbles. "what’s the matter, sweet thing?" he mumbled to the cat, even though it couldn’t answer him.

you took a singular step back, observing the whole charade with a dry smirk. "to be honest, i’m not sure myself. it was acting weird, you know… moving slower, eating less. i decided to bring it to the vet, 'cause i got worried."

Phainon seemed to mull over your words for a short while, and it didn’t surprise you when he came up with nothing. "i’m going to examine it, and then we’ll see what can be done." he decided, leaning down to look at Bubbles from up close.

everything that occurred then happened in a quick fashion — your mouth opened to warn him, next the cat’s whole tail seemed to puff up — before you could even say anything, sharp claws scratched the man’s pale skin, its reflexes too quick for a human to react to. you gasped, conflicted between bursting out into laughter, and expressing your hardly-genuine concern.

seriously, Phainon was either still inexperienced (which he earlier said he wasn’t, but as your list of annoyances told you — he was a hypocrite), or he was straight up stupid. you watched him jolt back, hand immediately flying over to his now wounded nose, feeling at the droplets of blood gathering up.

you winced. "oops."

"hey, you said it was friendly!" Phainon whined, quickly reaching for the napkins, and pressing one to his face. "for real, maybe someone else should take care of that troublemaker." he murmured, glancing towards the other door. "Mydei!"

who now? oh, so there really was an another vet — and it would seem whoever that was, they decided to ignore your earlier call for someone else’s assistance.

the door opened, a blonde man’s head peeking out as he took everything in with a stern expression, his sharp eyes narrowing at Phainon, who happened to be still gripping his bleeding nose. you almost wanted to take another step back, suddenly feeling small under his rather displeased gaze — if not for the polite nod he sent your way, you surely would have done so.

"Mydeimos, oh, my dearest friend, you’re the cat expert here." Phainon pleaded, his eyebrows narrowing, "wouldn’t you be so kind, and help—"

the veterinarian scoffed, immediately shaking his head. "first of all, you’re acting unprofessional." he said, his golden irises falling upon Bubbles, who still seemed terrified. "second of all, stop making a commotion. you’re scaring the cat."

"Mydei—"

"third of all," he interrupted mercilessly, going back to the separated room, "i’m getting prepared to check up on the horses, so i’m busy. take that as a no."

the door shut quietly, and once again you were left on your own with Phainon, whose expression was nothing short of defeat. against everything you felt towards him, you still sent him a sympathetic look — that Mydei guy really possessed quite a character.

"damn. and you’re calling me feisty when he exists." you remarked, careful to keep your voice low enough so the other vet wouldn’t hear you — if he did, then certainly you’d go flying out of the window.

Phainon let a silent snicker slip past his lips, "well, i’m not sure if you remember, but i did say you remind me of someone, didn’t i?"

you paused, unsure whether you should treat that as an insult, but ultimately decided to let it go — it wasn’t worth getting worked up over something like that. "…and you said he’s the cat expert. so what is your expertise, if you can’t even deal with a little feline? lizards?" you mocked, your eyebrows arching in amusement.

he shook his head. "well— i’m pretty sure you don’t share my sentiments, [name], but i’m rather fond of dogs." Phainon explained, "and by the way, lizards can cause damage too!"

your amusement only furthered when your gaze found its way onto the man’s exposed arms — scratches and bites in all variants of severity splattered across his skin, signifying he definitely had his own share of incidents with animals. "okay, whatever you say, doc." you huffed out, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes.

Phainon shrugged, throwing the napkin in the trash can, his focus returning to your pet. "well, alright then. let’s… let’s try again, shall we?"

as it turns out, your cat’s behavior was caused mostly due to stress — the new environment, smells, and everything piled up — but other than that, Bubbles was completely healthy, which caused you to breathe out in relief.

that evening, you didn’t see Phainon on the balcony. good riddance.

——

agony.

it was the only adequate word you could use to describe whatever you were feeling right now.

another seven days passed, and you deemed that as enough time to get acclimatized — the saturday’s morning started out slow, with you deciding to finally get a grip on your life, and perhaps search for jobs you could take up once you return to the city.

you set up your laptop, prepared yourself some tea, sat down as comfortably as you could with your pet making sure to keep your lap warm, and then it started.

that awful, absolutely terrible sound of complete anguish — drilling.

the second Bubbles heard it, the poor critter bolted from your legs, sprinting downstairs to probably hide from the loud noise. you wished you could do the same, except you actually had some work to do, so running away was out of question. technically, you could move your laptop somewhere else, but its battery condition was so bad, you had to keep it charging all the time — and it just so happened that the only accessible electrical contact was by your humble desk.

you knew who was making that noise. who else could be the culprit, but your annoying neighbor? it was only logical, looking at the way your semi-detached houses stood separated by a good few yards away from others.

that damned man, deciding it would be such a brilliant idea to start whatever renovations he had to do simultaneously with your work — not to mention, doing it so early in the morning. what time was it anyway, like seven? you glanced at your laptop’s screen — 7:31 AM.

you gritted your teeth, letting out a low grumble of dismay as you started typing on the keyboard. five minutes passed, then fifteen — all you did was stare blankly at the bright display of information you couldn’t possibly process through the clamor. you were wasting your precious time — no, Phainon was wasting it! if only you had his number, you’d immediately dial it, and start screaming at him to wait for at least the next three hours until he could resume the drilling (you doubted he’d listen).

with a sigh of resignation, you put your forehead in your hands, cradling it once you felt a headache building up behind your eyes, hammering painfully.

some time passed, and the noise was finally gone — which can’t be exactly said about your current migraine. you closed your laptop shut, thinking there was no way you would be able to continue with your lookout during such an insistent ache.

it was long since you felt so utterly livid. perhaps he was one of the few people who were able of evoking such strong emotions in you.

"jerk!" you yelled at the empty space of your bedroom, "stupid bastard! good thing you stopped, else i’d shove that goddamn drill up your arse!"

you huffed, and upon letting your frustrations out, you felt better — only slightly, but that was progress. it wasn’t like you, screaming and cursing like a spoiled brat, but at least you had a way of venting your anger caused by the ruckus. and it’s not as if Phainon could hear you, so you didn’t particularly care.

the rest of the day was monotone at best, and excruciating at worst. you didn’t do anything useful — tried wiping the dust off of some shelves, but they were already clean. then, you played with Bubbles, prepared dinner (which tasted awful, by the way), scrolled through your social medias, watching some mind-numbing videos until darkness came, and it was time for bed. you took a shower, changed, blew your hair dry.

everything you did was already a routine, and while it might have been relaxing, it was also boring — the sense of urgency in your body not letting you enjoy your quiet vacations, instead pushing you to do something more productive. alas, you found yourself lacking in the strength to even move a finger — well, almost, because instead of hitting the hay, you thought to step out on your balcony. again.

you were not surprised to see Phainon standing there, as it was also a part of the routine — you hoping to take a breath, and then being forced to listen to his usually thoughtless rambling. yesterday, he told you a story of how a cow kicked him straight in the gut when he was still a rookie to his profession — then proceeded to act offended when you laughed at it.

well, you found him annoying (especially now), but perhaps he was right about one thing — you were absolutely alone here. maybe the solitude caused you to become insane, pushing you to spend more time with him? yes, that’s definitely what happened. once your countryside excursion is over, you’ll certainly have to get your brain checked by a specialist.

Phainon clicked his tongue when you measured him with your dull gaze, setting your vision on the faraway trees as if he was but a mere speck of dust. "well, good evening to you too, [name]." he said, that ever-present smile already dancing on his lips.

you leaned over the barrier, feeling the gentle breeze rake through your hair, caressing your face. it was getting warmer and warmer by the day, and personally, you thought the change was for the worse. "don’t talk to me, or i’ll sew your mouth shut." you muttered under your nose, trying to ignore his intense eyes.

your neighbor tilted his head to the side, sending you a half-curious, half-teasing glance. "what? i didn’t hear you, [name]."

you knew damn well he heard you the first time, with the way he was standing so close to the barrier of your own balcony, looking like he was ready to take a leap across any moment, as if only to be closer to you. two another things to add to your list: makes too much noise (with the drill, to be precise), and has no concept of personal space.

"i said," you began, agitation arising in your voice as you turned yourself to face him fully, "shut your mouth, or i’ll shut you up myself."

Phainon whistled lowly, his eyebrows arching upwards. oh, if you had a rag, you’d definitely smack that empty head of his, wiping the smirk off his mouth. "[name], i’m already starting to shake in my boots." he hummed, amusement evident in his tone, "don’t look at me this way, or i’ll actually—"

your hand shoot up, stopping him from whatever nonsense he wanted to say next — you didn’t have enough mental strength to bear the things he could possibly throw your way. "no. just no."

"aww, must you always be so mean to me?" he whined, and you supposed you should spend less time with him. at first he was somewhat tolerable, but now all the initial politeness was gone, instead replaced with an unrelenting onslaught of winding you up.

another thing to add to your list: Phainon was a straight-up tease. (and you hated the way it made you smile sometimes)

with a heavy sigh, you looked back towards the rocky mountaintops, wishing you could just teleport there. "i’m not in the mood. i had a migraine from all that noise you made earlier."

the man’s confidence seemed to falter now, and he leaned back from the railing, clearing his throat. "oh, you mean when i started to drill? yeah, sorry 'bout that." he smiled sheepishly at you, scratching his nape. "are you angry at me?"

mere anger would be lenient, in this case. "take a wild guess, Phainon."

he clasped his hands together, his eyebrows knitting as he appeared genuine for the first time this evening. "oh, i must apologize. i should have told you earlier— i mean, about the drilling." the man leaned over, searching out your eyes. "does your head still hurt?"

what do you think? is what practically forced its way onto your tongue, but you held it back. déjà vu, déjà vu.

"no, i’m fine now." you breathed in response, "what did you assemble?"

Phainon seemed to consider your words for a second, before the characteristic smile found its way back onto his lips. "just a shelf. i ran out of space for my books, so i needed to add another one."

you nodded. "i see."

deep silence fell over you both, the only sound being the song of crickets, chirping away to their heart’s contents. Phainon’s mouth opened and closed, as if he was wondering whether he should speak up on whatever was bothering him right now — you, on the other hand, relished in the tranquility, his verbose tongue stopping for a rare moment of peace.

finally, he leaned over the railing so hard, you were sure one gust of wind, and he’d come tumbling down. "[name], honestly i still feel bad about causing you headache. as a compensation, why don’t you— i don’t know, let me treat you to a dinner, or—"

as if there was actually a fancy restaurant in this village. "save your money, i don’t need any compensations from you." you interrupted, pushing yourself away and starting to walk towards the balcony door. the only thing you didn’t need was your neighbor’s pity.

"hey, wait! you didn’t let me finish!"

was the last sentence you heard before shutting the door, and draping long curtains over the glass.

——

may came around, and life seemed easier now. after a month in here, your mind arrived to a rather simple conclusion — being on the countryside could be pleasant, at times. when you had nothing better to do, you’d leisurely lie down on the hammock you somehow managed to secure in your garden, the oak’s wide branches successfully obscuring you from unrelenting sun. Bubbles would accompany you, sprawled out on the grass, dozing off to the pleasant chirping of birds, its attention eventually caught by some grasshoppers.

the taste of lemonade, and the sweet scent of blooming lilac were utterly comforting, and so you found yourself enjoying the little vacations much more than you initially thought you would.

except — there was still one, big problem, and its name was Phainon.

you could recall it as clear as a day — his almost mocking chuckle as he peeked over the wired fence, watching you sweat when you worked on planting the potatoes, your knees digging uncomfortably into the soil. why you decided to plant them in the first place — you didn’t know, but you were bored beyond reason, and so the idea of indulging yourself with some true countryside life appeared somewhat enticing.

"are my eyes deceiving me?" Phainon laughed, spreading the tall stalks of sunflowers, which obscured his sight of you. "[name] actually tries to do something in the garden. who would’ve thought…"

you huffed in irritation, your eyes snapping up from the dirt you desperately attempted to dig out as you deemed fit (because you obviously were too lazy to even check how potatoes should be planted correctly — why not eyeball it?).

once your gaze met with the happy twins of blue, you felt an irresistible need of throwing the dusty soil straight at the man’s face beaming face. "yeah, i do. what’s it to you?" you murmured, starting to feel overly exposed.

Phainon shrugged, attempting to lean on the wired fence, but ultimately discarding the idea when the thing bent dangerously under his heavy weight. "nothing." he responded nonchalantly, but still refused to go away.

you scooped the dirt into your palm, clenching it into a fist before dumping in his direction. he ducked, briefly avoiding having his snow-white hair stained — then, he laughed again. of course. was the sound of joy the only one he could ever make?

you should add it to your list: laughs too much.

"wow, almost hit a bullseye.” he breathed, straightening out, "maybe you could prolong your stay and join us during the summer festival. there’s a plenty of games that consist of throwing." Phainon mused, and you snorted when one of the sunflowers bumped his head.

with a roll of your eyes, your focus returned to the ground, as you tried to resume your digging. "i’d rather not."

he clicked his tongue with dissatisfaction, that you couldn’t tell whether was true, or feigned. "ah, but why not?" he whined, his fingers hooking on the fence’s loops. "[name], if you really feel so unsure in your skills, then maybe i could play for you, and win you some prizes?" upon his coercion, you sighed, looking back into the giddy irises with an unimpressed expression.

"i’m sorry, Phainon, but do i look twelve to you?" a scoff escaped your lips as you took in his smile. "i don’t want teddy bears, especially not from you."

your neighbor seemed to deflate, almost just like balloons do. "especially not from me? and here i was, thinking we were already starting to get along."

you knew the hurt was feigned, because he had to work his lips into a thin, tight line, as if forcing back that insistent giggle threatening to slip past his lips — but he still looked like a kicked puppy, and you hated how it tugged at your heartstrings.

"stop guilt-tripping me." you responded bluntly, digging your small shovel into the dirt with probably much more force than necessary. "i didn’t come here to frolic around with you, and your friends. i actually have to get my shit together soon."

Phainon pushed his body onto the fence, evoking a weak creak from the old wires. "well, perhaps you should start getting it together now," he hummed, his intense gaze set on you, "because i don’t think potatoes should be planted during may.”

you halted your movements, chagrin prickling at your skin — come again? what does he mean by 'not planted during may'? all of your efforts — buying the potatoes, digging the rows during such a heat it made your vision go white — and now it would go to waste? maybe you really should have read something about the topic before taking up your work.

shame of an unknowing city girl washed over you as you let the shovel go from your hands. "why didn’t you tell me from the start?" you asked with pretension painted across your face, "it would’ve saved me some time, instead of wasting it!"

the man shrugged, sending you a smirk that was teasing, and yet so innocent at the same time. “i’m sorry, but you just seemed so engrossed. didn’t want to ruin your fun."

you seethed internally, already grabbing another handful of dirt into your palm. Phainon noticed your action, immediately hiding behind the shield of sunflowers. "seriously, [name], that’s like— common sense!" he continued, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you were absolutely sure he was grinning from ear to ear. "who in their right mind thinks that potatoes can be planted near summer?"

"well, maybe me?" you retaliated, getting up from your aching knees.

Phainon’s head peeked out from behind the flowers. "then you’re definitely in for some tutoring. maybe i should just teach you how to—"

you shoved the dirt into his face. he yelped dramatically, stumbling backwards, and falling on his ass.

for once, you could be the one smiling down at him with an undeniable triumph in your eyes.

…and that’s how it went. truthfully, Phainon’s unrelenting desire of keeping you company whenever you tried doing anything was quite perplexing. more often than not, you were simply mean — perhaps wanting to chase him away with your bitter attitude. he was either extremely oblivious, or didn’t care. but it’s not like he lacked in friends to keep himself practically glued to your hip — an obvious proof of that was now, as he cheerily conversed with familiar faces over the grill.

it was unbearably hot today, however you still failed to occupy yourself with anything useful, so you discarded your disdain for the sun, and decided to lounge in the garden. Bubbles was happily prancing around the grass, chasing after little bugs — and you felt the need of curling up on yourself.

Phainon, who seemed almost hellbent on always spotting your presence, turned away from the grill, and waved your way. you didn’t wave back.

your cat, possessing its ever-traitorous nature, hopped over to the wired fence, rubbing against the rusty wire. the man immediately crossed the distance and crouched, his eyes softening, which was a vivid contrast to the wide smile he still donned. he reached over to the animal, sticking his fingers through the fence, and petting its little head as Bubbles purred upon the newly-received attention.

"Phainon," a deep voice called from over the grill, causing your neighbor to turn his head, "what are you doing over there? the bread is gonna burn."

"then just take it off yourself!" Phainon retaliated, huffing out in frustration before his gaze returned to the pet — then to you. "how’s Bubbles? already feeling better?"

you dragged your feet closer to the pair, crossing your arms over your chest as you studied his hunched form, caressing Bubbles’ fur. the man had to practically force his way through the sunflowers, and other lush bushes obscuring his way — he really must have loved animals… or bothering you.

with a shrug, you leaned down to give the critter a small pet on its back too. "it’s feeling way better." you responded briefly, not wanting to expand upon the well-being of your cat. Phainon already did what he had to, and he wasn’t at work now, so it frankly wasn’t his business.

"is that right, beautiful?" he beamed down at Bubbles, finally retracting his hand. "well, i’m very glad to hear that. oh, by the way," he straightened out, gesturing with his head towards the people sitting by the grill in his garden, "[name], wouldn’t you like to join us? i’m sure everyone would love to get to know you."

you gave a sigh, the trail of your vision landing upon Mydei — who you were already acquainted with, because you took Bubbles for another check-up, and that time he was the one tending to your cat (thank gods), and the familiar lady from the front desk. you didn’t know her name, but she seemed friendly enough — so you waved in their direction, trying not to show how unsure you truly felt. both of them smiled at you.

you genuinely wanted to join them, because in contrast to Phainon, the pair actually seemed somewhat bearable — but it felt like… intruding. a weird sense of not being exactly separated from everything else, but also not belonging. "i’m sorry, but i must decline. i was— i was actually going to do some work now." you spoke to the violet-haired woman more so than to Phainon directly, and she gave an understanding nod.

"that’s alright." she took a sip of her drink, her irises briefly flickering over to Mydei, who was now busying himself with flipping over the meat, "next time, then."

you leaned down to scoop Bubbles into your arms, and your neighbor voiced a sound of disappointment, spreading the stalks of sunflowers further hastily. "oh, but [name], why not? can’t your work wait?" he whined, giving you puppy eyes. could he get any more pathetic than that?

a protest bloomed on your tongue, and you already opened your mouth to speak up on it, but another voice interrupted you. "give that woman a rest, Phainon. didn’t she say she’s busy?" Mydei spoke, and you breathed out in relief. truly a life saver.

"yeah." you affirmed, pressing Bubbles a little closer to your chest. "i’ll go now. bye."

with that, you turned on your heel, and walked back home, still feeling that intense gaze on your shoulders — seriously, would it hurt him to cut you some slack for once? it’s not as if he was lonely, unlike you.

so why did he continue to seek you out so much?

you stared at the chuck steak, now placed on your table — after your neighbor’s little get-together was over, and the slightly irritating smell of grill and burning meat dissipated (exactly — burning. you didn’t know what was going on, but you heard panicked screams of Phainon through your open window, wailing over the food he accidentally ruined), he decided to knock at your door. of course, you opened it, only to be met with a sight of neatly packed steak, practically pushed into your face.

you took the tupperware boxes, sending him a confused look — then, he proceeded to explain he bought too much, and they couldn’t eat everything, and how he didn’t want it to go to waste, and how delicious it was, and so on. this time, you didn’t interrupt his nonsensical rambling for a change, allowing him to stumble over his words awkwardly — for some reason, it was endearing.

after he was done with his hardly-coherent rant, you thanked him for the food, and closed the door in his face. for a second, you even wondered whether this steak was poisoned, or something — but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be completely edible. actually, you were quite surprised with the taste. it was exactly as he said — delicious. through his logorrhea, you managed to catch one information that stuck out to you — Mydei was the one to season, and prepare the portion.

it honestly was kind of bewildering to you, because that stern guy with a no-nonsense attitude didn’t look as if he was especially familiar to the art of cooking. well, as the saying goes — don’t judge a book by its cover.

still, you couldn’t help but feel gratitude, thanking the gods he was the one to take care of the meat, instead of Phainon — who, due to your earlier deduction, successfully managed to burn it.

once you finished your rather late dinner, you put the dishes away in the sink, deciding to let them soak for now. then, you continued on with your usual routine — shower, change, blow your hair dry, bid goodbye to Bubbles who was peacefully snoozing on the couch. drag your feet over to the balcony, open the door, greet your neighbor dryly… wait, where was he?

you almost caught yourself frowning at his absence. almost.

should you add it to your already long list of annoyances? doesn’t keep up with the unspoken routine: check.

usually, you’d be happy to find that the balcony beside yours was empty, except this time it irked you — why, you weren’t sure, but perhaps his company during the evenings, when the sky was already darkened, and splattered with bright stars, was the only consistent thing, keeping you grounded and secure in this still somewhat unfamiliar countryside.

but you’d never admit it. never.

so, with a reluctant sigh, you departed back inside, falling onto your bed, and closing your eyes. the hour was still fairly young, perhaps too early for you to fall asleep, especially since the air seemed oddly still — the chirping of cicadas distant, not quite reaching your ears.

now, you could easily discern all the other noises surrounding you — the creaking of your old house, Bubble’s quiet meows from downstairs, the loud yelp of pain — wait, what?

you jolted upwards on the mattress, listening to the following chain of curses, the sound of a familiar voice resonating muffled just behind the wall where your bed stood. you blinked in surprise, thinking — since when was the wall separating your rooms so thin? yes, you heard some weird noises before, but you chalked it up to nothing in particular, deciding to ignore them. right now, doing so seemed almost impossible.

you pressed your ear to the cold wall, meeting with silence. "hello? Phainon?" you called over, keeping your voice loud enough for the man to hear. another beat of silence passed before you heard a barely audible sound of footsteps. it is truly miraculous you somehow failed to guess where all the foreign noises were coming from (which was, most likely, caused by you living in your lavish family-house for the bigger part of your life).

once you pushed the side of your head closer, you could almost make out the ruffling of sheets coming from the other side. "[name]?" the voice resonated louder than you expected it to, causing you to jump back.

you found yourself almost laughing at the discovery, but at the same time, you felt somewhat disturbed by the lack of privacy you had from the start. "are you okay?" you asked, making sure to keep your tone clear.

a quiet chuckle reached you, and you thought Phainon really must have been acting quiet when he was alone — which was unusual, at least in your opinion, but what else could be the reason? after all, you barely heard him, and you already spent a month here.

"i’m— i’m fine." he stammered out, and you imagined him pressing his ear to the wall too. "just stumbled my toe on the table’s corner. nothing serious."

now it was your turn to giggle. "really? it sounded almost as if you had your leg cut off."

Phainon laughed louder now, and if not for the wall separating you away from him, you would’ve thought he was standing right next to you. "sorry. did i scare you?" he mused, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

"hardly. although," you sighed, now leaning a little bit more comfortably on the hard surface, "i didn’t expect the walls to be so thin. i got surprised, is all."

he hummed in response, seeming to consider your words. "well, i was aware for some time now."

"really?"

another chuckle. "yeah. uhh… do you remember when i was was done drilling, and you started screaming curses at me?" your neighbor recalled lightheartedly, and you felt your heart sink to the floor. oh no.

did he really hear you, back then? well, the possibility was rather obvious, since he now told you about that little outburst of yours. it wasn’t like you — to suddenly start feeling guilty about things that didn’t bother you earlier on. still, you couldn’t help but flinch in shame, thinking you wouldn’t mind if the earth opened, and swallowed you whole.

upon hearing your lack of response, Phainon urged. "[name]? you still with me?" you could hear the smile in his voice.

"yes, i am." you snapped out of your stupor, "sorry 'bout that. i guess i got a little too angry, then." you apologized quickly, feeling your cheeks burn. good thing you weren’t on the balcony now, else that awful man would tease the hell out of you.

listening in — you almost wanted to add to your list, but it wasn’t exactly his fault. plus, if you’d try to enforce that logic, you’d be equally guilty.

"ah, but don’t worry about that." he assured, as if sensing your concern, and you imagined him waving his hand dismissively. "i found it funny, just so you know."

you chewed on your cheek for a second, before finally deciding to let the topic go. "why didn’t you come out on the balcony today?" you asked instead, swiftly changing the course of conversation.

another, very quiet snicker which you barely were able of discerning. "why, is my lovely neighbor suddenly troubled about my well-being?"

if he were standing on that balcony, you’d push him off.

"no." you immediately refused, maybe a bit too quickly, "don’t get your hopes up. honestly, you could be dying right now, and i wouldn’t bat an eye."

Phainon scoffed. "ouch. your words are cruel as ever."

…well, perhaps you didn’t mean it to come out that way. truth be told, if Phainon was as much as sick, you’d be already worried — even though you didn’t want to admit that. still, he was annoying, and so you wouldn’t let down your bitter facade down.

a slightly awkward silence fell over you, and you finally started to feel fed up with all the talking. too much happened today as it is, and now you’d rather face your embarrassments alone. "anyway, i’ve still got some work to do, so…" you trailed off, the lie easily slipping off your tongue.

"you’re still not finished?" the man inquired, and then you realized you offered the same thing as an excuse earlier, because you were probably too shy to join the grill.

was your mind always so slow, and clumsy? "i— i, uh, yeah, still not finished." you forced out, and it would seem it was now your turn to stumble over the words. "you know how it is. work, work…" you let out a dry chuckle, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice.

"but didn’t you say you were on vacations?"

that much was true — still, you felt a little bit too tangled in your own web of lies and excuses. with a heavy sigh, you said: "yeah, 'cause they fired me. now i’m searching for a new job."

you didn’t know what tempted you to admit your woes, and you were already starting to feel regret. it was a surprise when instead of a teasing remark, you got met with consolation. "oh… that’s unfortunate. i’m sorry, [name]." Phainon said, his tone unusually serious.

you nodded to yourself. "nah, it’s nothing. i already sent a plenty of applications, so it’s only a matter of time before i’ll be back on my feet." you huffed out a breathy chuckle. "you won’t be bothering me any longer."

"and so you’ll leave?"

you blinked, sensing the faceless voice become more muffled, and distant now. you almost hoped he would laugh at your sarcastic comment, but nothing of the sort reached you. "i suppose."

why was he asking such obvious questions? the day you met, you clearly stated you wouldn’t linger for too long — and now Phainon had the audacity to act all solemn when you simply repeated the facts. but, perhaps, you were a little sad too, to part with this countryside. if you could, you’d try and prolong your stay — however, the savings in your bank account weren’t looking as promising, and you knew you had to get a grip. long gone were the days of your parents supporting you.

"ah, i know, i just—" he lagged, "never mind. you know what’s best for you, [name]."

hearing the evident defeat in his tone, you banged at the wall, once but hard. you didn’t like when he was acting so odd. upon your action, you received a startled yelp from the other side — and then a laugh. "stop acting as if i’m going to die, Phainon. maybe i’ll come visit in a year, or two."

"yeah! that sounds— that sounds great." he said, and you pretended to ignore how fake his upbeat words sounded.

you glued yourself off from the wall, lying down in your bed. for some reason, your eyelids got heavy, and the tension that built up between you appeared unbearable (at least in your opinion). "i’m going now. goodnight." you called, pulling the sheets over your body.

you frowned when you received no reply, but didn’t push further.

——

you were… stalling.

right now, the calendar clearly indicated twenty-first of june, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the innocent object, as if it was its fault for your reluctance to leave.

you have tried to pack and go — truly. but a week ago, when you opened your suitcases, you heard a characteristic knock on the wall — and then you proceeded to talk with Phainon for one hour, before deciding to go out on the balcony, and converse for another two.

three days ago, you’ve gathered up your resolve, swearing you wouldn’t get distracted this time — except Bubbles was nowhere in sight, and after your restless search for the animal, you spotted it sprawled out in Phainon’s garden, its tail flickering gently as it leisurely rolled over to the side, obviously relishing in the sun. with a heavy sigh, you committed the act of breaking and entering — well, could you even call it that, when the gate of his fence was open? (thank gods he was at work then).

yesterday, you already had enough of your laziness, and even started taking out your clothes from the wardrobe, but then Castorice, who you managed to become friends with, payed you a visit with a big tray of strawberry cake (bless that woman’s soul).

and so, you finally took the fate’s hint, and decided to lay off your departure preparations for now. it was honestly terrifying how easily it came to you — you simply checked your financial situation, esteeming it as poor but manageable, called your parents to let them know you’ll stay for another week or two, and then pushed the suitcases to the corner of your room.

alas, your quiet day of tranquility came to an end rather quickly, and the second you saw who was calling you up, you almost started to curse yourself out for forgetting — astronomical day of summer, and that damned festival…

you swiped over your phone’s screen, picking up with reluctance. "what?" you greeted dryly, not even bothering to contain your disdain.

"[name]!" that usual, awfully cheery voice resonated from the speaker, and you frowned upon hearing it so loudly. "are you free today?"

you wanted to say — what do you think?, but due to tradition, kept your mouth shut.

"yeah." you offered instead, leaning on the soft cushions of your couch, rubbing at your temples. it would be easier to say no, but the longer you spent in this countryside, the further your weird fear of missing out grew — and since you’ll be leaving soon anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to socialize some more… probably.

you heard the weak sound of shuffling. "great! uhh, do you remember about the festival? maybe you’d like to join us?" you opened your mouth to reply, but Phainon didn’t even give you the chance of voicing your opinion. "well, i’ll be at your door at around… 6 PM? oh, and Mydei and Cas are coming too, just so you know.”

an exasperated groan ripped from your throat, and you wanted to berate him for not letting you speak — it would seem he already made the decision for you. "fine, geez, calm down." you muttered, the corners of your lips itching upwards at his hasty rambling. "just don’t be too late, okay?"

"of course, i’d never let my beloved neighbor wait for me!" he laughed, and you looked up at your ceiling, as if calling out for help from the gods. it appeared they preferred to ignore you today.

you didn’t even say goodbye, immediately hanging up with a sigh of relief. the clock hands indicated a late afternoon, so perhaps it would be better to start getting ready now. you pulled yourself upright, already tired by the vision of an indescribably long day ahead of you.

the loud, upbeat music attacked your ears as you stood tucked away in some corner with Phainon, not wanting to obscure the road for other people, as there were rather plenty amounts of them moving around. only after a prolonged minute of suffering, you noticed you were literally standing by the tall, big speakers — no wonder the music was so unbelievably notorious.

your casual outing started rather calmly, even though you could already hear the clamor from the distance — good thing your house was located far away from the vast fields, now pumping with life as everyone either drank, danced, or tried to shoot their shot with the games. only halfway through your walk, Mydei called Phainon to let him know that something came up — your neighbor’s face fell, and as you asked him what’s wrong, he explained about the 'cows' and 'complicated labor', and that Mydei and Castorice won’t come.

you nodded stiffly, hardly making any sense from his words, but that’s the life of a veterinarian, you supposed. still, the dread of being forced to spend time alone with him — not just talking on the balcony, or bickering through your fence (or wall, as of now), but rather really, really spending time. just the two of you, with no one around to help you out of the awkward situation.

and so, right now you were shifting your weight from one leg to another, pondering how long you’ll have to keep loitering before Phainon graciously offers something to do. his blue irises flickered over to your form time to time, and every time your gazes met, all he did was let out a nervous chuckle.

it would appear he didn’t think the situation through, just like you.

you tugged at his t-shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level. damn him, and his stupid genes for making him so tall. "what should we do?" you asked, keeping your voice audible enough to pierce through the commotion.

Phainon’s whole body seemed to react to your words, his tense shoulders slouching with relief. "there’s many things we could try." he offered, still leaning so close to your face, you could almost smell the minty scent of his breath. for some reason, now you were the stiff one, your nape washing over with salves of hotness. "would you like a drink? or try some games?"

you studied his smile, as friendly as ever, and looked around to scan your surroundings. "maybe games?" you decided weakly, recalling how he once complimented your throwing skills — you doubted it was genuine, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

the man nodded in understanding, the corners of his lips curling upwards even further as he started to take wide steps towards one of the stalls. you pushed through the crowd, trying to keep up with him — not only was he tall, but he had long legs too! ugh, you supposed those things go in pair.

after searching for an adequate game to play, you finally stood before a rather simple one — throw the balls into buckets, win a prize. easy, no? except the buckets were small, and the balls absurdly light — for a second, you wanted to tell Phainon it was an absolute scam, but he seemed so hellbent you decided to keep quiet. it’s not like he’d listen to you, anyway.

your neighbor’s turn came first, and you snickered under your breath as he kept missing. at first, he boasted just how great he is at the game — then, as his frustration grew, he proceeded to whine and wail at how rigged it was.

"you absolutely suck." you clicked your tongue, tilting your head to the side as you observed him throw in the last ball — it rolled off the table’s surface, disappearing somewhere your eyes didn’t reach.

Phainon’s face whipped in your direction as he frowned at the comment, his eyebrows knitting together. "i swear i don’t!" he retaliated, a mixture of disappointment and ire painted across his features. "if you’re so smart, then why don’t you try yourself, huh?"

the game organizer laughed at your interaction, his gaze flickering over to you, as if he was beckoning you to test your strength. with a shrug, you paid the fee, and the older man handed you five balls. you tested their weight in your palms — light, just as you thought. you knew you’ll probably fail just as miserably as Phainon, so you threw one of them without much finesse — and you actually succeeded. your eyes widened in surprise as the owner of the stall whistled, a rumbling chuckle escaping his mouth.

"well, would you look at that!" the stranger exclaimed, as if even he was taken aback. "sir, turns out your lady is much better at the game than you!" he laughed once more, and you gaped— what did he just call you?

you looked at Phainon, wholeheartedly expecting him to correct the man, but all he did was give him a tight-lipped smile, scratching his neck abashedly. maybe he didn’t hear the older one clearly? well, never mind, it’s no use dwelling on that — you threw another ball, trying to mimic your movement from earlier — it fell into the bucket. the third one wasn’t so lucky, but the fourth one managed to score as well.

Phainon stood behind your back, his hands flying over to your shoulders and shaking you excitedly, "c’mon, [name], you got this! only one left!" he exclaimed animatedly right beside your ear, making your skin crawl at his overly-enthusiastic demeanor — it would seem his earlier bitterness completely dissipated now.

you huffed, shaking him away. "lie off or i’ll miss!" you said, straining your tone to dominate over the ever-present loud music and noise. he took an obedient step back, and you swear you actually started to feel a little afraid of losing now — it’s not like they’ll have you publicly executed if you mess up, right? right?

with a bated breath, you threw the remaining ball into the bucket — you anxiously observed it swivel around, almost threatening to fall out, itching over the edge — and then, it rolled down, stopping at the bucket’s bottom. you caught yourself wanting to jump up in triumph, but all you did was send a self-satisfied smirk towards Phainon, obviously signifying: see? i’m better.

the man cheered in your stead, reaching over to pat your back, and you couldn’t help but relish in the positive attention directed straight at you.

the stall owner cleared his throat, gesturing towards the row of plush toys located behind him. "for four successful throws, you can choose something from this section." he explained, and you measured the cute muzzles of various animals — you almost pointed towards the cat of an eerie resemblance with Bubbles, but then another one caught your attention. a dog of white fur, it’s dark, beady eyes sticking out, as if the object was mutely begging to be picked.

"i’ll have that one, please." you said, gesticulating towards the toy. it was given to you, and you inspected its goofy face, smiling unconsciously at the slightly crooked nose.

you then turned to Phainon, pushing the thing into his arms. personally, you had no need of stuffed toys, and the space in your suitcases was already very limited, so there was no way you’d drag it all the way home. and… perhaps it was worth it, looking at the way his whole face lit up. "oh, is that for me?" he cooed, lifting the dog to his eye-level.

you shrugged nonchalantly, pretending as if you didn’t notice the way Phainon continued to ogle the toy for the whole time of your game. "yeah. never thought i’d see someone who’s pushing thirty being so excited to have a stuffie." you remarked sarcastically, though your voice lacked in any real bite.

"thank you, [name], i’m going to cherish it forever now!" he ignored your comment, leaning down to embrace your shoulders with his free arm, the white dog resting under another — and for some reason, you didn’t find yourself pulling away. a mere eye-roll would be enough to voice your completely truthful, and totally not feigned disdain for the action.

after you were done hopping around all the other stalls, you decided to sit down for a drink — which in your humble opinion, wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t find the strength to refuse Phainon. you huddled with him on the lengthy benches, one of your sides pressing against him, and the other briefly brushing against some unfamiliar woman, who seemed to be too occupied with her conversation to even pay you any attention. which, of course, you were grateful for.

the same couldn’t be said about Phainon, who casually leaned over the wooden table’s surfaces, happily chattering with acquaintances and strangers alike, occasionally introducing you.

you stopped at one cup of beer, deeming that as enough, but your lovely neighbor continued to drink one after another — after the fourth glass, you stopped counting. he seemed to uphold pretty well, still talking with enough finesse to make out what he wanted to communicate, and even asking you out for a dance multiple times — it’s not hard to guess whether you decided to accept, or decline.

still, nothing lasts forever, and soon it got dark enough, with you becoming quite bored with sitting around and listening to the conversations around you. Phainon’s face was now slightly blushed, and his hair disheveled more than usually, which was an obvious sign you better go before he starts making a fool out of himself.

right now, you were practically dragging his arm forwards, berating yourself for thinking you could ever deal with that man-child. "c’mon, move faster or i’ll leave you here, and you’ll perish in those bushes." you urged, pointing towards the rather dense flora on the side of the road.

he chuckled in response. "nah, you wouldn’t."

"wanna see for yourself?"

that seemed to shut him up. for now.

a beat of silence passed as you tried navigating through the darkness, the only source of light being moon, and the distant leds of the festival. "[name], did you enjoy yourself today?" a slightly unsure, but still obliviously jovial tone came from beside you.

"i guess." you responded dryly, even though a multitude of insults kept forcing themselves onto your tongue. for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to throw any mean comments at the man — which was unusual, so perhaps you were drunk too. no matter if you only had one cup.

"you guess?" Phainon started, the syllables of his words slurring slightly, "that’s not an answer, y'know!"

you huffed, deciding to indulge his drunken mind. "yes, i had fun today, thanks to you, and only you. happy?" you deadpanned, and the man’s eyes seemed to brighten as he reached out to ruffle your hair, still trailing one step behind like a lost puppy.

"very!" he affirmed, nodding excitedly. seriously, if he was pathetic while sober, then what levels did he reach now?

you sighed with resignation, shaking your head as you continued to lead Phainon towards your houses. once you got there, he was almost ready to bid you goodbye, but you opened the gate for him, ushering the man to step forward. looking at the stumble in his step, that moron could accidentally hurt himself — and you didn’t want to explain to the paramedics how your neighbor decided to get wasted, proceeding to slip on the cobblestone stairs of his place, and cracking his skull open.

"ah, [name]," Phainon crooned, batting his thick eyelashes at you, "i didn’t know you actually have a heart!" he joked, wincing when you slapped him across the wrist.

"i just don’t think you’re capable of conquering the stairs by yourself, dumbass." you nagged, though truthfully, your worries stretched much further. a drunk person is extremely vulnerable, and, well, Phainon could be rather… unfortunate at times, so you’d better not risk it.

the man dragged his feet over to the entrance, patting the pockets of his pants before pulling out the keys. after another failed attempt of pushing them inside the lock, you clicked your tongue in irritation, taking them and opening the door yourself. it was your first time visiting the man — such a way to make an impression — so you looked around the space of his home, thinking it was rather cluttered for someone living alone. not to mention, that house was built at least for a family of three — and he never mentioned having any, so why is he…

"do you really live here alone?" you found yourself asking, observing Phainon as he struggled to close the door.

you briefly noticed his shoulders stiffen, but he nodded. "for some time now, yeah." he answered, his voice quieter than usually. he turned to you upon hearing the lock click, his smile a little too tight, and you sensed you were treading into a dangerous territory.

your curiosity almost got the better of you, especially since he was drunk, and would probably spill anything you wanted to know — but you quickly discarded the idea, thinking you could never take advantage of him. "alright, i won’t ask. stay there, i’ll bring you a glass of water."

Phainon nodded obediently, leaning on the wall as you turned on the big light, and tried to find your way to the kitchen — which obviously wasn’t hard, because as it turns out, even the layout of your rooms was the same.

you swiftly took out a singular cup, filling it up with tap-water before your attention got caught by something on the fridge — a few photos stuck to the surface with colorful magnets. it wouldn’t be polite to pry, alas your earlier ignited curiosity demanded for you to take a closer look — and so, you stepped a forwards, quickly scanning the contents.

the first one depicted Phainon and Mydei in their veterinary uniforms — the blonde’s man arm was loosely slung over Phainon’s back as they posed for the casual photo. a small, brown puppy sat in his embrace as your neighbor smiled widely at the camera, exposing a row of pearly whites. for some reason, he looked happier then.

next one was of similar nature, with Castorice and Phainon sat atop some hay, two calves resting on their laps — nothing else caught your attention.

the third picture was much more thought-provoking. Phainon and an unfamiliar girl of fuchsia hair stood in front of a sea — her lips were curled into a smirk, while the man’s mouth was open, brows furrowed, as if the photo was taken during some kind of a lighthearted bicker. you didn’t know who she was.

another one presented you with more context — a family of four, posing in front of a statue you couldn’t exactly discern. the fuchsia-haired girl seemed to be his sister, leaning on Phainon’s side as she licked on some icecream. beside them stood two other people — a woman of the same fair locks Phainon possessed, and a man, grinning from ear to ear with thumbs-up.

your eyes already flew over to the next one, but a distant call rapidly snapped you out of your reveries, almost causing you to drop the glass. "[name]! did you die here, or something?"

you cursed under your breath. "coming!"

you forced your feet to move, but your thoughts still reeled over and over again, and you felt an uncomfortable ache in your chest — just what happened to Phainon? where was his family now? did they decide to move, leaving him alone here? oh, but that didn’t make any sense — the house was obviously full of their stuff, because there was no way he would need so much of everything.

you decided to abandon your pondering for now, thinking you’d find another occasion to ask. "sorry i took so long. let’s go to your bedroom." you breathed, flashing him an apologetic smile.

Phainon didn’t protest, beginning to climb upstairs with you in tow, making sure that if he stumbled, you’d be there to catch him. his bedroom was even more so cluttered than the entirety of the house — books sprawled out on the desk with papers messily thrown around, ceramic figurines sitting atop some shelves, a few plastic bottles of water discarded all about the space — still, you thought it definitely fit him.

"ugh, i’m so exhausted." he groaned, sitting on the mattress as you handed him the glass, turning on a small lamp standing on the bedside table. the man sipped the water hastily, tilting it at such an unfortunate angle it spilled across his torso, soaking his t-shirt. Phainon mouthed something under his nose, placing the plush toy beside his head as he fell heavily onto the bed.

you rolled your eyes, observing his half-asleep form. "seriously?" you asked, searching his wardrobe for a new top — once you succeeded, you turned to face him again. "at least change, for gods’ sake."

Phainon voiced a sound of protest. "don’t wanna. too tired." he mumbled, evidently defeated by the alcohol still running through his bloodstream with fervor.

you sighed, closing the distance between you, and begrudgingly easing his shoes off, placing them neatly in the corner of the room. then, you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards. Phainon laughed weakly at your action, his big palms catching your wrists. "wow, i didn’t take you for someone so bold." he gave you a lopsided grin, and you wished you could smack him across the head.

"shut up." you warned, and the man thought to lie off with the teasing remarks — a wise decision indeed.

you took off the clothing, throwing it on the nearest chair before you started to tug on the new, dry tee on his shoulders. "arms up." you instructed, and you felt as if you were playing dress-up with a very large, uncooperative doll (meanwhile also having to avert your eyes, because staring at the toned chest was definitely improper).

Phainon hummed in satisfaction, stretching out. "thanks, [name]. what would i do without you?" he mused, and you found yourself terrified to hear that his voice was unusually tender. why were you helping him in the first place?

(the answer lied somewhere far away, at the back of your disarrayed mind — but for now you were way too scared of admitting it, even in your thoughts).

you gently grabbed his shoulder, pushing him to lie on his side. "stay like that. preferably don’t move at all." you said, your eyebrows unconsciously narrowing together. "if— if something happens, just call me up, or knock at the wall. understood?"

before you could even take a step back, a hand shoot out to grasp yours — your breath hitched, eyes widening as you felt Phainon’s fingers locking through yours, keeping you in his grip. "are you going already?" he asked, his hazy gaze seeking you out with such insistence, you thought your heart might just crawl out from your throat.

what was he doing to you?

"…probably. you need to sleep it off." you murmured meekly, trying to keep your voice steady. "don’t want to bother you any longer."

Phainon huffed out a dry chuckle at that. "bother me? you could never, [name]." he spoke, and something in your gut told you he must have hit his head earlier, when you weren’t paying attention.

upon receiving no reply from you, his expression shifted into something slightly dejected, and you wanted to burst out from a mixture of ambivalent emotions swirling in your poor brain. "when are you leaving? i mean, the countryside." he inquired quietly, pressing his fingers tighter around yours. you hated how easily you could discern anxiety in his eyes.

you considered his words, leaning down, just a little. "don’t worry about it now."

the man seemed unsatisfied with your dismissive answer, a somber grimace blooming on his face. "tell me."

you let the air out from your lungs; why not add it to your list? stubborn as a donkey. "soon. in a week, or so." you explained, your erratic heartbeat still yet to falter. "maybe longer, maybe not. we’ll see."

Phainon mulled over your words, the cogs in his mind turning slowly as he tried to process whatever information you threw at him. "and will you visit soon?" he questioned finally.

that you weren’t sure of. what’s his definition of 'soon'? a few months? a year? well, if you know Phainon, you’d bet all of your money for an absurdly short amount of time — something like… five days. maybe four. "i don’t know." you answered truthfully, because you didn’t feel like lying him straight in the eyes.

for a brief second, he looked done with the interrogation, but then, his mouth opened again. "and must you… must you really leave? [name], i—" he winced, hissing in pain. you knew drinking would be a bad idea. "i know you have your own life, but it’s not like— it’s not like you’re not enjoying yourself, right? i could help you find a job here, actually, i already have a plenty of ideas what—"

your free hand shoot up, cutting his slurred rambling short — now that was new. you knew Phainon got attached, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get as well, but you never thought it extended to such an intensity. your annoying, irritating, absolutely awful neighbor was thinking of searching for a job, specifically for you — and for what? so you’d stay?

you couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore, and you thought you actually blessed him with a favor by interrupting the vulnerable rant. in the morning, when he sobers up, Phainon would surely regret spilling so much (that is, if he even remembered).

still, his desperation with constantly seeking you out, and making vast effort to please you remained a riddle — and then, as you frowned at his expression bordering on panic, you came to a rather simple, albeit morose conclusion — he was lonely. previously, you were sure things like that stretched only in your direction, but upon looking through the cracks of his mirthful mask, you couldn’t ignore the vivid sorrow seeping out of him.

you recalled how much he enjoyed talking, and occupying himself with anything, at all times, as if only to keep his mind busy. earlier on, you didn’t understand how someone could possibly push through a long day of work, and then demand even more stimulation — now it was almost logical. then, his quiet nature when he was alone, either reading or doing gods know what, treading his bedroom so silently you wouldn’t even know he was there.

and finally, the photos of his family, stuck to the fridge, their smiling faces frozen forever in time. if Phainon had a fallout with them, surely he wouldn’t keep the memories exposed in such an obvious place — the possibilities tugging along with that conclusion almost made your heart stop, your stomach churning uncomfortably.

"Phainon." you spoke, trying not to show how much all of this affected you. "you’re drunk, and you don’t make much sense. we’ll talk about this once you’re sober, alright?"

that stupid glimmer of hope in his eyes seemed to go dim, and he merely nodded in understanding, ultimately deciding to ease his grip from your hand. you slipped it away from his slender fingers, instead reaching to his tousled hair, and brushing the bangs away from his forehead. "i’ll go now. sleep well."

"okay. you too." the man answered, and you waved at him briefly before silently shutting the door, and descending downstairs. if you wanted to, you could go take a peek at the photos again — but for some reason, it felt like a way of betraying trust — even if Phainon didn’t know you were doing it. still, you decided to stick with your moral compass, and left the house altogether, your heart unbelievably heavy.

——

twenty-second of june. the morning started out slow, with you waking up barely after 7 AM, and even though sleepiness continuously pulled you down into the mattress, you decided against lying and lazing around.

your thoughts were still heavy with what occurred yesterday, and the vision of Phainon’s utterly defeated, slightly flushed face haunted your memories, causing you to become restless. perhaps, you felt a little… well, bad, about leaving him alone when he oh-so obviously needed company — and if you’re not mistaken, he’s probably sleeping now, or just awoke with an insistent headache, completely hangover.

upon your guilt, a wonderful idea sparkled within your half-working brain — why not make him a gift, preferably some dry food, as if just to settle his stomach (in case the alcohol wanted to make its last revenge, and cause Phainon nausea as he hopelessly bent over the toilet).

with that, you concluded mere sugar cookies should be fitting — not overly sweet, but dainty enough for an appropriate gift — and most importantly, easy to make. for a second, your aspirations rose higher, and you almost found yourself calling up Mydei to ask him for assistance, but who in their right mind would get up at seven on the sunday morning? you quickly discarded the idea, afraid of meeting with his ire.

you were no cook, and baking was never your strongest forte, however after one hour of wrestling with the batter, and your slightly cranky oven, you were done (the recipe said it would only take thirty minutes, so maybe you were the problem). still, you couldn’t help but gaze at the product of your efforts with pride, now sitting nicely atop the tray. you tasted one — and while it wasn’t perfect, you deemed it as enough.

not so long ago, you let yourself buy a rather beautiful summer dress, with a ribbon tied loosely around its waist — and so you donned the piece, allowing the liberty of appearing somewhat presentable after a long night of tossing and turning. you didn’t bother packing the cookies into a container, instead parading straight into Phainon’s yard with tray in your hands — your thoughts reeled as you wondered what excuse should you offer. you made too many, and wished to share? they tasted shit, but you don’t want to waste? or — or anything, if only you didn’t have to admit that indeed, you were worried, and wanted to make him a pleasant surprise.

after all, it’s unlike you to be so openly kind — and you aren’t kind, no, you were always supposed to be stern and rigid. except now that facade you built up specifically for your difficult neighbor would be hard to uphold — with you dressed in a sweet summer dress, carrying cookies straight to his door.

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, feeling waves of heat crash over you, either due to nerves or the sun, that shone brightly down on you, even though it was still early in the morning. what could you say once you look him in the eye? how will he react?

you took a few steps forwards on the freshly cut grass, which Phainon seemed to enjoy mowing at the crack of dawn (as if only to spite you), and before you could spiral downwards your slide of overthinking, the front door opened, a familiar silhouette emerging — that’s not how it was supposed to go!

you stopped dead in your tracks, feeling the surprisingly feisty wind whip at your cheeks — Phainon didn’t seem to notice you at first, his irises downcast as he intently studied the pattern of his cobblestone stairs with a pensive expression. you coughed, immediately catching his attention — like a medicine, the man’s whole face lit up, and he beamed at you.

"[name], hi!" he greeted, skipping over to your frozen form. your vision briefly scanned his appearance — he obviously showered not so long ago, now changed into a set of new clothes. "how are you? i was afraid you might be mad at me for the stunt i pulled yesterday." he laughed sheepishly, his eyes locked on yours, as if he completely failed to spot the tray of cookies.

it wasn’t easy, but you forced yourself to speak up. "no, i’m not angry at you." you explained in a strained voice. "actually, i was— uh, you know, wondering if you’re okay, and all that."

Phainon blinked at you, still smiling like a moron, the cogs of his brain turning — and then something seemed to click, because his eyebrows narrowed in a heartfelt manner. "ah, don’t say…" he glanced down at the thing in your palms, the corners of his lips itching even wider.

you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "yeah, that’s for you." you affirmed, sensing his uncertainty. then, you took in his pale skin, and the prominent eyebags, hanging lowly under the twins of blue. "are you hangover? you look like shit."

that earned a chuckle, and you almost sighed in relief upon hearing the sound of joy you earlier seemed to despise so much. "a little.” he breathed, "still, i can’t believe my dear [name] was so kind to bake for me—!"

you growled in exasperation, and Phainon stopped his sentence before your grimace could deepen any further. "if you don’t like it, then i’ll just eat the cookies myself." you huffed, flustered by the teasing remark. you wanted nothing more but to let your soul step away from your body, and bolt the opposite way.

"no, no!" the man gesticulated animatedly, shaking his head as his features turned coy again, "i like it. i love it, actually. it’s very sweet of you to think about me— so, uh, thank you." he laughed nervously, his palms reaching towards the tray.

you rolled your eyes fondly at his stammering, opening your mouth to offer a response — but then, a sudden, definitely more stronger gust of wind hit you both, causing the ribbon of your dress to unravel loose, and fly up into the air. you gasped, your eyes widening — Phainon didn’t seem to think much when he practically jolted for the lace, outstretching his arm to catch it.

and, since fate thoroughly enjoyed making a fool out of you both — your neighbor stumbled over your own legs as his chest collided with yours, subjecting you two to the inevitable pull of gravity while the cookies went flying along with the tray, and you finally crashed onto the soft grass with a thud.

you gaped, staring at Phainon’s equally bewildered face, now hovering above yours. you tried to catch a breath the impact successfully knocked out of your chest — or maybe your inability of proper breathing was caused by the rather close proximity between you and the man.

"got it." he announced dryly, gripping the ribbon in his hand — which also happened to block out your shoulders, tightly trapped beneath him.

you don’t know what caused it to be so funny — all the effort you put into making the cookies, now wasted as they lied discarded somewhere, ants probably gathering to collect the sweetness of the dough. or maybe just how utterly terrified Phainon looked — pupils blown wide, eyebrows shoot practically into the hairline — his eyes studying you with panic, as if you’ve broken at least ten bones.

still, you couldn’t help but erupt into salves of laughter, pressing your eyelids shut as you continued to wheeze, so hard and intensely you started to feel tears gathering up, your whole stomach hurting. Phainon at first seemed confused, thinking that perhaps you hit your head too hard — but then joined in on your cackling, the sound ringing clearly by your ears.

you tried to recall when was the last time you laughed so hard — and you honestly couldn’t, because moments like these were unbelievably rare in your life. when you could let your guard down, completely disarmed — it would appear Phainon somehow managed to pry your psyche open, reaching into your brain, and fixing the circuits.

upon finally calming down, you slowly opened your teary eyes, looking up at the man — the sun shone brightly from behind his head, encompassing the while locks with its light, and you almost caught yourself thinking he looked like an angel, donning a halo. from this up close, you could easily discern the slightest scrunch of his nose, and the faint scar running across its bridge — Bubble’s making.

you hated yourself for it, but in a dream you don’t tell anyone, Phainon and you remain together. you don’t leave the countryside, finding a humble job. your neighbor helps you move in for good, tugging the suitcases with your stuff upstairs, and you let him decorate your room while you fold the clothes. you let him into your life, and he allows you into his — it would be a lie if you told you could remember when the line between neighbors, friends, and something more began to fade into one.

and then, when your poor brain began melting into a puddle, his voice snapped you out of the stupor. "[name], are you— are you alright?" he questioned, still smiling, albeit shyly now. oh, right — you almost forgot. he was still pressing you into the ground.

"what do you think?" you found yourself asking, that comically familiar sense of déjà vu washing over you at once.

in response, Phainon let out a timid chuckle, his face blushing a furious red, and you thought — maybe i’ll stay. perhaps that dream of yours, which previously appeared as an unattainable desire could become true. for some reason, you felt older, more tired now, and so you didn’t wish to part.

(you couldn’t. not when he looked at you like that.)

the man cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes. "i’m sorry. ah, the cookies, and—" he stammered, "your dress, i’m—"

that evoked a chuckle out of you, and you reached for the crown of his hair, giving him a consoling caress (which was supposed to help, but only made him shrink even more). "everything’s alright, no need to apologize." you hummed, smiling so widely it felt almost unnatural.

Phainon immediately nodded, making quick work of standing up, and helping you upright, perhaps a bit rapidly. "gosh, i’m so embarrassed now." he muttered, his tone bashful as he studied your form, as if searching for any injuries. "are you sure you’re alright?"

"i should be the one asking you that." you sighed, resting your hands on your hips. "you look as if you’re going to combust any moment."

the man laughed, scratching his nape — which was his nervous habit, you deduced by now. "i mean— yeah, yeah i s'pose so…" he mumbled under his breath, taking a reluctant step towards his house. "come inside, i’ll give you something to drink, or, i don’t know, have you eaten breakfast yet? i could make you some." he rambled, the loquacious tongue working overtime.

you nodded in a grateful manner, falling into step beside Phainon. then, you paused, as if remembering something. "oh, by the way, is that job offer you found for me still available?"

your neighbor stopped in his tracks, his face whipping towards you so quickly you were surprised to find he didn’t accidentally snap his neck — then, his expression morphed between astonishment and joy so vast you thought he might genuinely explode into a puff of confetti and glitter.

"what?" he asked dumbly, jaw slack.

a shrug. "you heard me."

the fuses in his mind seemed to lit up simultaneously, his contagious grin spreading over to your mouth. "so, does that mean you’re going to stay?" Phainon questioned, though it sounded more like a statement.

"yeah, i—"

before you could even think of finishing your sentence, strong arms whipped around your waist, hoisting you up into the air. you yelped, a surprised giggle ripping from your throat when Phainon twirled you around, cheering with joy as big as the life itself. you instinctively grabbed his shoulders to secure yourself, laughing along.

"h-hey, set me down!" you forced out, briefly glancing at the elderly couple strolling by, and watching the whole charade with evident amusement.

he shook his head in protest, pressing the side of his face to your shoulder, and you thought he truly resembled a dog. "oh, you’ve no idea how happy i am!" Phainon exclaimed — all you could do was roll your eyes in response, accepting defeat.

as he held you close — so tightly it felt as if your ribs might crush — all your uncertainties began to dissolve, vanishing like snow beneath the first sun rays of spring. at that moment, you knew with unwavering certainty that deciding to stay in this countryside was the right choice. undoubtedly so.

the truth is, everything was better with Phainon. no — everything has became better. ever since him, your dull days began to harbor more meaning. he didn’t simply enter your life — he seemed to force his way inside, bothering you with a multitude of jokes that hardly landed, and his nature of a chatterbox, and all the annoyances, and you still found yourself yearning for more.

he filled you up with that odd, wild desire to know everything about life. even the simplest words from his mouth, a casual “will you visit me today?”, began to sound with the weight of: "come home, [name]."

and you would. every time.

#phainon x reader #this feeling when you wanted to write something fluffy #but it’s just another metaphor for grief #heyy at least i didn’t write pure angst for once #reader’s cat name is bubbles as in the chimera from hsr #pleaseee it’s so cute #also i didn’t specify the cat’s gender #so any cat owner reading this can insert their own cat lmfaooo #anyway i know this is super long but!#hsr #honkai star rail #phainon x y/n #phainon x you #phainon #hsr x reader #hsr phainon

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masorciereviolette · 1 day ago

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Hi, hope you’re having a good day! I was wondering if you could write an au Agatha x reader where R is in love with Agatha but Agatha is still hung up and chasing Rio and then R finds Agatha and Rio hugging and that’s when she finally snaps. Reader cries over Agatha and then her friends (maybe Jen, Lilia and Alice) tells her that it’s time for her to let Agatha go because she deserves to be loved the same way that she loves and Reader goes and does that. R starts to become distant from Agatha and starts talking to Wanda and Agatha started wondering why R is behaving like this and Lilia eventually tells her and now Agatha can’t help but feel jealous and possessive over R and now the tables have turned— Agatha is now chasing R after she realizes that she loves R. The angst and the pinning 😩😩😩 plus the fluff that comes after when Agatha finally won R back plus claiming R as hers ehem ehem… smut :> thank you so much!!!

The One Who Stayed

Pairing: Au Agatha Harkness x Reader, Past Agatha x Rio

Warnings: Small Time Jumps, Unresolved Feelings, Hurt, Angst, Pining, Past Toxic Relationship, Comfort, Minors DNI 18+, Graphic Sexual Descriptions, Happy Ending.

Word count: 17k

A/N: BRO OH MY GOD ?!? This request was insane but absolutely phenomenal— ✋🏽😭 I’ll warn you now there is slight pov switching but it’s not too bad. I had a few days off and as soon as I read this request I was OBSESSED and started IMMEDIATELY :)))

Taglist: @harknessshi

Masterlist Link

The worst part wasn’t the hug. It was the way Agatha melted into it. Like her body still remembered what it was like to hold Rio. Like it was the easiest thing in the world to fall back into arms that had once broken her.

Because even though Agatha never kissed you—never reached for you the way you reached for her, she never pushed you away either. She let you stay close. Let you love her in the quiet, unseen ways. Bringing her coffee when she forgot breakfast , staying late to help her organize lecture notes, listening when her voice shook after difficult conversations with the board.

She never really asked for any of it. But she never told you to stop. And so, you hoped. You hoped in the way people do when they have nothing else to stand on—carefully, foolishly, hungrily. Maybe, just maybe, if you stayed… she’d look your way fully. She’d see it was you, not Rio, who had stayed behind all this time. Who had loved her through every shadow, but in that hallway, all your hope cracked.

The sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, painting golden lines on the stone floor, and there they were—Agatha and Rio. Just ahead. Just close enough. Agatha’s eyes were closed. Her arms looped around Rio’s waist, her cheek resting on her shoulder like it was some long-awaited exhale. Like comfort. Like home. Your heart didn’t break all at once. It caved in slowly, like a house collapsing under the weight of what was never reinforced.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your body locked in place, your chest burning with something sharp and wild, your hands curled into fists to stop the tremble that threatened to give you away. Maybe if you didn’t move, they wouldn’t notice you. Maybe if you stayed still enough, the moment would rewind itself. But it didn’t. So you turned—quietly, carefully—before either of them could see the way your face had started to crumple.

You made it out of the building. You even managed to smile at a student who passed you on the steps, their voice distant and muffled, like you were underwater. It wasn’t until you were home, safe behind the familiar click of your door, that the dam finally broke.

The tears came in waves. Silent. Angry. Inescapable. You slid down the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright, burying your face in your hands as your chest heaved in uneven bursts. It felt humiliating and cinematic all at once—like one of those scenes you used to scoff at in movies, thinking no one really fell apart like that.

But here you were. Cracked wide open on your hardwood floor, mourning something that was never really yours. And still…Still, in the back of your mind, curled in the small, deluded corners of your heart—You hoped she’d see you one day. Not as the friend who was always there. Not as the quiet support.

But as someone she could love. Because love wasn’t supposed to be something you had to earn. But with her, you’d been willing to try anyway and maybe that was the real tragedy. Not the hug. But the way you still wanted her, even after.

Your phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

You didn’t have the strength to look. Not right away. You were still curled on the floor, eyes red, throat raw, limbs heavy with grief you hadn’t earned the right to feel—not really. Not when Agatha had never been yours. Not when you had walked yourself into this heartbreak like it was inevitable. Eventually, with shaking fingers, you reached for your phone

Lilia: We’re coming over. Jen saw Rio leaving with Agatha.

Lilia: No arguing.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just sat there, knees to your chest, hoodie sleeves damp with tears that wouldn’t stop coming even though your body felt like it had nothing left.

Fifteen minutes later, the knock came. One sharp rap—Alice. Then three more, lighter and spaced—Lilia’s pattern. The last was a full open-palm impatient thump—Jen, impatient as always. The door creaked open. You hadn’t locked it. You heard the shuffle of shoes, the quiet gasp from Alice, and Lilia’s breath catching in her throat. Jen cursed under her breath.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Alice murmured, already kneeling beside you. Her hand reached to gently cradle the back of your head, guiding you up enough to rest against her shoulder. You let her. You didn’t have the fight in you to pretend you were fine.

“I’m here,” she whispered, soft and maternal. “We’ve got you.” Jen lowered herself to the floor in front of you, crossing her legs. Her tone wasn’t soft—it was never soft—but it was steady. Grounding.

“You give so much love,” she said, brushing your hair away from your damp cheeks with care that didn’t match her sharp voice. “To the wrong people, maybe. But you do. You love with your whole heart, and it’s beautiful.” She paused. “But you can’t keep giving it to someone who only sees you when it’s convenient.”

You flinched. Jen sighed, then leaned forward and took your hand “You deserve someone who doesn’t treat you like a backup plan.”

But it was Lilia—Lilia who’d been with you through every bad decision, every whispered hope about Agatha in the middle of the night—who finally shattered something inside you. She didn’t speak right away. She stood silently in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes rimmed red like she’d been crying too. Like she’d been holding it in for your sake.

When she finally stepped forward, her voice was quiet. Controlled. Like she didn’t trust herself to speak loudly “She’s not going to choose you.” You looked up, startled. Your lips parted, but no words came “Not while she’s still haunted by Rio,” Lilia continued, voice beginning to tremble. “She says she’s trying to let go, but she keeps going back. Over and over. And you…” Her voice cracked “You deserve to be loved like you’re it. Not like you’re next.”

You blinked, and the tears started again, silent and unrelenting. Lilia dropped to her knees in front of you, gripping your other hand tightly. “I’ve watched you shrink yourself for her. Wait for her. Make excuses. You deserve someone who doesn’t need time to realize what they have.”

“She doesn’t even see it,” Jen added quietly. “Doesn’t see what she’s doing to you.”

Alice held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to let her keep hurting you to prove you’re loyal.” And you broke. Not like a dam, but like a thread finally snapping—tired, frayed, done.

The sobs that came weren’t gentle. They were full-bodied, aching, sharp enough to leave your ribs sore. You felt Lilia’s hands tighten, Jen’s forehead press gently to your knee, Alice’s arms wrap fully around you like she could keep you from falling apart completely.

None of them said anything after that. Not for a while. They just stayed there. On the floor. With you. Later, they moved you to the couch, wrapped you in a blanket, and passed around mugs of tea no one really drank. Jen put on some quiet, wordless music. Alice braided your hair like she used to when you were in grade school. Lilia sat beside you in silence, her hand never leaving yours.

And still, you couldn’t sleep. Not even when the tears stopped, Not even when the house fell quiet. Not even when the weight of your friends anchored you enough to stay in one place. You just stared at the ceiling. Aching in places you didn’t have names for. Wondering how long it would take for hope to die. Wondering if it ever really would.

Over the next few weeks, you did the only thing you hadn’t tried yet. The thing everyone had told you to do long before you were ready. You let Agatha go. Not in some grand, cinematic way. There was no big confrontation, no dramatic goodbye. Just quiet choices. One by one. Until all that was left between you and her was silence.

You started with the emails. Her name used to make your heart skip—a flutter, a jolt, that electric ache of possibility. But now, every time her name lit up your inbox, it felt like a bruise being pressed. So when she sent another message about the joint lecture—“Need your input on the ethical paradox section. Thoughts?”—you stared at it for a long time. Then you hit “Forward.”

To Lilia. You typed out a single line: “You’re better at handling her anyway.” Then you closed your laptop. After that, it got easier. Or maybe just more mechanical. You stopped sitting beside her in the faculty lounge. There had always been this unspoken arrangement—you’d grab her favorite tea, she’d save you the spot by the window. That spot sat empty for a few days before another professor took it. You started eating lunch outside, even when the air turned sharp with cold. At least the wind didn’t pretend to care.

When Agatha passed you in the hallway, you didn’t look. She called your name once. Softly. You kept walking. You didn’t stop loving her. You just stopped letting her hurt you. It was raining the day you met Wanda. One of those gray, quiet rains that made the whole world feel a little softer around the edges.

You wandered into a bookstore on 9th and Langston, the kind of place that smelled like old pages and warm wood, a safe little cocoon from everything outside your chest. You headed straight for the poetry section, tucking yourself between narrow shelves and pretending the ache inside you could be soothed with Rilke and Dickinson.

You were holding a worn copy of Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet when a voice beside you spoke—light, curious, like a breeze slipping through an open window “That’s my favorite translation.”

You turned, startled. The woman standing beside you had soft auburn hair pulled into a loose braid and kind eyes that didn’t pry. She smiled, and it wasn’t the kind of smile that demanded anything. It just… was. Gentle. Honest. Patient “Oh?” you managed. Your voice was scratchy from disuse.

Wanda nodded, her gaze flicking to the book in your hand. “The Mitchell version. There’s something about the way he keeps the longing intact. Doesn’t dilute the pain, just… frames it.”

You blinked. Then, almost without meaning to, you whispered, “Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”

Her smile widened, softening the curve of her lips. “See?” she said, tilting her head. “You get it.”

You almost laughed. Almost. But it caught in your throat “Sorry,” you said instead, hugging the book to your chest. “I’m not great at—”

“Talking to strangers in bookstores during rainstorms?” she offered, still gentle. “I’m Wanda.” You nodded, too shy to give your name yet.

She didn’t push “Well, mystery poet,” she said, “if you ever want a recommendation, I practically live here.” She tapped her fingers on the shelf once, then turned and disappeared down the aisle.

You stood there for a long time, staring at the space where she’d been. You didn’t expect to see her again. But the next week, she was there—sitting on the floor near the fiction section, flipping through a novel, her thumb absently stroking the spine. She looked up when you walked by. This time, you smiled first “Hey,” you said.

Wanda grinned. “Took you long enough.” You ran into her again the week after that. And again the week after. Always in that little bookstore, always like fate didn’t need to announce itself to be real.

Each time, she asked more questions. Not the invasive kind. Just the curious, open-ended kind that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t invisible anymore. And little by little, you started breathing easier around her. Wanda was warm in the way that didn’t burn. She didn’t make your heart race with fear or doubt or longing. She didn’t keep you on a leash of half-promises and maybe-one-days. She just showed up. And stayed. And for the first time in a long, long while…That was enough.

Agatha noticed your absence almost immediately. At first, it was subtle—just a shift in the air. A missing presence in the faculty lounge. A silence where your laugh usually lived. She told herself you were just busy. Stressed. Needing space. But even as she said it in her head, she didn’t believe it.

What she hadn’t known—what she hadn’t wanted to know—was that you had found solace in someone else. She saw it for the first time one crisp morning outside the lecture halls, when the autumn chill had started biting at the edges of the breeze. Agatha was walking back from a meeting, preoccupied with thoughts of an upcoming board presentation, when she heard it

Your laugh. Clear. Bright. Free. It froze her mid-step. Her head turned instinctively. And there you were—shoulder to shoulder with someone unfamiliar. A woman with auburn hair, soft features, and eyes that never seemed to leave your face. You were holding a to-go coffee, smiling so widely your eyes crinkled at the corners. The woman reached out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Gesture small. Intimate.

Agatha’s stomach turned. She hadn’t seen that smile in weeks. Hadn’t been the cause of it in even longer. The redhead—Wanda. She remembered Lilia vaguely mentioning her as the new hire in the science department. She was standing a little too close for Agatha’s liking. Your arms brushed, and neither of you moved away. Wanda said something else, too quiet to hear, and you laughed again, head tipping back with ease.

It was that ease that gutted her. The absence of tension in your shoulders. The way your eyes softened without hesitation. That used to be hers—or at least she thought it was. She didn’t mean to speak, but your name slipped out—softly, uncertain “(Y/N).”

You looked over. Just slightly. Just enough to acknowledge her then, calmly—coldly—you said, “Professor Harkness.” A nod. That was it. Like she was a stranger. A colleague. An echo.

You turned back to Wanda before the ache in Agatha’s chest had time to bloom fully, and walked with her into the building, laughter still lingering in the air like smoke. The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet. And in place of your voice came sterile, clipped messages from someone else entirely.

Her inbox began to fill with updates about the joint philosophy lecture series. Lesson plans. PowerPoints. Adjusted timelines. But none of them were from you. They were from Professor Calderu. The fourth message read: “Please review the attached materials. I’ve also edited the speaker notes for clarity.”

The fifth one was worse “I’m handling all future collaboration at Professor (Y/L/N)’s request. Please send any correspondence to me directly going forward.” Agatha stared at it for a long time. Her hand hovered over the mouse, rereading it. Again. And again. As if the meaning might change. As if she might have misunderstood. But she hadn’t. You weren’t coming back. Not to the work. Not to her.

And it made something in her unravel—quietly, steadily. A slow rot of regret creeping through her chest like ivy. Jealousy was a cruel thing. Especially when it wore the face of someone you’d ignored too long. She started asking around. Casually. Or so she thought “Anyone seen Professor (Y/L/N) lately?” she asked one of the admin staff, feigning nonchalance.

“Not really,” came the reply. “Think she’s been working in the bio wing a lot. With that new hire—Wanda something?” Wanda. She tried again later with a colleague at lunch. “How’s that new biology professor everyone’s whispering about? The redhead.”

The response was knowing. “You mean the one always seen with (Y/N)? Yeah. They seem close.” Too close. It wasn’t until Lilia caught her lingering outside your department office that she finally snapped.

Agatha was standing there, staring at your nameplate like it might reveal something. Her arms were crossed, jaw tight, and she looked… lost. Like she couldn’t decide whether to knock or turn away. Lilia rounded the corner, stopping short “Seriously?”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

Lilia crossed her arms, brow arched with irritation. “Stop.”

Agatha frowned. “I’m not—”

“Yes,” Lilia said sharply, stepping closer. “You are. You’re hovering. You’re lurking. You’re doing that thing where you suddenly remember she exists only when someone else does too.”

“I’m not trying to make her feel guilty,” Agatha defended, but it came out weaker than she intended.

“You don’t have to,” Lilia shot back. “Your silence already did that. She waited for you. So long. She let herself hope, Agatha. And all the while, you kept her just close enough to hurt her.” Agatha’s mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away.

Lilia’s voice softened, but only slightly “She stopped waiting. And someone else saw her. Someone who actually wants to be there.”

Agatha’s hands clenched at her sides, Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “Just let her be happy.”

Then, without another word, she walked past her, heels clicking decisively down the hallway. Agatha stayed there for a long time. Still. Small. She didn’t know how to stop the feeling. It crept up on her slowly, like water seeping into cracks she hadn’t known were there. It made her heart race at the worst times, left her staring at walls too long, and made her fingers twitch toward her phone only to hesitate—hovering, uncertain, ashamed.

It hit her the hardest in the quiet spaces. The ones you used to fill. But sometimes, it roared. And sometimes, it burned. Like the day she saw you in the quad, sunlight in your hair, eyes crinkled in laughter as you sat beneath one of the sycamore trees with Wanda. Your knees were nearly touching, and Wanda’s fingers brushed yours—light, casual, familiar. And you didn’t pull away. You leaned in.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked away too fast, like the sun had blinded her. It happened again outside your office two days later. She’d lingered longer than she should have—told herself she was passing by on her way to the lounge. But then she heard it.

Your voice. But not the version she remembered. Not the soft, hesitant tones that wrapped around her like fog. Not the careful, deliberate quiet you always used when speaking to her, afraid to be too much or too open. This was different. You were laughing. Bright and free. Mid-conversation with someone—Wanda, probably. Your words spilled out without restraint, animated and unfiltered, and Agatha felt something twist deep in her chest. She turned before you could catch her there. Again.

You pass her in the hallways now and didn’t even blink. No pause. No hitch in your step. No hopeful glance her way like there used to be. You didn’t flinch from her silence because you no longer expected anything at all. You’d stopped looking for her. And for the first time, Agatha realized… she’d miscalculated everything. She’d spent so long chasing shadows of a woman who didn’t know how to love her properly, obsessing over the wreckage Rio left behind. She kept you close enough to feed her ego, to ease the loneliness, to feel adored. But she never let herself see what was truly in front of her.

Somewhere between the quiet coffees and the midnight drafts of lecture slides, somewhere between your soft smiles and the way you always stayed—Agatha had fallen in love with you. And she hadn’t even noticed. Not until you were gone. Not until she felt the ache of your absence like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing. She remembered how you used to look at her. Like she was something sacred. Like you were memorizing her in case she ever disappeared. Now, you looked past her. Like she was nothing more than a closed chapter.

Agatha Harkness was unraveling and quickly. Not publicly, of course. No one would dare suspect it. She was still the sharp, composed professor everyone respected, the woman with perfectly constructed sentences and biting wit. She still walked the halls of the university with her usual air of intellectual detachment, a storm wrapped in silk and sarcasm.

But underneath it all—behind the neatly lined eyes and the cool voice that never wavered—she was falling apart. Cracking like old porcelain. Quietly. Where no one could see. Every forced smile, every hollow “let’s catch up soon,” became another thread fraying at the edges of her composure. She moved through her days like a ghost trapped in her own body, her mind elsewhere—always chasing moments she had no right to miss.

It gets worse every time she sees you again almost unavoidably it seemed, this time tucked away in a quiet corner of the campus café, bathed in soft afternoon light. You were sitting across from Wanda—legs crossed beneath the table, hands loosely cradling a cup of tea. She was reading aloud from a book you clearly didn’t need help with, but you were smiling anyway. Beaming, even.

You had your chin in your palm, the other hand resting near hers on the table. Your eyes were warm—happy—focused completely on the woman across from you. And Agatha felt something lurch inside her. It was subtle at first. A dull ache at the back of her ribs. A weight in her throat. But then it bloomed into something heavier, something darker. She had to look away before she could see Wanda reach for your hand.

That night, she sat at her desk long after the sun went down, staring at the glowing screen of her laptop. The shared lecture folder—the one she hadn’t dared open in weeks—blinked up at her like a challenge. She clicked it open. Still nothing from you. Only Lilia’s updates. Sterile. Efficient. Lacking any of the life or banter that once filled the margins. Gone were your ridiculous subject lines, your poorly timed memes, your “I made edits but they’re probably terrible so feel free to mock me later” notes.

Gone was the quiet intimacy of your collaboration. The quiet presence of you. Her gaze drifted to the email thread between you two. Hundreds of exchanges. Lesson drafts, scholarly articles, late-night musings, questions about conference panels. Memes. Inside jokes. A string of life lived together in pixels and paragraphs.

She scrolled. Slowly. Searching for the moment everything shifted. She didn’t realize she was crying until a single tear splashed onto the keyboard, trailing across the spacebar. Another followed. Then another. Her breath caught.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much. Not when she’d chosen this. Not when she told herself she needed space—needed time to sort things out with Rio. To close that chapter properly, before she could start another. But it wasn’t Rio her heart ached for. It was you. It was always you. Why couldn’t she just see that before.

Every time you walked past her without a glance, it scraped across her like glass. Every time she saw you tucked into conversation with Wanda, fingers brushing or hands lingering a second too long, it sent her stomach into freefall. Not because she hated Wanda. She didn’t even know her.

But because Wanda knew what it was to make you laugh now. Because Wanda knew what it felt like to be the center of your world—something Agatha had taken for granted. Something she only realized she needed when it no longer belonged to her. And the worst part? You didn’t seem hurt anymore. You seemed happy. Genuinely, quietly, peacefully happy.

And Agatha hated how much it made her want to scream. How much she envied the ease in your eyes, the way your shoulders had uncurled. The way you no longer carried her absence like a wound. You had healed. And she—who once believed she was immune to this kind of ache—was breaking. Piece by quiet piece.

Still, something inside her refused to accept that this was the inevitable ending. Not when she hadn’t said it. Not when you hadn’t heard her mean it. Not when there was still time left to fix this. So she made herself a promise. This wasn’t how your story ended. Not if she could help it. Not when she’d finally figured out who she couldn’t live without.

She started showing up in your orbit more often. At first, it was subtle. Innocent, almost. A book “accidentally” left in the faculty lounge—one she knew you’d been meaning to borrow. Her favorite annotated copy, spine worn and pages lined with ink.

A quiet afternoon spent in the back corner of the library, not even pretending to read, just hoping to catch a glimpse of you grading papers near the windows where the sun hit just right. She’d linger by the entrance of your classroom when your door was open, asking Lilia vague questions about curriculum structure she already knew the answers to. Anything for a few extra seconds of proximity.

But you never looked up. Not once. And if you noticed the book in the lounge, you left it untouched. If you saw her in the library, you never let it show.

If you heard her voice in the hallway, you didn’t flinch or pause or react—not anymore. If anything, you moved further away. Deliberate. Careful. Like someone who’d been burned and had learned their lesson far too well. Still, she kept trying.

Until one day, she stood just outside your office, palms clammy around the coffee cup in her hands. It was your usual order—half sweet, a splash of oat milk, a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Your name was scrawled on the side in her handwriting. She had to rewrite it twice because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She rehearsed what she might say.

Hey, I was just passing by—

No. That sounds too casual.

I just wanted to check in—

No. You’ll sound pathetic.

She settled for silence. Maybe if she just handed it to you, it would say enough. Maybe the look in her eyes would do what words had failed to but before she could knock, the sound of heels clicking down the corridor caught her attention. Jennifer Kale rounded the corner and stopped short, eyes narrowing instantly “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding fucking me.”

Agatha blinked. “Professor—”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do this now.”

Agatha straightened, tightening her grip on the cup. “I just want to talk.”

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Jen bit out. “Not to you. What can you not grasp here? You broke her Agatha, you don’t get to come in once she’s finally found her footing—.”

Agatha’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.” Jen’s voice was low, sharp. A blade dulled only by the effort it took to keep from yelling. “You didn’t slam the door in her face, Agatha. You just… kept it open just enough for her to hope.”

“Im not trying to hurt her,” Agatha said, quieter this time.

“Yet you did.” Jen’s arms folded across her chest. “She waited. For months. Holding on to the scraps you gave her. She gave you everything, and you looked right past her. Now someone else is putting her back together.”

Agatha’s throat tightened, a sudden ache clawing up her chest. “Is she happy?” she asked before she could stop herself. Her voice came out hoarse. Small.

Jen stared at her. “Yes. For the first time in a long time.” Silence. The kind that filled too much space and not enough. Agatha dropped her gaze to the coffee cup in her hands. It was already cooling. The lid felt too tight. The warmth was fading. And so was the excuse to be here.

“She’s not a placeholder, Agatha,” Jen said, softer now but no less firm. “She was the one who stayed. She showed up. For everything. And you didn’t even look at her until she finally stopped waiting.” Agatha looked up “That’s on you.”

Jen stepped past her without another word, her shoulder brushing roughly against Agatha’s. The hallway swallowed the sound of her retreating footsteps, leaving only the quiet hum of a nearby vent and the muted beat of Agatha’s own pulse ringing in her ears.

She stood there for a long time. Still. The coffee in her hand was lukewarm now. Her fingers clenched it like a lifeline, but she didn’t move. Her legs felt heavy. Her chest felt tight. And the truth settled over her like dust on an old memory. She had pushed you too far. And you weren’t going to come back this time. But the thing was—she didn’t want to let you go.

Not this time. Not now that she finally knew what she was losing. Not when her heart, after all this time, had finally stopped whispering Rio’s name—and started crying yours. It took three days before she got the courage. Three days of pacing her apartment, rehearsing the words she should’ve said months ago. Three days of deleting half-written emails she couldn’t bring herself to send, heart pounding like she was twenty and stupid again.

On the third day, she didn’t turn away. She waited. Outside of the building , the wind carried the scent of late autumn—crisp, sharp, tinged with the promise of winter. The golden light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and Agatha stood tucked beneath the overhang by the door, coffee in one hand, uncertainty in the other.

Through the glass, she watched as you neared the entrance. Slowly. Methodically. The curve of your shoulders was familiar, even now. But there was something different about the way you moved—measured, self-contained. No longer reaching for anything.

You looked tired. But calm. You looked… steady. The way you used to when you leaned into her side after long meetings, laughing under your breath at the way her notes were always color-coded but never organized. The way your fingers tangled in her scarf that one winter morning she let you walk her to the train, stealing her coffee and kissing the lid instead of her cheek.

The way you once touched her—without hesitation, without expectation. Back when she hadn’t even kissed you yet, but you made her feel like she was already loved. When you stepped outside, the glass door swung closed behind you with a gentle thud, and she stepped forward instinctively—like gravity itself pulled her.

You stopped. Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag, fingers white-knuckled in the fading light. You didn’t step back. But you didn’t move forward, either. The silence stretched between you like a wire pulled taut. One wrong breath, and it would snap.

You looked at her like someone you used to know and it broke her “(Y/N)—” she began, voice low, tentative.

You raised a hand gently, your voice firm but not cruel. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Agatha’s throat tightened. “I just need—” she tried, but her voice cracked. She closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself. “Please. Let me say this.”

You hesitated. Not because you were waiting for her. But because some part of you wanted to believe that whatever she was about to say wouldn’t hurt anymore. She swallowed hard “I was scared,” she said, the words pulled from somewhere raw. “I kept chasing what I thought I needed to fix—what I thought I had to fix—before I could deserve anything new. Before I could let myself have something good.”

She took a step closer “And by the time I realized that what I needed… what I wanted… was already standing in front of me—” her voice dropped to almost nothing, “you were gone.”

You didn’t speak. Your eyes didn’t soften. But they shimmered. Just slightly. As if the weight of her words unsettled something still healing inside of you “I never meant to hurt you,” she said. “But I did. I see that now.”

Agatha took another step. Close enough now that she could see the way your lashes flickered, the way your breath hitched “Wanda seems lovely,” she added softly, unable to stop herself. “But she’s not me.”

You let out a slow breath, no bitterness in it—just quiet finality. “No,” you said. “She isn’t.” You met her gaze then, steady and clear. “And that’s a really good thing.”

The words hit her like a blow. She flinched, visibly. Still, she stayed. Her fingers trembled at her sides, but she didn’t look away “I love you—” Agatha whispered.

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Don’t—”

“I’m in love with you.” She cut you off, her voice was trembling now, stripped of all pretense. “I think I always did. I just didn’t know it until I saw you loving someone else the way you used to love me.” The air between you stilled. You didn’t answer.

She took another step, cautiously, closing the space inch by inch like one wrong move might scare you off. Her voice dropped again, nearly breaking “I should’ve said it before. Fuck— I should’ve chosen you before. I should’ve seen you before. I’m not here to make promises I don’t deserve to keep. I just…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the rest “I really needed you to know…..in case”

You stared at her for a long moment. The breeze picked up slightly, catching the ends of her coat and your hair as the silence thickened again, more intimate this time. More vulnerable. And your eyes—those eyes she used to think she could read like poetry—were shining. But unreadable. Not angry. Not forgiving. Just full of something she couldn’t name. Not yet.

You stared at her in silence, chest rising and falling just a little too fast. The wind shifted again, lifting a few strands of your hair across your cheek, but you didn’t move. Neither of you did. Finally, your lips parted. And your voice came out low, measured—but far from calm.

“You don’t get to just say that,” you said, not venomously. Just… honestly. “You don’t get to show up and tell me everything I’ve wanted to hear after months of silence. After watching you cling to someone else like I never even existed.” Agatha opened her mouth, but you cut her off with a hand raised again—this time sharper “No!” you said. “You don’t get to speak until I’m done.” Her eyes widened, and she nodded—silently.

“I waited for you,” you continued, the emotion catching in your throat. “I made excuses for you. I told myself you needed time, or closure, or space, or whatever stupid fucking lie helped me sleep at night. I stood right next to you every damn day, offering everything I had—everything—hoping maybe, one day, you’d finally look at me like I wasn’t just some… background character in your story.”

You took a breath. A shaky one “But I wasn’t enough. Not until I was gone. Not until someone else made me laugh. And now that you’re not the center of my world anymore, suddenly I’m what you’ve been missing?” Your voice cracked. Just once “Worst of all— I still want to believe you,” you said, softer now, with something closer to defeat. “God, I want to. But I don’t know if I can—”

Agatha took a trembling step forward, voice thick with desperation. “Then let me prove it. However you need me to.” You stared at her, blinking slowly. Like you were trying to see her for who she really was—who she might be now. But the ache behind your eyes didn’t budge.

“Sure,” you said with a tired shrug, tone flat. You didn’t believe her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You ran a hand over your face, exhaling hard into your palm. The weight of everything—the past, the love, the loss—sank heavy in your shoulders “Nothing’s going to be fixed tonight—” you muttered. “Maybe not ever.”

Agatha’s face fell, but she didn’t argue. You stepped back, one foot behind the other like your body was already preparing to leave her behind again. And you did. You turned. Walked away slowly, expecting—hoping, in some quiet corner of your heart—that she would drop it. That she’d let you go this time. That this would be the end.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t the end. Because Agatha Harkness, for the first time in her life, refused to be silent. Refused to let go. The next morning, she showed up outside your class before you even got there—shivering slightly in the early cold, her breath fogging in the crisp air, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and three pastries from the tiny café you used to love.

She offered them with a sheepish smile, her hair wind-tousled, cheeks pink from the cold “I didn’t know which one you liked best anymore,” she said, not quite meeting your eyes, “so I got them all.”

You blinked at her, at the awkwardly wrapped flowers, at the grease-stained paper bag she held out like a peace offering. You took the bag with numb fingers. Said nothing. Just opened the building door and stepped inside without a word. She didn’t follow.

Three days after that, you were attending a faculty-wide meeting, half-listening to the usual droning updates about semester projections and departmental budgets, when Agatha raised her hand and stood—unannounced. Her voice was clear. Unapologetic “I’d like to speak on the importance of collaborative trust,” she said, gaze scanning the room before landing briefly—pointedly—on you. “How sometimes… we don’t realize what we’ve lost until the silence becomes unbearable.”

The room went quiet. All eyes turned toward her. You didn’t look up. Not really. But your heart thudded painfully behind your ribs, as if your body knew she was speaking to you—only you—even if no one else caught it.

Then came the mailbox note. Folded neatly and tucked between your department memos. Her handwriting was scribbled across the outside: For (Y/N). Inside, in hers—steady, familiar, honest—was the quote you had once used to open your very first co-lecture together, almost a year ago

“We build trust in inches, not miles.”

“Let me earn every inch.”

You sat at your desk holding it for a long time. Long enough that your tea went cold. Long enough that your chest started to ache. You didn’t know how to process any of it. Because it wasn’t grand gestures you were used to from her. Not affection in daylight. Not vulnerability spelled out like that.

You’d been the one who stayed. You were the one who waited. And now, she was chasing you—and it felt like standing in the middle of a storm you no longer knew how to brace for. Wanda noticed the shift. She noticed everything. It was in the way you paused now when she spoke. How your eyes sometimes drifted over her shoulder, like you were listening for a voice that never came. How you smiled at her, but less often with your whole face.

You didn’t mean to, and Wanda never once accused you of it. She was too gentle for that. Too intuitive. But that Thursday, the dam finally cracked. You were eating lunch together in your office, both of you tucked comfortably in your usual seats—your salad mostly untouched, your fork resting limp in your hand.

Across your desk sat the poetry book Agatha had left behind. Somehow, it always ended up back in your line of sight. This time, it was open to the inside cover. Your fingers moved without thinking—tracing the familiar ink of Agatha’s handwriting. You weren’t even reading the words anymore. You were just remembering the way she wrote in the dark, half-asleep, mumbling about Rilke and how he “had the audacity to romanticize longing.”

You didn’t notice Wanda watching you until she gently asked “Where’d you get that?”

You blinked and looked up. Her eyes weren’t cold. Just… curious. But you had the overwhelming feeling that she already knew. You considered lying. Or deflecting. But something in her expression—something kind, but quietly firm—told you the lie wouldn’t land. So you didn’t, you swallowed. “Agatha left it. A while ago.”

Wanda was silent for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to solve a puzzle she’d been working on for weeks. The muted hum of the campus café filled the space between you—clinking mugs, soft chatter, the hiss of espresso machines. Outside the window, students passed by in pairs or clusters, laughing, lost in the rush of late afternoon sunlight and deadlines. Then Wanda nodded once, as if confirming something she’d already suspected. Her voice came quietly, almost too gently “She’s in love with you, you know.”

You blinked, not quite processing. “What?”

“She loves you,” she repeated, softer now, like she was afraid saying it any louder would shatter you.

You stiffened, instinctively falling back behind old defenses that had served you well—especially lately. “No,” you said, shaking your head with more force than necessary. “She’s trying to fix a mistake. That’s not remotely the same thing.”

Wanda’s lips curled into a small smile—not mocking, not smug. Just… sad. Knowing. The kind of smile someone wears when they’ve seen this play out before and already know the ending “You’re sitting here touching her handwriting like you’re afraid it’ll disappear,” she said. You looked down without meaning to, hand still resting on the edge of Agatha’s note—creased and well-worn from how often you’d unfolded it, stared at it, folded it again. You hadn’t realized you were doing it. Not consciously. But Wanda had. Of course she had.

Your silence stretched. You didn’t look up. Wanda shifted, voice quieter but still firm, like she was laying down a truth that had no edges to argue with. “You can’t fake that kind of love. Not for this long. Not with this much… heart.” You swallowed hard, throat dry. Her words lodged somewhere deep, scraping against old wounds you weren’t sure had ever healed right.

“And I’ve seen her,” Wanda continued gently. “Asking about you. About us….. Around campus. Like she’s trying to find the right shape for something she’s never been brave enough to say.”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. The truth pressed heavy in your chest, stealing your breath before you even had a chance to protest “And you,” Wanda added, tipping her head with something like sympathy, “you’ve got that look in your eyes lately. Distant. Like you’re always somewhere else. Like you’re trying to remember how not to miss someone who isn’t really gone.”

You sat back slowly in your chair, fingers curling away from the note. The breath left your lungs in a tired exhale—soft, frayed at the edges. The kind of sound that didn’t quite resemble defeat, but something perilously close to surrender.

And then, softly, “I’m sorry.”

Wanda tilted her head. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly. “For still feeling something. For letting her get to me again. For not being able to stop hoping.”

Wanda reached over, placed her hand gently on top of yours “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “Not with me. You loved her. Maybe you still do. That doesn’t make you cruel.” You didn’t say anything else. You just sat there, eyes fixed on the handwriting beneath your fingertips, trying to convince yourself it was just ink on a page. And failing.

—————————————————————————

You were seated at the head of the long conference table in the university’s main staff hall, surrounded by colleagues from nearly every department. The another interdepartmental meeting—a logistical nightmare—was always exhausting. But today? Today you were distracted in a way that had nothing to do with curriculum updates or budget allocations.

Lilia sat two seats to your left, already sensing something was off. Jen and Alice were tucked together near the back, passing a clipboard between them and whispering under their breath like the world’s most discreet gossip channel. Wanda, steady as always, was next to you, pen poised over her notes, her eyes occasionally flickering your way.

Rio was here too, of course. Sitting perfectly poised on the other side of the room, lips pursed, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. You could feel her watching you from time to time, but you didn’t look back. You’d just been called to speak. You cleared your throat, standing with your notes in hand, palms slick with nervous energy that didn’t come from public speaking. You weren’t thinking about the faculty. You were thinking about Agatha. Your eyes scanned the room hoping to see her, but she wasn’t there yet.

Over the past several weeks, there hasn’t been one morning that you haven’t woken up to a sickeningly sweet text or two. Some reminding you to have a good day, but most on just how much she loves and appreciates you. She, true to her word was relentless. Sending notes, pastries, music, poetry, flowers even—each one worse for your heart than the last.

“For the philosophy department, I’d like to propose a revised approach to cross-disciplinary collaboration that emphasizes a more reflective framework for—”Then a voice cut in from the back of the room

“Excuse me.” It was strong. Clear. Familiar. Your blood ran cold. You turned slowly. Agatha Harkness stood in the doorway, dark coat draped over her arm, hair swept back like she hadn’t rushed here—but the wildness in her eyes said otherwise.

You could feel every person in the room turn to look at her. Conversations died mid-sentence. The university president leaned back in their chair, brows raised You blinked. “Agatha—”

She stepped forward “I know this isn’t the time,” she said, voice trembling just enough to betray how fast her heart was beating. “And I know you hate when I make things messy. But I can’t do quiet affection anymore.”

You froze. Jen sat upright, eyebrows shooting up. Alice nudged her so hard she almost dropped her tablet. Lilia’s eyes widened in horror. And Wanda—Wanda didn’t move. She just watched. Calm, but unreadable. Like she’d been waiting for this. Agatha continued “I’m irrevocably in love with you.”

The room froze—no one said anything, but the collective reaction was unmistakable. You stared at her, heart thudding in your throat “I’m sorry it took losing you to see it,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I’m sorry I let you feel like you were never chosen. That you were never enough. You were. You are.” Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “You’ve always been.”

Murmurs rippled through the room. You could feel Rio’s glare without even looking. Lilia’s mouth hung open. Alice was covering her face with both hands. Jen whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Holy shit.”

Agatha kept going “I don’t care if this is unprofessional. I don’t care if this is foolish. I’ll spend every day proving it, even if it takes the rest of my life. You told me nothing would be fixed overnight—and you’re right. But I’m not walking away again. Not now. Not ever.”

You were burning. Skin hot, ears red, every nerve in your body alight. Your heart said run to her. Your head said what the hell is happening right now? Someone in the back coughed. A few people exchanged whispers. The silence thickened again. You rubbed your temple. Your voice came out low, tired, and entirely human “What the hell are you doing?” It wasn’t cruel. Just… raw. Unsteady.

Agatha stepped forward once more “Whatever it takes,” she said. And she meant it. You could see it in the way her jaw was clenched, in the way her hands were balled into fists to stop them from shaking, in the way she looked at you—like you were the axis her world turned on.

She had done the impossible. She had made herself vulnerable, truly, and in front of every witness that mattered. She had chosen you—loudly. Undeniably. You stood there in the dead center of a full room, feeling more exposed than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to feel. Wanda gently reached over and touched your arm, as if reminding you she was still there. Still beside you. Not pressuring. Just present. And even Rio, across the room, had fallen eerily quiet—her expression unreadable for once.

All eyes were on you. And all you could think was: Is this really fucking happening? Agatha Harkness had set the room on fire for you. And now the whole world was watching to see if you’d step into the flames. Your skin burned. Not just your cheeks—your entire body. From the base of your neck to the tips of your ears. You could feel the heat crawling up your spine, tight and suffocating like your own pulse was punishing you for staying still.

Every eye was still on you. You swallowed, lips parting like maybe a response would come, but nothing did. The silence was excruciating. Endless. Then, mercifully—A voice. One of the senior administrators stood and cleared their throat in that awkward, bureaucratic way that screamed damage control.

“Well,” they began, smiling too widely as their gaze darted nervously between you and Agatha, “thank you for that… spirited moment of honesty, Professor Harkness. Let’s go ahead and wrap up today’s meeting, shall we? Department heads, we’ll follow up next week on remaining items via email.”

You didn’t wait to be dismissed. You were already slinging your bag over your shoulder before the words had finished leaving their mouth. Your breath came fast, shallow, like your body had gone into flight mode without asking permission. As you turned sharply toward the exit, your hand reached out without thinking—fingers curling around the edge of Agatha’s sleeve.

You didn’t even look at her. You just dragged her with you. Gasps and whispers followed. You could feel them more than you heard them. Lilia’s muttered “Jesus Christ.” Alice whispering a “Go get her” under her breath. And Wanda— You didn’t even want to know what Wanda was thinking.

Your fingers didn’t release Agatha’s sleeve until you burst through the double doors at the far end of the hall. The cool air of the corridor hit your face, but it did nothing to calm you. You dropped her sleeve , she stumbled slightly behind you but didn’t stop.

“(Y/N)?” Agatha’s voice was uncertain now. Less sure. “Where are we—?” But you didn’t answer. You just kept walking. Fast. Determined. Past bulletin boards and closed doors and startled colleagues peeking out of their offices. You didn’t stop until you reached your own office door.

You flung it open with more force than necessary, storming inside. The space was warm, cluttered, familiar. Books stacked in uneven piles. A half-drunk mug of tea still on your desk. Papers scattered like leaves across every surface. You threw your bag onto your desk with a heavy thud, the strap knocking over a pen holder as it landed. Agatha lingered in the doorway behind you.

Still.

Silent.

Waiting.

You turned on her then. Slowly. The air between you heavy, electric, and almost unbearable. And for a long, painful moment—You just looked at her. Like you were still trying to decide if she was real. If this was real. If the woman who had once made you feel like you were asking for too much was really the same woman who just declared her love in front of half the university.

You stood there, facing her, chest still rising and falling too quickly. Hands clenched at your sides like they didn’t know what to do now that the storm had moved inside the room. Your lips parted. “I—” But Agatha moved first.

She stepped forward quickly, quietly—shutting the door behind her with a soft click that sealed the space between you and the rest of the world. The echo of it was louder than it had any right to be. She took another step toward you, slow and cautious, like you were a wild thing she was afraid of spooking. You flinched slightly at her closeness but didn’t back away. Not this time. She lifted a hand—not to touch, but to steady herself—and whispered “I’m so sorry baby.”

The words hung there. Simple. Soft. But weighted with everything she hadn’t said for months “I’m sorry I didn’t choose you when it mattered most,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “I was so caught up in fixing the past that I didn’t see the future standing right in front of me.”

You stared at her, every muscle in your body pulled tight, like you were waiting to fall or fly “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she said. “But I did. And then I told myself it was safer to keep things quiet. To keep you quiet. Because the truth is, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. And that terrified me.”

Your heart clenched. She took one more step forward. Her hands were shaking now. “You made me feel… seen. Held. Real. And I threw that away chasing closure that didn’t matter anymore.” You looked away for a moment, jaw tight, trying to gather every defense you’d built brick by brick.

But her next words cracked them clean open “I never looked at Rio the way I looked at you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I was with her again, all I could think was, why doesn’t it feel the way it used to. Why doesn’t this feel right? How was it possible that you’d only sit beside me in silence and still make me feel more than she ever could with words?”

You blinked quickly, throat burning. Your eyes stung, and you hated how easily the emotion cracked through “And now I’ve embarrassed you,” she added with a soft, sad smile. “In front of everyone. Because I couldn’t keep pretending not to feel what I feel.”

You swallowed thickly. “Agatha…” She stepped even closer now, hands still not touching you—but her presence was overwhelming “I love you,” she said again, like the first time wasn’t enough. “I love you in a way that terrifies me. But I will learn how to love you in a way that never makes you question it again.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. You didn’t know how to. Because your heart… your heart was melting. And it hurt. It hurt because it was real. Because this wasn’t some flippant apology or half-meant attempt to win you back. This was Agatha. Really Agatha. Standing in front of you with her armor off, her voice shaking, her pride left somewhere back in that conference room. And somehow, even after all this time, she still knew the exact words that could unravel you.

It hit you all at once. The weight of her words. The way she stood there trembling, eyes glassy and voice raw with truth. The silence that had dragged between you for months suddenly shattered under the force of something you’d tried so hard to ignore. You opened your mouth to reply—but nothing came out. Nothing could come out. The ache had climbed too far up your throat. Then, like a dam breaking, a soft whimper escaped you—barely a sound, really. Just breath caught on grief and longing and relief.

And before you even realized what you were doing, you moved. You crashed into her like gravity had finally won. Your hands fisted the lapels of her coat, dragging her down to you with a desperation that had been years in the making. Agatha gasped softly, caught between surprise and instinct, before her arms came around you in an instant—holding you like she was terrified you’d disappear. Your noses bumped, your breaths tangled, and then—She kissed you. And you kissed her back. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was everything you’d both been too afraid to say. It was breathless and aching, desperate and unrefined. Her lips were warm, trembling against yours, like she couldn’t believe this was happening. Like she was terrified you’d change your mind mid-kiss. Your fingers slid into her coat, clutching at her shoulders, her back, her hair—anything that would pull her closer.

Agatha cupped your face in her hands, thumbs brushing tears you didn’t even realize had started to fall. Her mouth moved against yours like she was pouring every unsent email, every unsaid apology, every late-night memory into it. She kissed you like she was claiming something that was never hers to take for granted. You kissed her like you were finally letting go of all the pain. And in that moment, neither of you breathed—afraid even that would make it vanish. When you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together. Both of you panting, eyes closed, lost in the space between now and what comes next “I still don’t completely trust you,” you whispered, voice hoarse, breath brushing against her lips. “But I want to.”

Agatha’s eyes opened. There was no fear in them now. Only something fierce. Steady “I’ll earn it,” she swore. “Every day. Every damn inch.”

You held her gaze, fingers still curled into her coat. The world outside your office might’ve still been reeling, gossiping, whispering about the scene she caused, but in here—it was just the two of you “…If you’re going to leave me again,” you said quietly, eyes guarded “don’t you dare fucking come back—”

Agatha’s expression shifted. Her grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you to her chest, her heartbeat racing against yours “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice fierce and clear, like a vow. “Not without you.” And this time… you almost believed her.

You stared at her, breath still uneven, heart rattling like it didn’t know how to settle inside your chest. Agatha’s eyes were locked on yours—wide, dark, shining. Her hands still cupped your face, fingertips trembling as if she was afraid to let go, afraid this whole thing might dissolve if she so much as blinked. And then she kissed you again.

No hesitation this time. No permission asked. Just need. You gasped softly into her mouth, arms instinctively rising to loop around her neck, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. She groaned low against your lips, the sound vibrating through you like a spark igniting something deep in your stomach. Her hands slipped from your face, down to your waist, gripping you tighter like she could pull you closer—closer still—until there wasn’t even space for doubt between you. She kissed you like she was trying to make you remember her. Not the version who broke your heart—but the one who knew how to worship it.

It was intense. Fierce. Possessive. You barely registered her moving, only that your body was suddenly shifting—guided. Her hands pressed against your lower back as she walked you back, step by step, until the edge of your desk bumped against the backs of your thighs. You pulled back just long enough to look at her, lips swollen, chest rising and falling fast “Agatha—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, eyes dark with heat and something deeper. Something reverent. “Let me show you.” And then she lifted you. Just like that. Her hands curled under your thighs and hoisted you up with surprising ease, setting you down on the edge of your desk. Papers crumpled beneath you. A pen clattered to the floor. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t. Because she was kissing you again—deeper this time. Hungrier. Like she’d been starved for the taste of you and was only now realizing how much she’d missed.

Her hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to her like you might try to leave again. And maybe she didn’t blame you. But this? This was her proving something. To you. To herself. To the version of her that had let you slip away. You clutched at the front of her coat, yanking her impossibly closer, your legs bracketing her hips instinctively as you pressed into the kiss like it was the only thing keeping you upright. She pulled back for just a breath, forehead pressing into yours, lips brushing. Her voice was wrecked “I should’ve done this months ago…”

Your hands moved to her collar, thumbs stroking along her neck. “You didn’t. But you’re here now.”

Agatha nodded, jaw tightening. “And I’m never letting you forget it again.” She surged forward, capturing your mouth once more—this time slower but no less consuming. Like she was claiming every inch of space she’d once given up. Like she needed you to know: this time, there would be no halfway.

Only everything. She didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Not that you wanted her to. Agatha kissed you like her life depended on it—like if she stopped, you might vanish again. Her hands never stilled, slipping beneath your coat, gripping your hips with a pressure that sent sparks straight through your spine. You arched into her without thinking, your fingers tugging at her collar, pulling her closer until there was nothing but heat and heartbeat and the ragged rhythm of your mouths colliding again and again.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and Agatha groaned into you—low and wrecked and full of a hunger you’d only ever dreamed she might feel for you. It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t soft. This was months of repression, of longing, of wrong timing and broken chances, spilling out all at once.

Her lips trailed down to your jaw, then your throat, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered your name like a prayer. You gasped, nails dragging lightly down her back. She bit back a moan, her hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your coat open as she kissed her way back to your mouth, taking it with a fire that made your whole body ache.

You didn’t even know when your hands slipped beneath her sweater, but you needed to feel her—her skin, her warmth, the solidity of her being here, finally, now “God,” you breathed between kisses. “You—Agatha—”

“I know,” she whispered, forehead pressed to yours, her voice shaking. “I know. I missed you too.” You kissed her again. Hard. And she kissed you back like she was trying to carve her name into your bones. And you let her. Because for the first time, she wasn’t kissing you in secret. She wasn’t holding back. She was here. Present. Wanting. Yours. Her coat had slipped down her shoulders, your legs locked around her waist as her hands explored your waist, your ribs, anything she could reach.

The desk creaked under your shifting weight, but neither of you noticed. Her teeth grazed your bottom lip and you gasped—only for her to chase the sound like it belonged to her. You didn’t want to stop. Not when she felt this good. Not when her mouth made you forget the ache she’d caused. Eventually—reluctantly—you pulled back. Breathing hard, your fingers still tangled in the fabric at her waist, your lips swollen, flushed, dazed.

Agatha looked at you like she was lost in a dream. Her lips were kiss-bruised, pupils blown wide, her hands still resting on your thighs as if she didn’t quite trust this moment wouldn’t dissolve between heartbeats. You brushed your nose against hers, trying to slow the rush of it all. You let the silence fall between you for a beat—just long enough to ground yourself in what this really was “This doesn’t fix everything,” you said softly, voice still trembling. “We’re not… whole. Not yet.”

Agatha nodded slowly, her fingers squeezing gently at your hips. “I know.”

You licked your lips, still tasting her. “But maybe… maybe we can build something better. Not perfect. Just… real.” Her gaze locked onto yours, and something softened behind her eyes. Not sadness. Not regret. Just hope.

“Real sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted,” she said. You rested your forehead against hers again, your hands finally stilling where they curled at the sides of her neck. You both stayed like that—breathing each other in, hearts pounding, clothes rumpled, promises unspoken but understood.

This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. And this time, it wasn’t a false start. It was something new. Something earned.

The next morning felt… strange. Not in a bad way. Not exactly. Just heightened. Like the air around you had shifted. Like the world had tilted a few degrees off center, and now you were watching everything from a slightly different angle.

Agatha had left your office late the night before. Late enough that the hallways were empty. Late enough that neither of you had to face the lingering stares—yet. You hadn’t talked much after. Just sat together, curled up in the quiet aftermath, her hand resting over yours on the desk like she was still afraid you might pull away.

You didn’t.

But now?

Now it was daylight. Now it was real. And the university hadn’t forgotten what it saw. Not when your inbox had three unread messages by 7 a.m., all vaguely worded inquiries from staff members wondering if you were “alright” or “needed time.” Not when Lilia sent you a single line of text—“I support you. I also might murder her if she hurts you again.” And certainly not when you walked into the faculty lounge and every single head turned.

You paused in the doorway, gripping your mug a little too tightly. Agatha was already there, seated at the long table near the back. She looked up when she sensed you, and for a moment—just a flicker—you saw uncertainty in her eyes. But then she smiled. Small. Tentative. Real. And you smiled back. It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t cross the room and kiss her. You didn’t drop your things and run to her side. But you walked over. Sat down across from her. Took a sip of your coffee. Her fingers brushed yours beneath the table, barely a touch. You didn’t pull away. That was enough for now.

Later that week, Wanda dropped by your office. She didn’t say much at first—just leaned against the doorframe, watching you grade papers with that quiet, knowing calm she always carried. You looked up, smiled cautiously “I didn’t expect you to still check in on me considering….”

Wanda tilted her head. “I didn’t come to check in.” You arched a brow “I came to make sure that you’re happy,” she said.

Your breath caught. But you nodded “It’s… new. Fragile. But yeah. I think I am. ”

She gave a soft smile. “Good. She’s fighting for you now. Don’t let her forget to keep doing that.” And then she was gone, leaving you with a warmth in your chest you didn’t know how to name. Wanda truly was a remarkable woman, she helped heal something in you. You’re just sorry she wasn’t the remarkable woman your heart desired.

Lunch with Alice and Jen was a little different that day as well “That was possibly the most dramatic workplace confession I’ve ever witnessed,” Alice said around a bite of her sandwich. “Ten out of ten for entertainment. Subtracting one point for public humiliation though...”

Jen grinned. “I gave her credit for not crying. Or begging. She kept it just on the right side of tragic romantic comedy.”

You groaned. “Can we not do this now or ever?”

“We love you,” Alice said, bumping your knee under the table. “And we just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.” You did. You were still figuring it out. But yes—you knew. Agatha was more cautious now. Every glance she gave you in the hallway came with a question in her eyes. Every shared meeting, every brief moment between classes—she made space for you to decide what this was, what you wanted it to be.

She didn’t push. She didn’t perform. She just showed up. Consistently. Quietly. The way you always wished she had before. When your hands brushed in the lounge, she didn’t yank away. When you laughed at something she said during a meeting, she smiled like it meant everything.

The whispers died down eventually. People always moved on. But your story didn’t go back to what it was before. And that was the point. It grew into something different. Something gentler. Slower. Deliberate. Agatha brought you coffee most mornings. You never asked—she just remembered. You sent her poems again. Slipped under her door like they used to be. You ate lunch together twice a week, sometimes in silence, sometimes with laughter.

It was rebuilding. In inches, not miles. But this time, the foundation was better. Because now, every choice was made with clarity. With care. Not fear. Not guilt. Just want. And that? That was enough. That was everything. It had only been a few weeks since her very public display. Just long enough for the chaos to settle. Just long enough for the gossip to fade into the background, for people to stop pausing when you walked into a room, for Rio to stop pretending she wasn’t still irritated by the entire spectacle.

And in that time, Agatha had been… everything. Attentive without being overbearing. Present without pressure. She never asked for more than you could give, but she always gave more than you expected. Her affection came in quiet gestures—warm drinks slid into your hand during early meetings, scribbled notes tucked into your books, half-sarcastic, half-sincere texts late at night that made you smile even when you didn’t want to.

She was learning. You both were. And somewhere between the surprise lunches and the shared office hours, somewhere between stolen kisses behind closed doors and whispered apologies in passing—You realized you were in trouble. Because it was getting harder to pretend you weren’t head over heels in love with her. Not when she looked at you like you held the entire sky in your eyes. Not when she touched you with reverence, like she was still amazed you let her at all. Not when she said your name like it meant something holy. You hadn’t said it yet. I love you. Not back.

Not out loud. But you felt it. Every time she held your hand across the center console while she drove you home. Every time she waited outside your office just to walk you to the lounge. Every time she looked at you like you were still her favorite secret—even now that the world knew.

And it was making you reckless. You caught yourself staring more often. Letting your fingers linger just a second too long on her arm. Smiling at her with something softer than you meant to reveal. Letting your guard slip piece by piece. You tried to hide it. To keep some part of yourself tucked away in case this still fell apart. But when she leaned against the doorway of your office one Friday evening, holding a little box of your favorite chocolates, her hair tied back in a loose waves, exhaustion in her eyes—your heart ached with just how much you loved her.

She stepped inside like she’d done it a hundred times, closing the door behind her, dropping the box on your desk before sitting on the edge of it “I figured you’d need a bribe if I was going to steal you away from work tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Steal me?”

She shrugged, leaning closer, voice low and teasing. “Kidnap. Woo. Spirit away. You can pick the language. I’m flexible.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Agatha grinned, but then—her expression shifted. Softened. “But I mean it. I want time with you. Not as an apology. Not as a fix. Just as… us.” Something in your chest squeezed. You stood slowly, rounding the desk until you were standing between her legs, her knees brushing your hips.

She looked up at you like she didn’t dare breathe. And you—God, you wanted to say it. You love her. But instead, you cupped her jaw gently, brushing your thumb over the corner of her mouth, and said, “I’m already yours. You don’t have to steal me.”

Her breath hitched. Her hands found your hips. You leaned in. Let your forehead rest against hers. And though the words sat right on the edge of your lips, you still didn’t say them. Not yet. But you were close. You didn’t even get to argue. The second your laptop closed, Agatha was already tugging your coat off the back of your chair and draping it over your shoulders like she’d been planning this for days. Her hands lingered at your collar. Her smile was bright, but the look in her eyes? That was something else entirely.

Something hopeful. Something deliberate “Come on,” she said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve been working too much. And I’ve got reservations I may or may not have bribed someone for.”

You blinked. “You made reservations?”

Agatha smirked, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “It’s called courting. Let me romance you, please darling.”

You flushed. “I—okay.” And just like that, you let her take your hand and guide you out of your office, down the long corridor, past whatever mess still lingered in the whispers of your colleagues. You didn’t care. Not with her fingers intertwined with yours. Not when she looked at you like this.

Dinner was stunning. The kind of place with soft candlelight flickering off crystal glassware, live jazz humming through hidden speakers, and a panoramic window view of the city skyline. Agatha had requested a table near the edge, just slightly tucked away, as if she wanted to show you off without making a scene.

She was effortless—her blazer sharp, her perfume warm and clean, her gaze never straying from you for long. And you… you spent most of the meal falling apart inside because she kept saying things like “Do you remember our first joint lecture? You made me look like I had a soul.” Or— “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who makes me feel this grounded.” And then the worst of them, whispered low as her hand brushed yours across the table “You make me want things I thought I couldn’t have anymore.”

By the time dessert came—some soft, elegant thing layered in chocolate and berry—you were certain your heart was no longer in your chest but somewhere at her mercy, resting between your empty wine glass and her folded napkin. But the night wasn’t over “I have one more surprise,” she said as you walked outside, cool air curling around the collar of your coat.

You gave her a look. “You’re spoiling me.”

She lifted your hand to her lips, kissed your knuckles. “That’s the plan.”

She led you to a nearby private elevator with a keycard she definitely shouldn’t have had access to—but knowing Agatha, she could charm just about anything out of anyone. When the doors opened at the top floor, she stepped aside with a slight bow “After you.”

You stepped onto the rooftop and your breath caught. The city stretched out in every direction, glittering and alive beneath the stars. String lights wrapped around the edge of the railing, flickering like fireflies, and a soft breeze tugged at your coat as you walked forward, stunned “Agatha…”

She came up behind you, wrapping her arms gently around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. “I used to come up here when I needed space. To think. To remember who I was.” You leaned back against her, heart already aching “But lately,” she continued, her voice softer now, “I come up here to think about the future.”

You turned slightly, just enough to look at her. “Yeah?”

She smiled, almost shy. “I’ve been thinking about what it might look like… if you were always in it.” You froze. Her eyes searched yours. “Not just this. Not just now. I mean something bigger. Permanent.” A pause. “Lifelong.”

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. The words slipped out before you could pull them back, before fear could catch up “I love you.” Agatha’s breath hitched. Your heart felt like it had burst open in your chest. You blinked, lips parting, because you hadn’t even planned to say it. But it was true. God, it was so true “I love you,” you said again, quieter this time, eyes shimmering.

Agatha’s hand cupped your cheek so gently, it nearly undid you. She didn’t say anything for a moment—just stared at you like you’d rewired the stars. Then she kissed you. And this kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It wasn’t tangled in grief or longing or guilt.

It was full.

Whole.

Loving.

When she pulled back, her voice was thick with emotion “I love you too. I’ve never been more certain of anything.” You rested your forehead against hers, your fingers tangled in the lapel of her coat, and for the first time since everything began—You felt like the story was finally beginning. And this time, it was yours to write together.

You didn’t pull away. Not after the kiss. Not after the way she said it—I love you too—like it was the only truth that had ever mattered. Instead, you leaned in closer brushing your nose against her own, your breath still shaky from everything that had just been said “Say it again,” you whispered, voice low, almost daring.

Agatha’s lips curled. “I love you too.”

You didn’t let her finish the breath after it.

You kissed her—hard. It was different from the tenderness before. This kiss was heat and hunger, the kind that rolled up from somewhere low in your stomach and took over completely. You grabbed the front of her coat, tugging her closer with a force that had her stumbling forward with a breathless laugh against your mouth. Her hands were on your waist immediately, gripping through the fabric of your coat like she didn’t care you were still out in the open air, surrounded by string lights and stars and the city humming beneath your feet.

You deepened the kiss, your body pressing fully against hers, and she melted into you without hesitation—like kissing you was something she was born to do. Agatha pulled back just slightly, lips brushing yours, her voice a rough, teasing whisper. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to forget we’re on a rooftop.”

“Good,” you murmured, catching her bottom lip between your teeth before you let it go. “Because I’m very much done being on this rooftop.”

She blinked at you, pupils blown, breath catching. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, fingers sliding down the front of her coat. “Let’s go. Now.” Agatha didn’t need to be told twice.

She laced her fingers with yours, pressing one last kiss to your cheek, and with a smirk that promised trouble—the kind you’d dreamed about for years—she whispered “Your place or mine then?”

You smirked back “Whichever’s closer.” The moment you both slid into the car, it was clear: keeping your hands to yourselves wasn’t going to happen.

Agatha had barely fastened her seatbelt before you leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, just below her jaw—slow, lingering. She let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel “You’re going to make me crash,” she muttered, half warning, half prayer.

You grinned, brushing your lips over the shell of her ear. “Then drive faster.”

She did. The city blurred past, lights streaking through the windows like stars in motion, but neither of you could focus. Your hand never left her thigh, your fingers teasing slow circles over the fabric of her slacks. She kept sneaking glances your way, her jaw clenched, breathing uneven—like she was using every last bit of control to keep from pulling over and dragging you into the back seat.

You couldn’t stop touching her, kissing her knuckles when she reached for the gearshift. Tugging on the collar of her coat to pull her toward you at red lights, nipping her bottom lip teasingly between each slow kiss. By the time she pulled into her building’s parking garage, she was visibly shaking “You’re a damn menace,” she said, voice dark and rough as she threw the car in park.

You just smirked and leaned across the console one last time. “And you love it.” Getting upstairs was a blur. She didn’t even bother pretending to be patient. Her hand was locked around yours from the moment you stepped into the elevator, and when the doors finally opened on her floor, she yanked you down the hallway with a kind of focused urgency that had your knees going weak.

And when the door clicked open—barely, just barely—Agatha was already pushing you inside. The door slammed shut behind you. And then she had you. She pinned you against it before you could say a word, her mouth crashing onto yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. You gasped into her, and she swallowed the sound greedily, her hands already fisting in your coat, yanking it open with impatient fingers.

“You drive me insane,” she muttered between kisses, one hand pressing flat to your waist, the other sliding up to cradle your jaw. “Do you know what it’s been like—watching you, wanting you—and not being allowed to touch you like this?”

Your only answer was a moan as she pressed harder into you, her thigh sliding between yours, your hands scrambling at the button of her slacks with all the subtlety of someone on the edge of ruin. You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Then stop waisting time.”

Agatha’s eyes burned—lit with something hungry and possessive and worshipful all at once “Oh, I have no intention of waiting anymore.” She kissed you again—deeper, hotter—her body molding to yours as if trying to prove every promise she’d made on that rooftop with the press of her mouth and the drag of her hands. Her teeth caught your bottom lip and you gasped, legs tightening around her thigh where it slotted between yours.

Whatever came next, whatever words were still waiting to be said, could wait. Right now? She was going to make up for lost time. Clothes hit the floor in pieces—buttons popped, shoes kicked off in a stumbling blur of mouths and hands and half-choked laughter between kisses that never stayed gentle for long. Agatha guided you backward down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, her hands greedy and unrelenting as they skimmed over skin she’d once only dreamed of touching again.

By the time your back hit her bed, you were breathless. Dizzy. Her name fell from your lips like a plea. She crawled over you slowly, like she was savoring it. Like this moment had been carved out of time just for her to memorize every part of you all over again. Her eyes were dark with desire, yes—but behind it, something more reverent. Tender.

“You’re even more beautiful now that I’m allowed to keep you,” she whispered, pressing a trail of kisses down your collarbone, her fingers dancing down your ribs, teasing your skin until you arched into her touch with a gasp. Your hands found her back, fingers dragging down until she shivered above you.

“You always had me,” you murmured, pulling her down into another kiss. “You just didn’t know what to do with it.” Agatha growled softly into your mouth, one of her hands sliding between your thighs teasingly.

You inhale sharply as her touch ignites your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes darken with desire, gaze boring into hers with an intensity that steals her breath. She shivers under the weight of your stare, heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"Show me," you breathe, voice heavy with want. Your hands skim back up her sides, settling on the dip of her waist. She inhales sharply, arching into your touch. Free hand roaming greedily over your chest, tracing the curve of your breast, committing them to memory.

She leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I'm going to take my time with you," she whispers, her voice low and sultry, dripping with unspoken promises. "I want to taste every inch of you. Make you feel things you've never felt before."

Her tongue traces the lobe of your ear, drawing a shuddering breath from you. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, urging her closer. She chuckles softly, a sound of pure sin and sweet seduction. "All night long," she purrs. "Until the only name you remember... is mine."

Then she kisses you. And it's not gentle. It's hungry. It's impatient. It's everything you've been craving since the moment you walked through her door. It's a promise of pleasure. A guarantee of completeness. A vow of eternal, unforgettable devotion. It's everything you've ever wanted. Everything you'll ever need. You hummed into the kiss hips snapping forward, you could feel yourself growing wet “ please—”

Agatha's head dips, her lips trailing down your neck, over the slope of your shoulder. Your skin prickles with heat and anticipation. She inhales, breathing in your scent, a mix of desire and desperation "I know," she murmurs against your skin. "I can feel it."

Her hand slips further between your thighs, fingers gliding over your slick folds. They dip inside, stroking your inner walls, curling and pressing against that sensitive spot that makes your toes curl "Look at you baby," she coos softly, almost reverently. "So wet for me. So ready." She circles your clit with the pads of two fingers, teasing the swollen bud. Your hips buck upwards, chasing her touch. Wanting more.

"Yes, you need this, don't you?" Agatha whispers. "You need me to fill up this pretty little pussy." Her thumb flicks over your clit, a hard, fast, intense press. You cry out at the sudden jolt of pleasure, hands fisting in the sheets beneath you as you but you lip stifling a whimper.

"Don't hold back, baby. I want to hear you." Her fingers pump faster, the obscene sound of your arousal echoing through the room. Her palm grinds against your clit with each thrust, the pressure building, your climax chasing faster than before. Your thighs tremble on either side of her hips, every inch of you drawn taut and coiled, waiting, yearning, craving...

"Please," you whimper brokenly, your grip tightening on the sheets, nails digging into the fabric. "Please baby, I need... I need..."

"I know." Agatha's voice is a low murmur against your ear. Triumphant. Assured. "I know exactly what you need, sweetheart." And then she pushes two fingers deep inside you, curling against that hidden spot, grinding against it ruthlessly. Her thumb presses down hard on your clit, rubbing unmerciful circles around the sensitive bud.

Your climax hits you with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over you, drowning you. You scream her name like a prayer, like a mantra, like the only word you know how to say. Your vision goes white as ecstasy pulses through every nerve ending, your body shaking and jerking in her grasp.

She holds you through it, murmuring praise and adoration, stroking you down as you float back to yourself. When you finally open your eyes, sated and sleepy, she's watching you with a soft, tender smile "That's my good girl," she whispers, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. " My everything."

You whimper softly, hips grinding helplessly against Agatha's hand as a powerful climax crashes through you like a tidal wave. "Please... I need more," you beg, your voice raw and broken as ecstasy pulses through every nerve ending, every cell in your body screaming for more of her touch.

Agatha doesn't hesitate. She continues pumping her fingers deep inside you, curling them hard against your spasming walls, stroking you with ruthless precision as you ride out the aftershocks of your release. At the same time, leaning down and closing her mouth around one of your nipples, suckling greedily, hissing softly as you buck against her touch.

You can feel her fingers slick with your arousal, dripping with your need as she thrusts them in and out of your fluttering channel, fucking you through your orgasm until you're writhing against the sheets, mewling helplessly as overstimulation threatens to overload your senses “Whatever you need my love—," Agatha whispered breathlessly as she releases your nipple with a sharp nip, continuing the path down you torso. Her free hand grips your hip, spreading your thighs wider to slip down and position herself comfortably between them, opening you up fully to her relentless touch. "I want to feel you fall apart sweetheart. I want to taste you come undone like only I can make you do..."

She leaned down sealing her lips around your clit, suckling hard as her fingers drive into you, pounding your sensitive flesh. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. But you don't want her to stop. You never want her to stop "Yes, yes, yes!" you chant deliriously, fingers clawing at your own hair as you arch your back, pressing your chest against her mouth. "More, please more..."

Agatha doesn't let up, her fingers plunging deep as her tongue swirls and flickers over your swollen clit. She's determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body, to push you past the limits of endurance until all you can do is feel the raw, electric pulse of your own pleasure.

She can feel your walls starting to flutter around her fingers, your body tensing as another climax builds deep in your core. She moans against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pure bliss radiating outward from your throbbing sex "That's it, baby..." Agatha breathes, pressing a kiss to your clit before releasing it from the hot prison of her mouth. "You're going to come for me again, sweetheart” she whispered almost commandingly “I need to hear you scream my name..."

Her fingers drive up into you, hard and fast and deep. The heel of her palm grinds against your clit as she feels your body start to seize, to clamp down and squeeze her fingers. "Now, baby. Give it to me now," Agatha demands, and you have no choice but to obey. Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in sensation, ravaging you with the force of your pleasure.

Your scream echoes off the walls, reverberating through the room like a war cry, a demand, a desperate plea. You writhe and convulse beneath Agatha as she milks your climax for every Agatha continues her relentless assault, lapping and suckling at your gushing, twitching sex until the last waves of your climax subside. She doesn't stop until your hips start to rock into her touch once more, craving more of that sweet friction, that exquisite pressure.

Pressing a final, possessive kiss to your sensitive flesh, Agatha trail her lips up your thigh, pressing nip after nip into the delicate skin. Each bite sends a fresh spark of arousal through you, stoking the embers of your desire back into a raging inferno. Rising languidly from the bed, Agatha saunters over to the dresser, her hips swaying with a seductive rhythm. She pauses for the briefest of moments before reaching into the bottom drawer, pulling out a vibrant purple strap, larger than anything you’ve used on yourself most definitely.

Her eyes clash with yours, burning with a hunger that steals your breath. You bite your lip, nodding softly as you spread your thighs wider in clear invitation, a silent plea for her to take you, claim you, fill you... complete you. Agatha groans deeply at the sight of you splayed out before her, a carnal offering awaiting her touch. "Fuck, baby. Look at you. So gorgeous. So perfect..."

Within moments, she has the harness secured snug around her hips, the thick cock protruding obscenely from her waist. Your eyes widen and a shudder wracks down your body as she stalks back towards you. Mounting the bed, she settles between your thighs, the thick head of the toy nudging against your slick, swollen entrance.

Ducking her head, Agatha swallows your gasp of anticipation with a deep, claiming kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours. As she kisses you, she rolls her hips forward just once, pushing slowly into your welcoming heat. Your back arches at the exquisite stretch, the delicious pressure of being filled, claimed, taken. You can feel every rigid inch of the toy as it parts your walls, delving deeper, reaching higher, stroking your most sensitive places.

"You feel that, baby?" Agatha whispers when she breaks the kiss, her lips brushing yours. "Feel me stretching this perfect little cunt? Making her mine?" She punctuates her words with a subtle thrust of her hips, driving the strap-on a little deeper, a little harder. Your walls flutter and squeeze around the firm length, drawing her in, begging her to fill you utterly.

"Yes—" you gasped eyes rolling back, nails digging into her back, anchoring her to you. "Yes, I feel it. It's so big. It's...ah! Fuck—"

Agatha smirks at your breathless praise, a wicked glint in her eye. "That's it, sweetheart. This pussy was made to be stretched by me. Made to be stuffed full of my cock, again and again..." She starts to move then, rolling her hips in a slow, steady rhythm. The toy drags along your walls with each thrust, stroking your sweet spots, igniting sparks of pleasure that build and grow and consume you from within.

Your head falls back against the bed, a pillow of tangled hair and sweat-sheened skin, as Agatha begins to thrust with purpose, each drive of her hips a claiming motion intent on owning every inch of your most intimate space "Oh fuck!" you cry out, voice breaking on a whimper of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "So fuckin' deep..."

You can feel the strap-on delving into you, splitting you open, reaching places no one else ever has. It's a delicious invasion, a beautiful claiming, a relentless pressure that borders on pain but brings only ecstasy. Your hips rise to meet hers, matching her fervor, her desire, your body desperate to be filled, to be used for her pleasure. The room fills with the symphony of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, the slick glide of the toy plunging into your dripping sex, your wanton cries and breathless moans.

"That's it, baby," Agatha pants, braced above you, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, "Take it . Take every fuckin' inch..." She leans down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you jerk and clench around the thick length spearing you open. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure and pain blending into a heady cocktail that sets your nerves alight.

Your hands claw at her back, nails raking down the sweat-slicked flesh as your body bucks and writhes beneath the force of her thrusts. You can feel yourself losing control, succumbing to the sheer, primal bliss of being possessed so utterly, you wailed, walls starting to flutter and clench around the plunging length as your climax builds at the base of your spine. "Harder baby, fuck me harder..."

Agatha complies with a dark chuckle, slamming into you with renewed vigor. The bed creaks and shakes with the force of her thrusts, slamming against the wall as she takes you with wild abandon "You want it harder?" she growls, the words vibrating through you. "You want me to ruin this hungry little cunt?"

"Yes, fuck yes!" you scream, too lost in sensation to care how desperate you sound. "Ruin me, baby. Fuckin' wreck me..." Your climax hits you like a freight train, tearing through you, shattering you from the inside out. Your vision goes white, your scream echoes off the walls as ecstasy crashes over you in overwhelming waves. Your sex clamps down rhythmically, squeezing and milking the strap-on as your orgasm rips you apart, chest heaving and breasts bouncing with each powerful clench.

Agatha slows her thrusts to a languid, sensual pace as she feels your walls start to flutter and quiver around her pulling her deeper, your climax building to a fever pitch. She wants to savor this moment, to linger in the exquisite feeling of your body yielding to her touch, accepting her completely. Leaning down, she claims your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, her tongue languidly stroking yours as she rocks into you one last time before slowly, reluctantly pulling out.

You gasp softly into her mouth, a hiss escaping your lips as you feel the loss of her, the emptiness inside you a stark contrast to the pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Agatha slips off the bed, your slick dripping down your thighs and onto the rumpled sheets. She makes quick work of unfastening the strap-on, tossing it carelessly to the floor before striding towards the bathroom, her lithe form a study in sin and satisfaction.

She returns a moment later with a small, damp washcloth, the fabric cool and soothing in her hands. Sitting back down between your trembling thighs, Agatha starts to clean your soft flesh, gentling you down from your erotic high with a tender touch.

You shiver as the cool cloth brushes over your sensitive sex, your skin still hot and aching from your intense coupling. But the sensation is also soothing, the knowledge that she cares for you, for your pleasure and your comfort, in a way that no one else ever has "That's my girl," she murmurs softly as she wipes away the last traces of your climax, the last remnants of her claim on your body. "Such a beautiful girl, so responsive, so perfect..."

Setting the washcloth aside, Agatha leans forward to press a single, reverent kiss to the apex of your thighs, the meet of your sex. Her lips linger there, breathing in the scent of your arousal, your pleasure, searing it into her memory. Then she's climbing back into bed beside you, pulling you into her arms, cradling your trembling body against her own. Her hands stroke down your sides, soothing the last little flutters and twitches from your climax.

You lay tangled in her sheets—limbs draped over limbs, hearts pounding slower now but still synced. Agatha’s arm was tucked under your head, her other hand tracing idle shapes along your spine. The moonlight through the curtains cast soft shadows across her bare shoulder, her lips swollen and parted, breath evening out.

You were both drifting, on the edge of sleep, but still tethered by the press of warm skin and the taste of lazy kisses passed back and forth without thought You shifted slightly, your nose brushing hers. “So… this is what making up looks like?”

Agatha hummed, pressing a barely-there kiss to your cheek. “Only the beginning.” You smiled into her neck, eyes heavy. Her hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, anchoring you gently to her chest.

“All mine.” she murmured. And in that quiet, sacred moment—intertwined, tangled up in love and sheets and everything you’d nearly lost—you believed her. You let yourself fall asleep in her arms. Because this time, she was staying. And so were you.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #aaa #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha x rio #kathryn hahn #lilia calderu #alice wu gulliver #jennifer kale

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chiyobot · 2 days ago

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so, feral or dark nsfw thoughts about Natalie of s3? Kinda tired of just fluff and angst of her in this season

-🍬

had some time today to write ... i will be reviewing other requests so promptly. stayed in character as much as possible. hope this was what you had in mind! if not we will just have to both burn. i will start first.

s3 feral/dark natalie thoughts.

🔞 #𝐃𝐍𝐈; ／ minors. shameless smut.

🚩 #𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; ／sex as a form of self harm, brief/mild dubcon, knifeplay, choking/strangulation, fingering.

finds god in the dirt. pins you under her, rocks against your thigh till her jeans chafe raw, mouth slack against your neck. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fhhhuck-” cums untouched, just from the shame of wanting it so bad, then spits on the ground like she’s trying to cleanse her mouth.

she’s obsessed with marks. makes you bite her thighs till they bruise purple, then prods the tender flesh later, hissing through her teeth. “should’ve gone deeper,” she mutters, like the ache in her cunt isn’t enough penance.

there’s a deer trail she follows when the guilt gets too thick. strips naked at the creek, spreads her legs on moss-slick rocks, and fingers herself raw to the sound of crows. imagines they’re laughing at her, the stupid slut playing with herself while her friends starve. cums with a fist in her mouth, then kicks her clothes into the water and goes back to camp smelling like river mud and regret.

sometimes she ruins her own orgasms. lets you get her right to the edge, then slaps your hands away. “not yet,” she pants, grinding on your boot like a feral thing. makes you watch her tremble for hours, denying release till she’s slick enough to smell, till every breath feels like a punishment. when she finally lets go, she bites her own wrist to stay quiet, blood blooming under her teeth.

she’s developed a fucking system. three fingers for emergencies, two if she’s feeling charitable to herself (never), thumb on her clit when she really wants to suffer. the rhythm’s mechanical, like skinning game – in, out, twist. no romance, no fantasy, just a body betraying a mind. when she finishes, she’ll say “that’s enough,” knowing damn well it’s a lie.

after near-starvation days, she fucks like she’s trying to consume you. rides you raw in her personal shed, knees grinding into splintered wood, her cunt so tight it’s almost painful. “give it to me,” she snarls, yanking your hair to force eye contact. you cum quick and she doesn’t give a shit, just keeps grinding, chasing her own release like it’s the last meal on earth.

memories get sticky out here: that one party at travis’s place, nat pressing you into the mildew-slick basement wall while upstairs, someone’s dad yelled about broken beer bottles. now she’s got you belly-down on a scavenged tarp, her knee splitting you wide as she hisses “still got that smart mouth?” into your ear. you can’t tell if the dampness on your back is sweat or her spit or blood.

fucks you with her boot knife pressed to your jugular. “bet i could spill you right here,” she muses, but her hips stutter when you call her bluff. cums with the blade trembling in her hand, then throws it into the lake and sobs like she’s lost a limb. you fish it out at dawn.

she’s developed a kink for teeth. yours, hers, doesn’t matter – if it’s sharp, she wants it in her. you find her once gnawing on a rabbit bone, sucking marrow like it’s your fingers, and the look she gives you could curdle milk. “what?” she snaps, but her thighs press together under the tarp.

you find her one night with a belt around her throat, the other end tied to a low branch. she’s purple-lipped and glassy-eyed, hand jammed in her pants. “help or fuck off,” she slurs, but when you loosen the knot she fights you, nails raking your cheek. you pin her, fuck her while she’s still gasping, and she comes sobbing “thank you” into the dirt.

she fucks like she’s trying to die. hips slamming into you with the rhythm of a girl who’s memorized gun recoil, her breath coming in ragged bursts that fog the cold air. “c’mon, c’mon–” like a prayer or a threat, her fingers bruising your hips as if you’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on. you'll replay the groan she lets out in your head for weeks to come.

after bad nights (the ones where she wakes screaming), she’ll crawl into your furs silent as a shadow. lets you touch her then, soft as you dare, your palm flat on her stomach like you’re checking for bleeding. she’ll guide your fingers lower, press them inside with a whimper, but if you mention it come sunrise she’ll burn your breakfast and call you a liar.

#natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio smut #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat yellowjackets #nat yj #yellowjackets nat #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets x reader #× nsfw/smut; mdni.#× heavy/dark topics.#🦝; natalie scatorccio thoughts #𓂃 𓈒𓏸 🍬 anon

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sheliesshattered · 2 years ago

Text

The overdress is all in one piece! And we have sleeves! With bonus screen accurate Rhaenyra ring!

Work has been extra weird this week, but weird in a way that's given me more time to iron and pin and sew than I usually have. So I was able to get through that long list of pressing tasks from my last post, and then pin the two front panels to the side panels (which are already sewn to the back panels), pin the back seams of the sleeves, and sew those four seams earlier today.

With those seams done, the sleeves are sleeve-shaped and the dress is basically dress-shaped. All of those new seams need pressed, and the sleeve seams will need to be hand-finished since the black silk organza is a bit itchy on its cut edges. There's just one more body seam left to sew for the dress, the center front seam, and then the little shoulder seams.

There's quite a lot of finishing to be done, both on the dress and the sleeves. In the above pic, the sleeve is just clamped closed at the underside of the wrist, and once it has its hooks-and-eyes it'll fit a lot more smoothly. And then there's all the seam finishing for the dress, hemming the neck and armscyes and skirt edge, and handsewing on all the trim and beading. Lots to do!

I've been working little by little on the handsewing for the seams finishes for the underdress, and then it will need all its hemming too. But when possible I've been trying to focus on the overdress, because if it came down to it, I would rather have the overdress done and leave the underdress somewhat unfinished. But today is exactly 15 weeks until I have to pack for Dragon Con, so I've still got time, and I'm hoping I can get everything finished to my liking in the time remaining.

Besides the dress itself, I still have a few things to do on the wig, and I've been tracking down the jewelry pieces one by one, and I may actually end up making one piece that I've been unable to find. I also want to make a little handbag to carry all my stuff at con, but that's definitely on the nice-to-have list.

Some days I feel like I'll be able to get through this whole project with time to spare, and other days I feel like I'm going to be working on it up until the very last moment, and maybe have to cut corners to get it done. Getting through this last portion of machine sewing and into all the extensive handsewing will hopefully give me a better idea of how long the whole thing will take.

But, of course, I'm already having Ideas™ about what other cosplays I could make for Dragon Con this year, if I do end up having time at the end of the summer. One of them would be pretty straightforward, and I could use the same pattern as this project with just a few modifications, and I already have at least most of the materials I would need to complete it. The other one is completely ridiculous, with tedious machine sewing and handsewing, but damn it would be fun.

Welp. I guess if I want to have any hope of finishing this cosplay and maybe one or two more after that, I should probably get back to it. My iron awaits!

#RRD cosplay #my cosplay #my sewing #Dragon Con 2023 #I should say for the record that I do already have two cosplays finished and ready to pack that I've never taken to Dragon Con #my MOTOE Clara Oswald that I took to Gally1 2020 right before the world ended #and my AotD Oswin Oswald that I made in late 2020 and have never worn outside of the house #I'm definitely excited to wear both of those at DC and will probably spend one whole day in the two of them. either Friday or Saturday #and I have several others from previous Dragon Cons that I could dig out and re-wear if I REALLY wanted something else to wear #and yet I am having Ideas(tm)#the straightforward cosplay idea is one that I've wanted to do for years and years and years. a complete classic #and the other one is very timely to 2023 and won't make nearly as much sense in any other year. both would be tons of fun #so we'll see #more days like this when I get plenty of time to sew might actually make it possible #...tho I did have to pause in the middle of making this post bc I had a visual aura migraine that faded to a pretty bad headache #it's finally starting to really go away now thank the gods #but it just goes to show that the spoonie issue can rear its ugly head at any moment and derail all my plans damnit #also can I just say that I am THRILLED with the color match between these photos and my Rhaenyra icon #look at that red. I am so pleased.

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lov3notts · 6 months ago

Text

"you what?"

ᥫ᭡Theodore Nott x F!Readerᥫ᭡

summary: accidentally drinking a lust potion, you asked your best friend Theo for help.

warning: smut, cursing, unprotected sex, size kink maybe? cream pie.

word count: 2.4k

18+only; minors don’t interact

Navigation; masterlist; request rules

“You what?” Theo’s eyes widened, you wanted him to do what? He wasn’t sure if this was a dream or not but if it was he didn’t want to wake up

Earlier that day , you had accidentally drank a lust potion.

How, you might ask?

Well the boys (Enzo/ Mattheo) thought it would be funny to prank Draco by giving him a lust potion as payback for pranking them earlier that week

At lunch the 2 boys were there first, taking their usual spots they slip the potion to a bottle of Draco's favorite drink and placing it on the spot were Draco usually sits

One by one the group gets to the table ,leaving you and Draco left.

Soon both of you walk in, but you seem to be in a rush

“Sorry guys I can’t stay and chat, I have to get back to studying, i’m just here to get some food to eat while studying” grabbing random things and the only drink you see left, you quickly stuff it in your purse

“Wait y/n!” Enzo saying frantically, giving Matt a worried look

You look up at Enzo as you start to zip up your bag. “Yeah?”

“We were actually saving that for Draco, um- were having practice later and that’s his favorite”

“Omg I’m so sorry! Here-“ as your opening you bag Draco comes behind you , going to sit down

“I actually got my own drink, y/n can have it” Dracos says while pulling out his drink from his bag,

Enzo’s and Mattheos’s eye widen.

“I- um, but we got it for you” Matt says with a bit of a shaky voice

“Its fine, I don’t need it” as he waves his drink showing the 2 boys

“But-“

“Omg thank you Draco, I really have to go now guys see you later” you say as you're walking away before the boys have a chance to take away the drink.

Both Enzo and Matt try to call you back but you’re already gone, both freaking out inside. praying you don't find out what they did.

While studying in your dorm you couldn’t focus for more than 10 seconds. Thinking you might just be tired from all the studying you took a break. Getting up from your desk you head towards your bed. Laying in your bed you start to space out

At first it was all innocent thoughts, school, weekend plans but then they started to shift The only thing you could think of was pleasure. Thinking of a certain boy made your cunt throb, making your body hot

Your hand slowly creeps down to your shorts. Slowly playing with yourself imagining it was Theo’s fingers rubbing circles on your clit.

“Oh god Theo” you moaned

but no matter how good it felt you couldn’t reach your climax. You were so needy and nothing was working. The rising heat from your body only made things more uncomfortable.

“God what is wrong with me, and why is it so hot” getting up from your bed you walk towards your desk, trying to find your drink, in hopes of it cooling you down . You picked up the bottle and before you can finish the drink you saw something written on the bottom of the bottle

“Payback- Enzo and Mattheo”

Your eyes widened with confusion.

What?

Then you remembered how the drink was meant for Draco.

everything started to make sense

This is why you were like this

You couldn’t even be mad at them, Your mind was clouded with the urge to get any satisfaction you could. all you wanted was any sort of pleasure but nothing was good enough. it started to get painful and a sudden thought popped in your head. Theo

he’d help right? He was really the only one you can go to.

Your heart was racing at just the thought of Theo agreeing to help you out, being best friends all these years you had developed a crush on him, of course you never acted on it because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship

Pacing back and forth your room, you finally decide to ask him for help. Nervously picking up your phone, you open Theo’s contact.

“Theo?”

“Hey Bella, what’s up?”

The nickname itself making you get butterflies.

“Um- I need a favor, can you come over?”

“Of course, i'll be over in a few”

“Okay see you” hanging up the phone, your thoughts begin to consume you

What if he says no?

What if he laughs at your face and runs off

What if…

What if he says yes…

Before you can continue, there was a knock on your door. That must be him. Slowly walking to your door, palms sweaty, you turn your door knob

“Hey, what did you need help with?” Theo goes in to give you a hug

Hugging him back, your nose is infused with his cologne

God why does he always smell so good

He lets go and looks at you closely, he moves a strain of hair behind your ear to have a better look at you. His eyebrows frown, noticing your face is flustered and incredibly warm.

“Are you okay? Your face is warm” resting his hand on your cheek

“Yeah, um actually funny story-“ Quickly leading him to sit on the edge of your bed, holding his hands as you begin to explain

“Please just hear me out. I know it's odd ,but I have no one to go to,- just please-“ falling to your knees, begging.

“Hey hey, breathe. You know I'm here if you need anything. Now tell me, what’s up?” Theo's eyes looking at you with worry.

“Please I- I need you to fuck me” you blur out

That was the last thing Theo thought would come out of your mouth.

You wanted him to what???

He was speechless, absolutely at a loss of words. jaw wide open

“Please, I'm sorry for asking you for this, I know it’s a lot and we’re best friends. But please I can’t take it anymore. I accidentally drank something that wasn’t meant to me and it had this effect on me. I’ve tried everything but nothing is working. I need your help please” your face heating up from embarrassment . I mean you only ever had the biggest crush on your best friend for years, but what you didn’t know was that so did Theo.

Theo had dreamt of the day he got to be with you.

How’d he spend hours pleasuring himself of the thought of you under him, on top of him and how good you’d take him in your mouth. God, was he hard the second you asked him to help you out.

How could he say no?

Without another thought he picked you up from the floor. Sitting down back on your bed while you straddled his lap.

Looking into your eyes, moving a piece of your hair behind your ear, resting his hand on your cheek, he leaded in.

Your soft lips on his, both whimpering into the intense kiss. Licking your bottom lip asking for access. You gladly gave it to him.

Slowly rocking your hips on his clothed boner, trying to find any friction to satisfy you.

Slowly laying you down your bed, taking off your clothes until you were left in nothing but your matching black lace set.

“Don’t worry Bella, i’ll take good care of you” Theo whispers as he starts to leave a trail of kisses down your body

“Theo please~” you pleaded, needing to feel something, anything.

“poor thing, you’ve must of been so uncomfortable for such a long time, don’t worry i’m here now”

He stopped to look at your lying body, face all flustered, messy hair.

“God you’re so beautiful” he wasn’t lying, he’d always thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Always jealous of your ex boyfriends because they got to be with you. But now it was his turn and he was going to give you the best you’d ever gotten, he was going to ruin every other guy you’ve been with.

Slowly pulling your panties off, dick throbbing at the sight of your wet glistening pussy. Trying to ignore his throbbing cock and focus on you, he gives you a sweet smile.

“You're soaking wet, so ready for me” leaving little kisses around your pussy, teasing. finally burying his face between your legs, painfully slow licks as he takes it in, savoring every moment.

As soon as you felt his tongue, you became a whimpering mess.

“Theo~ oh my god yes” moving your hand to his hair, giving it a little tug.

Theo couldn’t hold it in anymore, he started to devour you. eating you out as if he’d never get this opportunity ever again

“You taste so fucken good” he groaned against your dripping core. The vibrations sending you waves of pleasure

“More please, Theo! oh my god~” it felt so good, his tongue making you feel things you’ve never felt before with anyone else

“So polite, even when your so needy” Theo smirked as he sees how much of a mess you were for him

He starts so pump one of his fingering into you while eating you out. Soon enough you felt the feeling you were craving for

“M-so close, fuck Theo i’m so close”

He stops what he’s doing, getting up grasping on his zipper and undoing the button. Tugging his jeans and boxers off.

“Theo? Why’d you stop? I was so close” you looked at him with teary eyes. you were so close, god why did he stop

“Sorry princess, I wanna be in you, want you cum on my cock” godddd was he hot

His cock strung out his pants hitting his stomach , you were lost for words. In no world was Theodore Nott small, he was big- huge even. you’ve never taken anything close to his size.

Theo noticed your starring

“Like what you see?” A smile tugged the corner of his lips

“Don’t worry you can take it, I know you can”

You nodded at his works

He lined himself up to your pussy, tracing himself up and down, teasing you.

“You have no idea how long i've been wanting to do this for”

“Fuck ,Theo please, please fuck me” you whined

“Anything for you, love”

he slowly pushed himself into you. You both let out a loud moan.

“fuck, your so tight” Theo was out of breath.

You felt so good around him that he never wanted this moment to end.

“fuck Theo your big” you said panting

“You think you can take more?”

More???

“There’s more??” Looking at Theo with a disbelief face

He chuckled “i’m only have way”

“Don’t worry you can handle it, can’t you baby?”

“Mhm- yes yes, I can take it”

Pushing the reset of himself into you. bottoming you out. heavily breathing, getting comfortable with the feeling of him stretching you out.

“good girl ,You’re doing so well for me, are you ready?”

“Yes! fuck-please move, please” you begged

Brining your legs above his shoulders and laying them there. Gripping your ankles to keep you steady as he started to thrust into you. Both a moaning mess

“Fuck fuck fuckkk, Theo-” your eyes roll back, arching your back.

“You feel so good Bella, oh god-“ panting

“Your squeezing me tight- fuck”

One of his hands moving to your waist. fucking you harder now, unable to stop. His cock was so fucking good, hitting your g-spot every time.

“Fuck Theo just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop please!” Your hands holding onto your bed sheets as he rocks his hips.

“You like that huh? You like it when your best friend is pounding into you, god you look so beautiful, taking all of me like a good girl” he groans while leaving kisses on your ankle.

Your walls clenching at his words

He groaned again as he felt your cunt throb at his praise.

“Oh you like being called a good girl don’t you?” letting go of your ankle to grip your jaw to make you look at him.

“Who's a good girl are you?” Theo says as he speeds up his thrusts

Looking at him with half lidded eyes “Yours, all yours!!~“ you moan

“That’s right all mine, no one can ever make you feel this good, isn’t that right love?”

“Mhm only you, ah~ i'm so close”

“Cum for me baby, come all over my cock”

You were absolute bliss, god you’ve never seen fucked this good, yeah you’ve had other hookups but nothing can compared to this, to Theo

You moaned loudly, shutting your eyes as you reached your orgasm “im- im cumming!!” Your body shaking from the overwhelming feeling

The way your walls clenched from cumming made Theo on the verge of spilling. He continues to thrust into you through your first orgasm. He didn’t expect you make such a mess all over his dick, your cum spilling out of you as he thrusts into you

You felt Theo twitch inside of you, knowing he’s close you moved his hand from your waist to your breasts.

“Mmm so soft…” Theo whispered. leaning down, putting his tongue on your nipple, swirling it around. “Mmm Theo that feels good” throwing your head back from a little act. Theo was soon approaching his climax.

“Fuckk- can I cum inside of you? please oh god I can’t hold it anymore, please? Fuck-” Theo begged as he tried to hold it in, waiting for you response

“Yes!! fuck Theo cum inside me” you practically screamed as you felt you stomach tighten.

He let out a loud moan as he spilled his cum inside of you. You screamed as you felt his warm cum spilling in you, triggering your second orgasm.

Theo’s thrusts became sloppy, riding out both your highs. He pulled out and laid beside you. Dizzy and breathless, taking a moment to catch your breath. Finally when you both got steady, you look up at Theo

“Thank you Theo, really”

“No need to thank me Bella, you can come to me for anything anytime” smiling at you.

crawling onto his lap you whispered into his ear “stay the night? I don’t think the drink has worn off just yet~”

This was going to be a long night for Theo.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

a/n: Thank you for reading my first ever fic!! a special mention to @leona-hawthorne for being an angel and giving me feedback on my first rough draft. It helped a lot:)!! another honorable mention to @nottsangel!! Im that anon who mentioned writing their first story, hope you like it^-^ thank you both, your blogs have inspired me to start writing. xoxo

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott smut #bsf!theo #theodore nott smut #slytherin boys smut #slytherin #theo nott x fem!reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #slytherin boys #theo nott fic #theodore nott fic #theo nott one shot #theodore nott oneshot

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celiababy · 4 months ago

Text

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Ain’t Right part 1

Ain’t Right part 3

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

#smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #drabble #I need him so carnally

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thebestsetter · 4 months ago

Text

Sae's nutritionist has been having a hard time ever since the athlete started a family with you.

Sae has always followed his diets strictly. Never ate chocolate, avoided sugar the best he could and mainly ate only fruits and vegetables. His behavior was always praised by all his nutritionists because of how easy it was working with him.

Sae started to "disobey" his diet when he moved in with you.

It all started when you began to cook him lunch for after morning practice. You knew he had to follow a strict diet, so you never made something too unhealthy. Sometimes, you even sneaked some sweet treats for him, but it was too little to do any harm, so his doctor just pretended not to notice it.

But this?? This was too much.

"Sae-kun" he said, pointing at the pink princess pot on Sae's hands "W-what is this?"

"My daughter packed my lunch today" Sae smiled softly, just like he always did when talking about you or your daughter. The doctor would've thought the whole ordeal was cute, if not for what was inside the pot: a box orange juice you buy on those vending machines (it's orange color was almost radioactive. God knows how much sugar there is in it), a (very) poorly made pink cupcake, with rainbow sprinkles all over it; and scrambled eggs (thank God at least one healthy thing).

"You can't possibly be thinking about eating this" his doctor deadpanned, but quickly added "T-the cupcake and the juice, I mean. The eggs are fine"

Sae's smile instantly fell, and he stared at the nutritionist with a frown

"What's wrong with my daughter's food?" It wasn't a question. Sae was daring the doctor to say something bad about the cupcake his sweet, lovely daughter made, staring at him with a cold and almost dangerous gaze.

The poor doctor should've stopped there. He really should have. But if he let Sae eat this Chernobyl looking cupcake, he might as well just throw his nutrition degree on the nearest trash can.

"It's not good for your health" the nutritionist said, staring at the Cinderella that was painted on the top of the pot "As an athlete, you know it's important to lose old eating habits. You can't eat this."

Sae stared at the doctor for what felt like centuries, but finally looked at the cupcake and carefully picked it up, holding it in his hands like it was the most valuable thing he ever held.

The way his gaze softened just by looking at that sorry excuse of a pantry almost scared the doctor. One second, he was looking at him with what could only be described as pure hatred. The other, he was looking at an ugly cupcake like it was a masterpiece.

Anyways, Sae's doctor was just glad this was over with. Itoshi obviously was going to throw the cupcake away, eat the eggs, and just order something else to compliment his lunch. It would all be okay.

Or so he thought .

"You know" Sae started, peeling the paper that was carefully wrapped around the sweet treat "It's interesting that you talk about losing"

"Why?" The doctor asked, not really liking Sae's voice

Sae stared at the man for a while, then slowly looked at the cupcake and brought it up to his mouth. Just as he was about to take a bite out of it, he stopped and stared at the man again

"Cause you just lost your job"

"What?"

"You're not deaf" Sae said "You're fired. Grab your stuff and get out of my sight"

"You can't do that!" The doctor screamed at him, which only made Sae roll his eyes

"I can and I did. Out. Now."

The nutritionist knew it was useless arguing with the stoic Sae Itoshi. With a sigh, he turned away from the player to go and collect his belongings

"Just one more thing before you go"

He heard Sae say, which urged him to turn around. The moment he laid his eyes on Itoshi, the footballer took a bite out of the pink cupcake

"This is fucking delicious."

The doctor would NEVER eat a cupcake in his life again.

Masterlist

#blue lock #bllk #bllk manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #sae itoshi #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #bllk sae #itoshi sae #itoshi x reader

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nanaslutt · 1 year ago

Text

Pussy so good he broke the couch

ʚ ft. Perv Roomate Geto

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, dirty talk, spit, unprotected sex, choking, praise, 1 face slap, spit, manhandling, teasing, sexual tension, consensual photography

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You and your roommate Geto had quite the routine down by now. The two of you would turn off all the lights in the house except for the small side table lamp next to the couch before you gathered the essentials, blankets, pillows, and snacks. Only the snacks often were forgotten about. Without fail about twenty minutes into the movie, Geto would spread his arm out on the back of the couch, scooting closer to you as he did so. That's how it always started.

Of course, when he made such an obvious move like that, you couldn't just ignore him, right? So you scooted closer to him as well, closing the gap between you as you lay your head down on his shoulder, his body heat seeping into your skin. Suguru would soon abandon grabbing the back of the couch and scoot his arm forward, placing his arm around your shoulders.

The entire time the two of you stayed silent, no one uttering so much as a work to the other as the tension in the room grew. Not even when Suguru removed his arm from the back of you and brought it around to grab onto your thigh, his large, warm hand massaging the skin. This is usually where you start to really feel it. Your mouth runs dry, your palms get sweaty, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve the ache.

"You okay?" Geto always asked, noticing how hot you were getting, and you always answered with a smile and a nod, both of you pretending you had no idea what was going on despite the way you looked at each other like you wanted to devour the other. Suguru would slide his hand higher and higher, teasing his pinky on the inside of your thigh, making your breathing pick up.

Now Geto was fully hard and aching in his pants, thank god for the blanket draped across the two of you. Not like you seeing how hard he was matters when he would be buried balls deep inside you in a couple of minutes. Even when Geto started rubbing his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, making your heart rate spike, your breath obviously louder and more stuttered now, he kept his eyes on the TV, pretending to watch the movie as if he wasn't touching your cunt.

Only when you grabbed his wrist and finally moaned out his name so sweetly, breaking the silence, did the two of you give up the innocent act and give in to your desire. This night was no different, and Suguru was currently caging you in with his strong arms, his cock threatening to poke your cervix, as he pounded you into the couch.

"That's all you f-fucking got? G-give it to me Suguru." You moaned, your words coming out broken and stuttered despite your challenging words and cocky smile to match. Suguru shook his head as he wet his lips with his tongue, his hips never letting up inside you. "You want it harder? Huh?" He groaned against your lips, breathing in your moans, making him dizzy.

You wrapped your arms harder around his neck, pulling him closer against you. Each time he thrust his hips inside you, his hard pelvis was rubbing perfectly against your swollen clit, making your toes curl. "Yeah, give it to me harder." You moaned, your words a teasing barely-there whisper against his lips, making him groan in response, his face already flushed from feeling how tight and wet you felt around him.

"You sure? You look like you can barely keep up with this pace." Geto teased, laughing as he raked his eyes across your face, keeping his hips moving. Suguru pulled his lip between his teeth when you squeezed hard around him, his cock throbbing at the feeling. "You s-sure you're the one who can't handle it?" You teased back, squeezing your legs around his hips, pressing his cock deeper inside you when he thrust in.

You opened your mouth a hairs length away from his lips, feigning a kiss which he tried to reciprocate; his own lips parted expectantly; before you whispered, "You seem like you're about to cum already, need to take a break?" Suguru felt the vein in his forehead pop out at your words. The smile on your face was quickly wiped off as your brows knit together when Suguru's hand constricted around your throat, shutting down any more teasing words from you.

"You're so fucking smart today huh? Let's see who cums first." Geto groaned, emphasizing his words by squeezing his hand harder around your throat. The action made stars arise in your vision, it felt so fucking good when he choke you, the feeling always went straight to your cock. He closed the distance between your lips at the same time he picked up his pace. If his hips weren't bullying you before, they sure as hell were now.

You tried to keep up with the pace of Geto's tongue and he forced it against yours, overpowering you with it just like he was doing with his body against yours. Geto was fucking you so hard, his cock filling you up entirely, leaving no part of your walls untouched as he buried himself balls deep over and over. Your moans were being forced out of your mouth and into Geto's by his ruthless hips, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.

You moved your tongue weakly against his, your head starting to go dumb from the reduced air intake your lungs were getting thanks to his iron grip on your lungs. You were granted a little reprieve when he pulled away from your lips and sat back on his heels, your legs forced apart as they rested on his thighs. Geto pulled the fat of your upper thigh against him to make sure he was as close as possible before he started fucking into you again, somehow harder.

This new position was making him feel so much deeper. Your eyes repeatedly rolled back in your head as nothing but incoherent moans and whines left your lips, echoing throughout the room, the movie playing quietly in the backround still. You gripped Geto's wrist for support with both of your hands, the action only making him squeeze your throat tighter.

He shook his head watching your body squirm around against the cushions, he couldn't decide if you were trying to escape his cock or get more of it, it was cute. Suguru's face and chest were now the same color, beat red, as your pussy made him go dumb, his brain on autopilot telling him "harder, harder, harder, don't stop, make her cum."

"Such a filthy girl." Suguru groaned, a pussydrunk smile on his face as he took in your tits jiggling in every direction from the force of his thrusts. "F-uck S-suguruuu-" You tried to cry, pressing your thighs together tightly around his waist. "'S that feel good? 'M I fucking you nice n deep how you like it?" He asked, his balls slapping against your ass making a loud, lewd sound emanate into the room.

You nodded your head furiously in his hold while you repeated, "Yesyesyes 's fucking deep-" Over and over. Geto couldn't believe how someone so fucked out could still manage to look so beautiful. Tears and sweat were sliding down your cheeks and mixing into one, your flyaways were sticking to your forehead and your body was shaking and trembling with every thrust.

Geto released his hand from around your throat before quickly stuffing two fingers into your open mouth. You were too fucked out to close your lips around them, just letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin. "You're so fucking hot, takin' my cock so good pretty girl." He praised, shaking his head at how shameless you were.

The couch made a loud creaking sound with every thrust, challenging the volume of your own moans. It did that every time though, both of you learning over time to tune it out as the sound soon became backround noise just like the TV. Geto's cock leaked pre-cum into your cunt every time you squeezed around him, becoming nothing more than added wetness as he continued thrusting inside you.

He tipped his head back and let his eyes fall shut as he relished in how warm and tight you were, making his balls throb with the need for release but he could tell you were getting close. Suguru hooked his fingers on the inside of your cheek, stretching your mouth open before he leaned over you and gripped your jaw with the other. You were jolted back to reality when Geto spat right on your tongue, your mouth closing instinctively, his fingers still inside, as you swallowed what he gave you.

Suguru sat back up and grinned, his cock throbbing at how eagerly you swallowed for him. He pulled his fingers out from your wet mouth before he pulled his hand back and left a small smack on your face, the noise echoing through the room. You smiled at the feeling, your cheek stinging a bit from where he just hit you, but it was quickly replaced by a kiss as he was now on top of you again, his body caging you in.

"What are you smiling for, huhh? You like gettin' hit?" Suguru teased, squishing your cheeks together. You nodded dumbly at his words, trying to rock your hips back up into him as you kept your cloudy eyes on his. Suguru smiled while shaking his head at you, "so. fucking. dirty." He groaned, emphasizing his words with his hips.

You moaned against his lips when he crashed his face against yours, his hand moving from your jaw to down between your bodies as he found your clit with ease, rubbing against it using small, quick circles. Your moans increased in pitch as you whined against him, his mouth swallowing up your sounds. Your legs shook with oversensitivity. His cock was steadily beating against the most sensitive parts inside you, and now he was rubbing your clit just right? Fuck, it was making you go crazy.

With your arms now snugly around his shoulders, you tried tapping repeatedly against them, a small smacking sound being created from how needily you were hitting him. "Too much? Gonna cum?" Geto teased as he pulled away from your lips. Your back arched off the cushions, your head tipping back with it as you felt your orgasm build up steadily inside you. "F-fuck, fuck don't stop- d-don't fucking stop-" You begged, your eyebrows pinching together with pleasure.

Suguru's insatiable lips found your neck when you tipped it back. His lips and tongue working together against your skin to suck hickeys and lick fat, hot stripes against you followed by kisses. Just when you were about to be pushed over the edge by Geto's fat cock that was fucking you so well, you heard a loud cracking sound followed by a crash.

Geto's cock slipped out of you as the couch split in two, your body falling into the crevice, Geto's arms pinning around you. "Wha-" You mouthed, feeling a slight ache in your lower back from where you had hit the broken wood. Your orgasm had fizzled away the instant the couch broke, but you still felt that tight ball of need deep in your tummy.

While you were trying to put together what just happened using your fuzzy, fucked out brain, Geto's large hand manhandling you took you out of it as you were placed on the floor next to the now broken couch on all fours. "W-wait the-" Your words were cut off as Geto slid his cock back inside you all at once, a groan leaving your lips simultaneously.

Geto seemed to be in a trance as he picked up right where he left off, fucking into you hard and quick, his hand dipping under your body to rub against your clit. "S-suguruu-" You whined, reaching for his hand. You must've forgotten you needed your arms to hold yourself up because as you gripped his wrist between your legs from under you, the front half of your body fell forward against the floor. Thank god for the plush carpet under your face.

"Cum for me, I can feel how close you are, cmon give it to me, n-need to feel it." Geto groaned, his words rushed and voice deep as he spoke. All of his actions were full of lust, he was more fucked out than you now. His other hand grabbed the fat of your ass and used that grip to pull you back against him harder, making his cock ruthlessly pound against your g-spot.

Geto's pace was getting sloppier, and you could feel how often he was twitching inside you, he was about to cum. Your knees pressed together and your feet kicked up between Geto's legs, fluttering as you were worked up to your orgasm again. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as he kept rubbing your clit, sloppy, messy circles doing the job just right. "Ohhhmygod-" You moaned through your teeth, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt your orgasm crash over you.

Geto's body fell on top of yours, his hand caging you in by your head as he finished with you, releasing rope after rope of hot cum deep in your walls as your cunt pulsed around him, milking the cum from his balls. The two of your moans mixed together so sweetly, his hot breath tickling by your ear as his body went limp, save for his hips that kept shallowly, weakly thrusting his cock inside you, making sure he filled you up nice and deep.

"Sugu..." You whined, turning your head toward him. Geto let you grab his cheek and pull him down towards you, his lips meeting your own in a sweeter kiss, still a little fast, but more controlled. You pulled away from his lips after a moment to catch your breath, your lips parting with mutual pants as you rested your head between your arms on the ground in front of you.

Geto sat up and slowly pulled his hips back, both of you groaning at the oversensitivity. You could feel the strange and slightly uncomfortable feeling of Geto's cum chasing his cock as it dripped from your hole, sliding down your thigh. "mmmmmmm...." You groaned in disgust, your thighs pressing together to stop any more from coming out, to no avail of course.

You felt Geto's fingers pull your pussy lips apart as he oggled his masterpiece before you heard the camera click of your roommate taking a picture, your body getting illuminated by the light. Geto retracted his thumb from your cunt as he whistled, staring at his phone. You pushed yourself up on shaky arms and sat on your sore bottom, now facing him. "Did you just take a picture of my cunt?" You asked, looking at him incredulously.

You didn't care about him taking pictures. He'd done it before and you knew he was too weirdly possessive over you to show anyone else. "Yeah." He smiled, turning his phone around to face you. You were met with the apps on his home screen, only they were sitting on a unique backround, your dripping cunt. "Suguru you are NOT using my pussy as your homescreen you freak." You chastized, trying to snatch his phone out of his hand.

He retracted it out of your reach and placed it on the side table behind him before he faced you again. "It's hot, no one goes into my phone anyways." He shrugged, smiling at you, his face still red. You sighed and shook your head, not wanting to argue right now. You reached out and brushed his hair out of his face before you raked your hand down his scalp, practically making the dark-haired man purr. "Feels good." He said, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch.

"I bet it does." You responded, scratching the back of his head. "You know what's not gonna feel good though?" You asked, keeping a sweet and innocent smile on your face for him to see when he opened his eyes, looking at you quizzically. "Your bank account when you get done buying me a new couch."

Suguru's face immediately fell into a frown, a bit of a dramatic one as he glanced over at the very broken couch before back to you. "It was an accident." He said pouting. "I knowww~" You cooed, smiling at him through the irritation, "A six thousand dollar accident!!" You finished, dropping your hand and patting him on the thigh. "Good luck!! I want a grey couch this time by the way." You smiled, rubbing his thigh.

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yuquinzel · 10 months ago

Text

atsumu who goes above and beyond to impress you, his crush and classmate of four years, in all definitions of “impress.”

honestly how the fuck isn't it obvious to you by now, he might as well be walking around with “i like y/n” tattooed on his forehead.

you mention you like guys that can cook once and holy fuck atsumu who still doesn't know how to use the microwave without quite literally burning the food, who's never chopped onions before without ending up with enough cuts to bandage his whole hand— that atsumu practices for weeks and stays up till 2 am to prepare for the lunch he'll make for himself, because osamu said said no and then because you bring homemade lunch to stay and eat in class with your friends— he'll casually just plop down on the seat next to you, his friends will then very obviously willingly talk loudly about his lunch and he'll just throw in a, “yeah, made it maself, 'm a solid chef, who do ya think taught 'samu?”

okay if that didn't get your attention, no worries, what are his friends there for?

if atsumu gets lucky in a day and catches you chatting away with your friends in the hallway, then he instructs his friends to walk past you, hover in the corner, just within your earshot— “'kay, so when we pass her by, ya gotta speak ma name real loud, loud enough so she can hear it, but don't annoy her”

and so for the time you stand there, trying to hold a conversation with your friends, all your mind can really focus on is the, “atsumu was so fucking good in practice today, if we're gonna win, then it'll be all him”

and then you hear the subject of the conversation speak, “nah, we're a team, every time we win, it's all thanks ta you guys,” because you also mentioned you like modest, humble guys.

god forbid the days you're absent in class.

atsumu who's sulking all day, doesn't know what the fuck is going on in classes, he's half in and half not in every conversation, even his passes are sloppy and weak. to the point osamu and suna are concerned, well, in their own ways, “are ya constipated or something, yer missin’ your spikes and yer passes as clumsy,” osamu says off-handedly.

“i heard y/n didn't come today, i think her friends said she's sick.” suna chips in, and atsumu shrinks in his spot like a grumpy cat.

“i already know that, wouldn't have come today if i knew she wasn't comin’.”

“you'd miss practice then.”

“don't care, don't talk to me, don't wanna do anything, what's the point.”

“down fucking bad,” suna muses, and atsumu glares at him.

atsumu's day is ruined and his disappointment is immeasurable. why did you get sick? how could you get sick? now he's worried and half of himself and his passes are shit and god, he wants to see you. he feels like he could die.

then when you finally show up the next day after what felt like eternity to atsumu, you find on your desk a pile of snacks with a little note— banana milk, everyone knows it's your favourite, the bar of chocolate they only sell down the convenience store near the school, the glazed donuts that you're always eating in class, and a lot of bubblegums that only one person in class knows you like— atsumu's handwriting is rushed and barely comprehensive but you know it by heart because he doesn't know you saw him slip the note you found in your locker this morning, and countless other mornings—

“i hope you smile because of this”

atsumu as a secret admirer is... not so secret because he's still unaware that you see him every morning, and let him giggle to himself as he slips the notes and the strips of bubblegums in your locker— you don't even like that flavor.

but he gave them, so you think they might just be your favourite.

then again, maybe atsumu doesn't want to be a secret admirer.

atsumu has a crush on you and you know that— he's very obvious. but he's also very dense and doesn't realise that everyone besides him can see you like him too. he doesn't know the only reason you bring homemade lunch is because he had started to eat lunch in class with his friends. you stand in the hallways with your friends pretending to talk so that when atsumu's walking past you, his friends will practically yell his name and you'll see him blushing shyly. he still doesn't know you come to his every match, cheering for him and scream with joy at every one of his scores.

atsumu makes it obvious he has a crush on you but is stupidly dense that you reciprocate all the same :'))))

POSTING BECAUSE WHY TF NOT HUH HUHHHHHHHHH

@kyoghurts hi bbg

#❀˖° ─ hana writes.#ATSUMU IS ME ME IS ATSUMU #suddenly remember everything i did to impress my crush LMAO never again #if i had a dollar for everytime i wrote “atsumu”#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu drabble #haikyuu drabble

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luna-azzurra · 5 days ago

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Spicy Dialogue Starters Pack

Slow Burn That’s About to Explode

"If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret."

"Say that again. Slower."

"You really like testing my patience, don’t you?"

"Back up. Closer. I want to see if you’ll actually do it."

"Do you realize how loud you were moaning my name last night?"

"You should probably stop touching me like that... unless you plan on finishing what you started."

"We’re not doing this here." – "Why not? Scared you’ll like it?"

"I dare you. No, seriously—I dare you."

"One bed. One night. You sure you can behave?"

"You think I won’t?" – "I know you will. That’s the problem."

Enemies to Lovers, but We’re Both Hot and Unhinged

"If I kiss you, it’s not because I like you. It’s because you won’t shut up."

"Do it. Touch me like you hate me."

"You’re infuriating." – "And you’re turned on."

"Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous."

"Admit it. You like it when we fight."

"You want me. You just don’t want to want me."

"If you’re going to stare, you might as well do something about it."

"Say it. Say you want me." – "Why? You’ll just use it against me."

"Keep talking like that and I’ll kiss you right here."

"Don’t tempt me." – "What if I want to?"

Post-Tension Intimacy (A.K.A. We Finally Snapped)

"You're shaking." – "So are you."

"This doesn’t mean anything." – "Then why are you holding me like that?"

"I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you."

"You're not getting any sleep tonight, just so you know."

"You're mine now. Say it."

"God, you feel so good." – "Yeah? Then shut up and keep going."

"You can hate me in the morning. Just… let me have this tonight."

"Is this what you wanted?" – "No. I wanted more."

"Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop."

"I’m going to ruin you. And you’re going to thank me for it."

Teasing Touch, Dangerous Proximity

"You’re blushing." – "Shut up."

"That shirt’s doing you no favors. Take it off."

"If you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so."

"I like the way you say my name. Say it again."

"You’re standing really close." – "Yeah? You gonna move?"

"I can feel your heartbeat. Is that for me?"

"Your hands are shaking... here, let me help you."

"Careful. Someone might think you actually want me."

"You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?"

"We’re not supposed to do this." – "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

Voice Low, Words Barely Whispers

"Keep your voice down. Or don’t. Let them hear."

"Every time you talk, all I can think about is your mouth on mine."

"Say the word, and I’ll have you against that wall in five seconds."

"What do you think happens if I kiss you right now?"

"You smell like trouble." – "You taste like it."

"Look me in the eyes when you lie like that."

"One more step and I won’t be able to hold back."

"If you keep teasing me like that, I’m going to ruin you."

"Tell me to stop." – silence – "Didn’t think so."

"We’re alone now. You still pretending this is just tension?"

Hot-Headed, Argument-Laced, About to Snap

"Why do you always have to push my buttons?" – "Because I love watching you lose control."

"You think you’re in control here? That’s cute."

"You're not walking away from me. Not this time."

"God, you're impossible." – "You didn’t seem to mind last night."

"Say it louder. Maybe if you scream my name again, I’ll believe you."

"Keep pretending you don’t want me. I’ll keep proving you wrong."

"You're dangerous." – "Only if you ask nicely."

"Is this still an argument or are we just flirting with knives now?"

"Admit it. You love it when I get like this."

"Don’t act like you don’t want this too."

#writing #writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing help #spicy writing #spicy #writing dialogue #dialogue prompt #love prompts #dark romance

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 1 year ago

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“Love, you really don’t have to.” Simon murmured, his heart racing as he watched you sink to your knees in front of him. His heart was racing a mile a minute, his hands shaking as he struggled with where to put them.

He’d never gotten head before, not once. Nobody had ever offered, and Simon wasn’t the kind of man to ask for any favors in bed. He was always curious though, always wanted to know what it would feel like.

“I want to.” You replied, batting your beautiful, lust blown eyes up at him. “Want to make you feel good, Simon.”

Simon let out a soft groan at your words, and watched as you pulled his hardening length out of the confines of his pants. He held his breath in anticipation, his eyes struggling not to flutter closed as he felt your warm hand wrap around his length.

His breath hitched in his throat as you swirled your tongue across his tip, your eyes fluttering shut at the taste of the accumulated pre-cum soaking the head. He felt you moan softly against it, your tongue beginning to drag up and down his now rock hard cock.

His mind went numb when you finally took him into your mouth, your pretty pink lips thinning around the thickness of his length. He felt your mouth tighten around him, creating a tight, wet suction.

It took everything in him not to cum then and there, between the sight of you taking what you could of his length in your mouth, mixed with the feeling of your wet, hot mouth around his cock was overwhelming.

He let his hands fall to your cheeks, gently cupping at your warm flesh as you began to bob your mouth up and down his length. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, twisting at what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Simon let out chorus of soft grunts and groans, his mind still blissfully numb as he concentrated on the wet, lewd noises your mouth was making, and just how fucking good your pretty lips felt around his cock.

The pleasure was almost too much, and Simon could feel his stomach tighten, a pleasant burn filling his abdomen as his orgasm rapidly approached. His whole body began to tingle, his legs beginning to tremble as you attempted to take him deeper into your mouth.

“Wait, wait, please I’m going to cum.” Simon breathed out, his hands which were on your cheeks gently urging you to pull your head away. “Sw-sweetheart, please.”

But you remained where you were, fully intent on finishing what you started. You hollowed your cheeks further, your tongue skimming along the underside of his length at you continued to bob your head.

“Shit, fuck!” Simon growled, his hands finding your hair and gripping harshly, his cock pulsing inside your mouth as his hot cum shot down your throat. Butterflies filled his belly as he struggled to regain his breath, his cheeks burning crimson from embarrassment. “F-fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You pulled away, your eyes locked on your lovers as you made a show of swallowing what was left of his cum. Simon felt his cock twitch at the sight, as a low grown escaped him. “Oh fuck.”

It was simply the hottest fucking thing Simon had ever seen in his life. And god he wanted to do it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always thank you SO much to all the immense support recently!!!💕💕💕💕

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #female reader

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mytherapyisreading14 · 3 months ago

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Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, you really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #professor reid #professor x student

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ponderingmoonlight · 9 months ago

Text

Seeing kny men shirtless for the first time

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Gyomei x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader (bonus: all hashira men x fem!reader)

Word Count: 3,2k

Warnings: this might be a little shitty so be nice pls, this is actually the first time I ever wrote for Gyomei so please please please let me know what you think! not 100% proofread 🥹🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“Have you seen Rengoku-san? There’s something I want to ask him about our upcoming mission.”

Tengen tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, lips unable to keep that dirty grin off his face. Yeah, surely you’re asking for a mission and not because you’re having a crush on the flame hashira since joining the pillars.

“He went outside in the gardens to view the blooming roses”, he lies oh so innocently.

A bright smile creeps up your face, heart already skipping a beat in excitement. If you were only brave enough to finally ask Kyojuro out, how easier your life would be if you’d just keep your distance to him. But the prospect of seeing him alone is enough for your mind to go blank. Hopefully, the others don’t notice.

“Thank you so much, Tengen”, you blurt out with a hasty bow before yanking out of the room.

“Didn’t he say he wanted to change since he sweated so much during training?”, Shinobu thinks out loud.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a lot of fun”, Tengen replies with a smirk plastered onto his face.

Your mind races back and forth as you make your way to the gardens. What will you even ask him? Maybe what he has planned, if he already knows something? What if you mess up? This is actually the first time you and Kyojuro got assigned a mission together. You have to make a good impression or otherwise, he won’t take you with him again.

“Rengoku-san, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have a few questions regarding the ne-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat immediately, feet coming to a rapid stand.

There he is, the flame hashira.

Shirtless, his upper body soaking wet while he empties a bucket of water over his head.

“Oh, (y/n)! I didn’t expect you here!”, he announces with his eyes widened.

You can’t even blink, mind going dull. You always secretly imagined what Kyojuro might look like underneath that uniform, if his muscles look as buff as they feel underneath your touch while training.

And they do.

Oh god, they definitely do.

“I-I…Tengen told me that…You’re here to see…the roses”, you blurt out, still unable to look away.

“Indeed! But before that, I really needed to change my uniform since I sweated a lot during training.”

“Yeah, I can see that”, you mumble.

“(y/n), are you not feeling well? You look quite red from afar. Allow me to check on you.”

When he suddenly starts walking towards you with his chest muscles tensing with each and every step, you feel like fainting. Of course you never doubted that this man looks good underneath that uniform, but this?

“Your cheeks are really hot”, he comments while running his wet hand up and down your cheek.

“I…I…”

Your mind is a mess, not a single thought is making sense right now. Are you dreaming? Is that really Rengoku Kyojuro standing in front of you with his abs glittering in the heat of the sun, so close that you’d be able to touch him.

“Maybe you should go and see Shinobu-“

“I’m flustered!”, you finally cry out like an idiot.

Only to regret your words immediately.

His hand stops right in its tracks, the piercing presence of his orbs forcing you to look up at him.

“Why would you be flustered, (y/n)?”, he questions innocently.

May the ground swallow you whole in hope you’ll never return. God, why does this have to be so embarrassing? You’ll definitely have a word with Tengen when this is over.

“Because I…I have a crush on you, Kyojuro.”

The words you never dared to say out loud, that lingered through your mind each and every time you saw him. Like a rock, they fall off your chest while a wave of pure panic starts rushing over you.

You just confessed your feelings to him.

Him, Rengoku Kyojuro.

“I think I need to go now”, you blurt out, already starting to turn away when Kyojuro grabs your wrist gently.

“Please don’t go, (y/n). Actually, I feel the same way about you.”

He sweeps you around so rapidly that you are forced against something as hard as a wall. Did he accidentally throw you against a wall, the nearby tree?

The second you open your eyes again, you stare at his bare chest, only millimetres away from your face.

That wasn’t a wall.

“I had an eye on you since the first time I saw you. You are just…so amazing!”, he confesses with a passion that is even unusual for him.

“Kyojuro, I…”

Your bare face touched his naked chest.

“I…”

And don’t get started on his sight, his broad chest, the muscles that flex when he grabs your shoulders passionately.

“I…I can’t…”

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? A cat got your tongue?”, Tengen jeers from behind.

All your senses seem to come back to you in the split of a second when a wave of anger washes over you.

“You little…Why did you do that!?”, you cry out while storming towards the much taller man.

“Because your face looks very flashy when it’s this red.”

Gyomei Himejima

To say that you are exhausted would be the understatement of a century. Being out in the scorching sun all day really took its toll on your already bruised body.

Not to mention the training methods of none other than the stone hashira himself.

Gyomei is not a stranger to you. You’ve known each other for quite some time by now, joining the demon slayer corps almost simultaneously. And that force of a man never failed to impress you.

You wrench your sweat-soaked clothes in the river while staring at your own reflection. Why are you even here, though? You might not be a hashira yet, but you trained with Gyomei countless times before. Over and over, you shoved rocks around and almost drowning in that exact river. At this point, the basic training of the corps members isn’t even enough for you to break a sweat. You find yourself shoving that rock 10 cho by now while carrying tree trunks on your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. Now that you think of it, you didn’t even catch a glimpse at Gyomei himself since being here. Apparently, the hashira training does keep him busy.

That sting of agony that pierces through your heart can’t be stopped, though. Over the span of those last years, you got to know the stone hashira better. Despite his tall and threatening appearance, he is the softest man you’ve ever known. So kind that he brought tears to your eyes more than once, so considerate that it’s hard to believe that this man lives alone.

It was inescapable for you to fall from him head over heels. And now you find yourself longing for his presence even though you know all too well that he is busy training the corps members.

“I didn’t expect to greet you here at this late hour.”

You almost trip over head-first into the water, caught by a strong hand last-minute before you take another dive into the river.

“I’m beyond sorry for scaring you like this, (y/n)”, an all too familiar voice continues while pushing you back on your feet.

Normally, the first thing you see is his demon slayer uniform and cloak draped around him in a somehow elegant way.

But not today.

You swallow hard, widened eyes blankly staring at his naked chest. This man standing in front of you…Gyomei wears nothing but his uniform pants.

“I…uh…don’t w-worry”, you stutter like an idiot, his arms still holding you in place gently.

“Did I interrupt you? I didn’t know that you were taking a bath.”

His soft voice paired with that sight in front of you. You’ve never seen him shirtless, never witnessed the way his veins pop out of his arms and how well formed he is underneath that uniform. It would be so easy to allow your fingertips a taste and let yourself discover his muscles even better, to just stretch out your hand and-

“Does it bother you that I am shirtless? I came here to take a bath myself.”

“Bother?”, you press out.

“I…I’m not bothered at all!”

“I guess I’m just a little…flustered…”

“Flustered?”, he repeats in confusion.

“If I make you feel uncomfortable, I’ll cover myself of course. I just noticed you were here and we haven’t seen each other for a long time by now.”

“I missed you”, he adds, forcing your world upside down for a minute.

Since you’ve got to know him, there was never more than friendly words between Gyomei and you. Not more than a shoulder rub, not more than motivating words from time to time. You never allowed yourself to compliment him or talk about anything apart from missions.

Until now. Until Gyomei confessed out of nowhere that he missed you.

While being shirtless

“I…missed you too”, you finally give in.

You allow your eyes a little glimpse at him. Just a little taste of his broad shoulders and how his veins stand out. Just a little something of his rock-hard abs, his enormous upper body that is usually covered by his uniform. Just one look at-

“I thought about you all the time, to be exact”, you breathe out before you even realize what you’re talking about.

“I’m feeling the same way, (y/n). Let me assure you that my heart beats just as fast as yours at the moment.”

Gently, he cups your hand with his and presses your palm against his bare chest, straight against his racing heart that pulsates against your skin.

Oh god. You feel like fainting any given minute, your very own heart pounding so hard that you might get a heart attack.

“Now, allow me to put on my uniform again so that we can have a proper-“

“Wait!”, you blurt out.

“Let’s just stay like this for uh…a little longer…”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It’s hard to keep your palms from sweating when you know exactly where you’re going. To him, the wind hashira. The man who swept you off your feet without even trying, the man you haven’t seen in such a long time by now.

While Sanemi always kept himself busy with missions, you were assigned to a mission far away from home. It took you over a month to finally find the demon who was responsible for this mess. And eventually, Sanemi just stopped writing you letters or replying to your messages. Even though you were so sure that he might feel the same way about you, he proved you wrong.

In the most painful way.

“I can’t go any further, that’s exactly where he is”, you complain while following your crow around.

You know this path uncomfortably well, the way it leads you next to a river, through a field of strawberries. Straight into the wind hashira estate.

“Direct orders from Kagaya-sama! You need to undergo the hashira training!”

“I just returned from an exhausting mission, did you tell him that?”, you bark back only to get attacked by your stinky crow.

“So cheeky! Watch how you talk to me!”, it cries out, literally dragging you along with it while its beak bursts the skin of your cheek.

Your heart almost stops beating, pounding rougher and rougher against your ribcage with every step you take towards the wind hashira estate.

What if the man you still love rejects you? What if he breaks your heart in front of everyone else, if he speaks out those words you imagined when you waited another day for his reply?

You want to escape, want to get as far away from here as possible. But your unforgiving crow drags you with it until you find yourself at the front doors of his estate.

“Get yourself together, dumbass! Go inside and talk to him! GO!”

With one last bite it finally leaves you alone, right at the opened front door.

There’s nothing you’d like more than vanishing from this earth, to get swallowed whole. Why on earth does it have to be him first? Why aren’t you allowed to train with Tengen, Giyu, basically everyone else? Your heart races so hard inside your ribcage that it takes your breath away, eyes staring into the dark estate.

Is he even home?

You allow yourself to take a few steps into the building, to look around. No cries, no voices? Maybe he isn’t even home. Are they training somewhere else, in the nearby woods, maybe?

“Fuck!”

His voice almost sends you over the edge, forces your eyes to dart around in sheer horror. That was Sanemi, without any doubt. But is he alone?

What if he’s not?

What if he’s with a girl?

You swallow hard, the ugliest thoughts taking over your head when you hear water splashing from a room nearby.

You can’t help it. As quiet as possible, you make your way towards the room the sounds originate from, ready to find literally everything. What if that’s the reason he didn’t write you back? What if he fell in love with another woman and simply forgot about you?

Your eyes peek through the ever so slightly opened door.

And your jaw drops to the floor in an instant.

There he stands, nothing but a towel covering his private parts while droplets of water run down his naked back. Sanemi just washed himself.

But oh…

You can feel your mouth watering just by looking at the scars that cover his back, how delicious the water than runs down his neck seems. You’re only a few steps away from that force of a man, only a few steps in order to touch him. You always wondered what his skin feels like, if his outside is as rough as his inside. And what does he smell like straight out of the shower? Does he still smell like himself? And what about his abs-

All air drains from your compressed lungs as you suddenly find yourself pinned against the wall straight in Sanemi’s bathroom.

“Why the hell are you spying on me like some little freak?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…wasn’t spying”, you press out, his distressed orbs meeting yours.

Fuck, you’re screwed.

“Oh yeah? Why were you standing outside my bathroom then? I didn’t even know you were back!”

“Because you never fucking asked”, you finally bark back.

He draws even closer, lingers over you like an unpromising shadow with his naked upper body still dripping. No, you have to concentrate on the fact that you’re mad as hell right now, there’s no room for inspecting his upper body.

But his abs definitely look as good as they feel.

“You were out on a mission, how the hell was I supposed to ask? I thought you’d just let me know when you’re back”, he bites back.

“Oh, could have tried answering my damn messages, maybe? Did you ever think about that!?”

“Me answering your messages? You never replied to me!”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about? I sent you countless messages and you never answered. I even asked Kagaya-sama if you died or something! I…I was so fucking worried…”

His heavy breath mixes with yours, caresses your oversensitive skin.

“But Sanemi…I did the same”, you finally mutter.

Sanemi’s chest rises and falls rapidly, a few water drops escaping the force of his skin. His oh so glowy skin. Of course you knew that this man would look good shirtless. But this? How are you supposed to stay focused when his skin turns pink ever so slightly, when his muscular chest moves like that?

“Can you stop staring at my abs and focus on me for one minute?”, he barks while flicking in front of your way too focused eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up in an instant, glossy eyes staring at him like a caught deer. If there’s one thing that’s worse than checking Sanemi out, it’s definitely getting caught.

“Sorry, I have to go”, you mumble while pulling yourself away from him.

Only to find yourself wrapped in his naked arms even tighter.

“You’re not going anywhere. I just asked you something”, he warns you.

“Let go of me!”

“Did you…miss me?”

Your arms stop right in their tracks, widened eyes staring at his flustered face in sheer disbelief. There he stands, Sanemi Shinazugawa, straight out of the shower while asking you if you missed him?

“Yeah, always”, you reply out of instinct.

“Good. Because same.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to second-guess your answer. In the split of a second, you get devoured by his muscular arms, your very own kimono soaking wet in an instant.

Are you dreaming?

“Wait, what?”, you breathe out.

“And you totally checked me out”, he adds proudly.

“I didn’t check you out-“

“Oh yeah?”

He lets go of you just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his delicious upper body again.

“Maybe a little bit…”

-Bonus-

You huff out in exhaustion. What the actual fuck were you thinking when you agreed on training with all hashira? Well, apparently not that you’d literally vomit all over yourself after getting hit without any mercy by all of them.

“That little fucker Shinazugawa”, you curse under your breath while stomping towards the wind hashira estate.

“I’ll kick your puny ass next time.”

Your feet drag you back to them with last strength. Rengoku, Tengen, Obanai, Shinazugawa, Tomioka…why on earth are all of them so damn strong? Super unfair.

“Have you seen how I beat the shit out of her?”, you hear Sanemi jeer from afar as well as the constant mumbling of the others.

“It wasn’t necessary to hit her this hard”, Giyu comments.

“Hell yes it was. Now that brat knows what she’s dealing with!”

All you see is red. Even though your body begs you to stop, you storm towards their voices.

“Listen up, you little shit-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, eyes darting around without a real aim.

There they stand. Shirtless. Every single one of them.

Oh.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault that you’re a loser-“

Just this once, you’re actually able to ignore Sanemi’s shitty words. That toned abs Rengoku has, Tengen’s veiny arms, Obanai’s athletic build, the scars that compliment Sanemi’s muscles so well-

Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Are you okay, (y/n)?”, Giyu questions while rubbing the back of his head with a towel.

How is it possible that he looks this good underneath that loose uniform? You always expected Giyu to be rather athletic that muscular given his fast movements. But that mountain of a biceps definitely doesn’t lie.

“I…”

Not a single logical thought is left in your blank mind, eyes roaming back and forth between them.

“I need to go.”

In the matter of seconds, you disappear inside the wind hashira estate without a trace.

“Is (y/n) alright? She looked rather pale”, Rengoku thinks out loud, still staring at where you last stood.

“She was definitely checking me out”, Tengen announces proudly.

“You? Bet she was looking at me”, Sanemi jeers at the tall man.

“How are they so hot?”, you mumble to yourself while inspecting them through the window.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 months ago

Text

Favourite Surprise

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky have been through a lot together. So what happens when you surprise him with something he wasn't expecting?

Disclaimer: descriptions of bullet/stab wounds from a mission, hurt/comfort, Bucky tends to Reader's wounds and worries about her, some swearing. Not proof read.

“I’m gonna put you down. Just stay there.”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere.” You slumped onto the floor, holding your side, trying your best to breath through the pain. But even breathing was starting to hurt.

Bucky had carried you to the safe house. You were on a mission just outside of Prague. You’d been prepared for the worst, and told to hope for the best. But you hadn’t been prepared for this worst. One of the enemy agents having it out for you.

They’d dived right past Bucky and three other Shield agents in order to reach you. And they’d sure as hell made sure they got to you.

You could hear Bucky rummaging around in the bathroom, piling things up in order to bring them into you. A few seconds later, he appeared and started moving around, locking all the windows and shutting the curtains.

“Can I look?”

You nodded, a small whimper leaving you as your clothes caught your wound.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Bucky helped lift your shirt the rest of the way but then he frowned. “I can’t clean it like this. I’m gonna need to cut-”

“No. Don’t-don’t cut it.” Pushing yourself to sit up, you reached for the hem of your t-shirt. “Buck, I’m gonna need your help.”

“It’s gonna be easier to just cut it.”

You shook your head. “I’m not wearing one of the tiny fucking t-shirts kept here. Now, help me.”

Bucky did as he was told, helping you pull the t-shirt up your body and over your head, leaving your top half in your sports bra.

“This is gonna hurt-”

“I know it’s gonna fucking hurt. Just do it.” You took in a few breaths before shaking your head, your tone softening. “I’m sorry-”

“You’ve been shot and stabbed. Swear as much as you like.”

A weak, breathy laugh left you. “Thanks.”

Bucky gave you a quick countdown before pouring the wound cleaning solution over your wound. Your body reached, crunching up, trying your best to push yourself away from Bucky and the bottle he was pouring over your gaping wound. Your hand landed on his right arm, squeezing him as tight as you were squeezing your eyes shut.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Ugh, god.” You looked up, your head banging gently against the kitchen cabinet behind you. “I hate this.”

“You’re gonna hate it even more in a minute. You need stitches.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“I need to do them now. We don’t have time-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You took in a deep breath before finally looking at him. “I trust you.”

“Do you?”

“Do I really have any choice?”

“No, I guess not.”

After fifteen minutes, you started to feel yourself succumbing to sleep. “Whoa, hey, no, no, no. Stay awake. Y/n! Don’t you dare pass out on me now!”

You continued to breathe, feeling the needle curl through your skin as he stitched you up.

“I’m almost done, doll. I promise. Just stay. Awake. You hear me?”

You nodded, though it was weak. However, whatever essence of sleep you were falling into was suddenly gone when a deafening sting ripped through your wound and you shot up from where you’d laid down on the floor.

“All done. It’s all done now. But I’m gonna need to wrap it.”

“Couldn’t you have warned me?”

“I did. I told you not to fall asleep.”

“I’ve lost a lot of blood. Don’t blame me.”

“Think you can stay awake long enough for me to let Sam know where we are?”

You nodded. “I can try.”

Bucky smiled a little with relief. “Good. Stay awake.”

You didn’t know how long had passed but it couldn’t have been long. Bucky was standing somewhere in the corner of the room, his voice repeating his badge number and coordinates until Sam’s voice finally replied. Then his voice slowly slipped away.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, Sam.”

“We’re on our way now. Just keep her awake.” Sam told him and when Bucky didn’t reply, he spoke again. “She’ll be okay, Buck. You’ve got her to safety and patched her up, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice broke over the radio.

“She’ll be okay. I’ve got Cho on board with me so she’ll be in safe hands. Just sit tight. We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Keep her awake, Buck.”

The radio crackled away and Bucky turned back to you. “Y/n!”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you did speak. “I can’t keep 'em’ open, Buck.”

“You’ve gotta. I need to know you’re awake.”

You forced them open but not for long.

“Just save your energy. Sam’s not too far.”

Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his side. “Just stay awake with me, doll.”

“I’ll try, Buck.”

Bucky tried his best to keep you awake but eventually you passed out. For a moment, you woke up and found yourself wrapped in a pair of familiar arms. But then you passed out again.

Bucky laid you down on the bed inside the jet before stepping away, being pulled into a tight hug by Sam as Cho started to inspect your wound and start a blood transfusion.

Bucky explained everything as best as he could to both Sam and Helen until eventually all there was left to do was for him to sit by your side and hold onto your hand.

And he did that for three days.

By your side in the jet, by your side in your hospital bed and, not too far from your side when you were pulled into surgery.

When you finally woke up, your hand was in his as he lay hunched over the edge of your bed, fast asleep.

“He’s been awake for two days.”

You turned and looked at the door. Sam was standing there, a soft smile on his face as he walked inside, his voice quiet. “I did try and make him go home but he didn’t want to leave you.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Almost a week.” Sam told you before he sat himself down in the chair on the other side of your bed. “After three, they took you in for surgery. Some lesions from where the knife had cut through your bullet wound. He did a good job at fixin’ you up, though.” Sam explained. “You’ve been asleep ever since.”

“And him?”

“Never left your side.”

You turned and looked back at the sleeping Bucky and your hand reached out. Softly, you brushed the hair back from his eyes, repeating the movement until you saw a soft, sleepy smile appear on his face.

“You have been shot and stabbed. You’ve both survived through a lot.” Sam told you, bringing your attention back to him for a moment, you hand softly landing on top of Bucky’s.

“I think maybe it’s time you two took some time alone together. Maybe a nice vacation.” Sam offered. “Just think about it.”

Then he sat up, leaned over and pressed a light kiss to your head. “I’ll see you later.”

As he got to the door, you called out to him. “Sam?”

He looked around.

“Thank you.”

Sam just smiled and closed the door behind him, leaving you and Bucky inside. He remained asleep for a while and each time you gently pushed your fingers through his hair, that soft smile would appear on his face.

Then he finally opened his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered open and closed until his brain finally registered what had woken him up.

He shot up, but your hand came to his face.

“You’re awake- you’re awake!” Bucky turned, ready to call for a nurse but with your hand on his face and shoulder, he sat himself back down before sitting on your bed, facing you.

“Hey, hey, no, don’t call them. Not yet.”

“You’re awake. How long have you- are you okay?”

You smiled, holding onto him to make sure he stayed still long enough to hear you. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? They had to rush you into surgery and-”

“Hey, I’m okay. I’m awake, right?”

“Right.” Bucky smiled, finally looking at you. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay because you saved my life.”

Bucky then reached out, his fingers holding onto the ends of your hair before his eyes tracked back up towards your own eyes. And for a moment, the last time you’d looked at him like this flashed before your eyes.

Laying on the floor, a white-hot pain spread through your side as Bucky skidded to his knees beside you. The panicked look in his eyes, the slight shake in his hand as it quickly reached out for you, and his voice…the recovered panic…

But the way he was looking at you now…

No danger. Just pure relief.

And without thinking, you took the plunge.

Leaning forward, you kissed him.

His breath hitched for a moment, and his body stilled. But then he kissed back. His hand firm against your face, his fingers lightly digging into the back of your hair.

Pulling away, if in a little need of catching your breath, Bucky’s head remained against yours for a moment, his eyes closed, soaking up every last moment.

You’d both been surprised a lot in the last seven days alone. But he had to admit, you kissing him was his favourite one yet.

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

Text

Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways.

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong?

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard.

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news.

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically.

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now.

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

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