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wolvietxt · 2 days ago

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𝓒HAPTER 𝓞NE !

series masterlist taglist form pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : injury detail, heavy angst, trauma, reader has a flawed regeneration mutation, arguments, reader has lots of scars (mentioned throughout), a lot of time shifts wc : 5.3k 😈 a/n : chapter one! hope you guys enjoy, will try and get chapter two out before the end of the week, fill in my taglist form (liked above) to be tagged in the rest of the series :3

the scars never really faded, no matter how much time passed. your regeneration didn’t work like the flawless kind you’d read about in comic books - clean, seamless, leaving no trace behind. instead, your body mended itself in a patchwork of silvered lines and raised ridges, crisscrossing your skin like a roadmap of every mistake, every fight, every loss.

people stared. even when they didn’t mean to, their eyes would flicker over your arms or collarbone before quickly darting away. you could feel it in the way they shifted uncomfortably, their gazes tinged with pity or fear.

you didn’t blame them, not really. you had grown used to it, the way your appearance seemed to speak for you before you ever opened your mouth. it was easier to keep your head down, let people think whatever they wanted, than to explain everything.

your mutation first showed itself when you were thirteen. it was a normal school day, one you barely remember apart from the incident that changed everything.

gym class had always been your least favourite. the whistles, the shouting, the echoing clang of equipment - it was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that you dreaded every week. that day, the teacher had insisted you try the balance beam.

you climbed up reluctantly, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. your arms wobbled as you stretched them out for balance, your breath shaky with concentration. step by step, you made it across, relief flooding your chest as you stepped down.

you never saw the edge of the metal bench sticking out.

your foot caught, sending you sideways. the fall was fast, the sharp edge of the bench catching your side before you hit the ground hard.

at first, all you could feel was shock.

then the pain hit.

it was searing, white-hot and sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs. your hand flew to your side instinctively, and when you pulled it away, your palm was slick with blood.

the gym teacher’s whistle blew sharply, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of your classmates. someone screamed your name, but the sound barely registered. the world felt muffled, far away.

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a soft, panicked wheeze.

then it happened.

at first, the pain dulled - not completely gone, but less overwhelming. a strange warmth spread through your side, accompanied by a tingling sensation that made your skin crawl.

you looked down, and your stomach flipped.

your skin was shifting, the torn edges pulling themselves together in jerky, uneven motions. the bleeding slowed, the exposed muscle knitting itself back in place.

it wasn’t clean or seamless. the new skin was raw, red, and puckered, the kind of scar that looked like it belonged to a battlefield, not a middle school gym.

“oh my god,” someone whispered.

the gym teacher rushed over, her face pale as she knelt beside you. “stay still,” she said, her voice trembling. “help is on the way.”

the ambulance ride was a blur, your parents' faces even blurrier when you saw them in the hospital waiting room.

your mom hugged you tightly, her arms trembling, while your dad stood stiffly in the background.

you thought the worst was over. you were wrong.

later that night, sitting at the kitchen table, you tried to explain what happened.

“it wasn’t me,” you said quietly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of a napkin. “it just… happened.”

your mother didn’t respond right away. she looked at you for a long time, her expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“you’re one of them,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

the words hit like a slap. your father didn’t say anything. his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the back of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

“we’ll figure this out,” your mom said eventually, though her tone was more for herself than for you.

but they didn’t.

at school, the whispers started almost immediately. someone must have told.

“mutant,” a boy sneered as you passed in the hallway, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

the word clung to you, sticking like glue no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

your classmates avoided you like the plague. even your closest friends began to drift away, their excuses flimsy and half-hearted.

“my mom says i shouldn’t - ” one girl began, then stopped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

you stopped asking after that. stopped trying.

instead, you withdrew.

your parents weren’t much help, either.

your mom tried, in her own way. she asked how school was, offered to drive you to and from classes, but there was always a tension beneath her kindness, a stiffness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

your dad barely spoke to you at all.

he would sit at the dinner table, reading the paper, his face hidden behind the rustling pages. when you tried to make conversation, he would grunt in response, his answers clipped and distant.

you knew it wasn’t anger. it was fear.

the scars kept coming.

every time you tripped, every scrape and bruise, every accident - they all left their mark.

your body healed itself instantly, sure, but not without a price.

you stopped wearing short sleeves altogether, the constant stares too much to bear.

you spent most of your time alone after that. books became your solace, a way to escape into worlds where people like you were heroes instead of freaks.

fantasy novels, mostly. you devoured stories of knights and sorcerers, of battles and triumphs.

but no matter how many books you read, you couldn’t escape the weight of your own reality.

some nights, when the house was quiet and the walls felt like they were closing in, you would cry softly into your pillow, the ache in your chest too much to hold back.

you learned to hide your emotions, too.

the last time you’d cried in front of your dad, he’d winced, like the sight of your tears was physically painful.

“you have to be stronger than this,” he’d said gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “people like you don’t get to be weak.”

it wasn’t fair, but you listened.

by the time you were eighteen, you’d learned two important lessons.

first, people would always see the scars before they saw you.

and second, no matter how much you tried to hide them, the world would never let you forget what you were.

🌀 a few years later…

you never understood why they did it. your parents - the people who were supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally - were the very ones who handed you over.

it happened when you were still too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, too naive to know the horror you were about to face. they’d told you that it was for your own good, that it was necessary. they said the facility would make you better - make you stronger. they promised you’d be safe there, that they’d be right outside the door if you needed them.

but when you reached the gates of the compound, you saw their faces - familiar but distant - before the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind you. they didn’t even try to fight it. they didn’t look back.

you were a child, small, innocent, and vulnerable. you couldn’t have known what was coming.

they called it the program. they never told you exactly what it was - never explained the tests, the injections, or the experiments. but you could feel it all. every sharp prick of the needle, every invasive procedure that left you raw and trembling. it was all about control, about making you something they could manipulate, bend to their will.

they trained you like an animal. they broke you down piece by piece, until you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror. the pain of the experiments became a constant hum in your body. your mind, too, slowly dulled as they erased the parts of you that once made you human.

they kept you in a cage, a box that was your world. your only companions were the cold walls and the sterile air, the only sounds the occasional voices of the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hallways.

in those dark moments, you questioned everything. who were you, really? what were you becoming? you couldn’t remember your life before the compound, couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t a part of their twisted plan.

then, one day, something changed.

you’d been in that sterile room for weeks, if not longer. and when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, you thought it was just another round of tests - another round of pain. but when the door swung open, it wasn’t a scientist or a guard standing there.

it was a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a harsh, unreadable face. he wasn’t one of them. he was different.

he was here to take you.

he told you his name, though it didn’t mean anything to you. he said they were going to break you out, that you were free now, that they had no more hold over you. but nothing was ever that simple. nothing was ever as easy as it sounded.

he led you down cold, metal hallways, past security, and through doors that felt like they might be your last. every footstep echoed in the silence, and with each one, you thought maybe it was a trap. maybe they were going to drag you back to that cage.

but it never came. instead, the man pushed you further into the complex, until you found yourself standing in front of an exit - a set of heavy doors, marked with nothing more than a simple code on the screen.

this was the moment, he told you. this was your chance to run.

you ran.

your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the feeling of freedom was overwhelming, and it was all you could do to keep your mind from drifting back to what you’d been through. you pushed it away - the fear, the anxiety, the voices in your head telling you that you were still a prisoner in your own skin.

but when you reached the gates of the facility, there was no escape. no one was there to help you.

just when you thought you were free, the men in black uniforms emerged from the shadows, surrounding you in a circle, blocking every exit. you knew then that this was never going to be over. they weren’t going to let you go.

and in the middle of it all, your mind flickered back to your parents. why? you wondered. why did they do this to me?

their faces were cold in your memory now, distant like they had been the moment they handed you over to the program. you weren’t their child anymore. you were just a project.

but you didn’t have time to think about that now. the fight wasn’t over.

you’d escape this, too. you had to.

the compound was chaos - loud, frantic, and disorienting. alarms blared in every corner of the facility, the sound nearly overwhelming your senses. everything felt too bright, too sharp, the noises too jarring. you had learned to block out most of it over the years, but in this moment, it all rushed back, drowning you.

you barely had time to process what was happening. everything had gone sideways far too fast. guards ran in every direction, chasing after people - some fleeing, others doing what they could to stop the chaos. the entire building felt like it was falling apart.

you knew you couldn’t stay here. you had to move.

you had to finish what you started.

you stumbled through the hallways, barely able to keep your feet beneath you. the pain from the wounds you’d sustained was a constant companion, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was distracting you. it was the memories - the flashes of everything you’d been through - the tests, the injections, the cages.

but now wasn’t the time for weakness. now wasn’t the time to look back.

when you reached the lab, you couldn’t believe it. everything was laid out in front of you - files, plans, even test results. everything you needed to finish your mission. but before you could move toward them, something shifted.

the door slammed open with a deafening crash. instinctively, you dropped to the floor, fingers scraping against the cold tiles as you slid behind a metal table.

shadows danced in the doorway.

the x-men.

you’d heard of them - everyone in the mutant world had - but never in person. and now they were here, a group of strangers entering your nightmare, bringing their own kind of chaos with them.

you peeked cautiously from behind the table, watching as they quickly overpowered the facility’s security. each member of the team moved with precision - beast’s large form barreling through walls, cyclops’s visor flaring with every blast, and storm summoning lightning with a mere flick of her wrist. the room seemed to come alive with their power.

“she’s the one,” one of them called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “take her down.”

you held your breath, eyes widening as they closed in on you. they weren’t just here for the facility. they were here for you.

but you weren’t some damsel in distress.

you’d spent years training, escaping from countless situations far worse than this. you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. so, you moved.

swiftly, you darted from your hiding spot, catching the man off guard. you weren’t sure who he was - just another one of their team - but the shock in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you’d caught him off guard.

but that split-second advantage wasn’t enough. before you could get another strike in, a powerful force slammed into your side, sending you crashing into the floor. you winced at the impact, your vision blurring as you tried to push yourself up. someone was kneeling next to you now - someone strong and familiar - but everything felt hazy.

“hold still,” a gruff voice ordered. “you’ve been through enough.”

you wanted to snap at him - wanted to tell him that he didn’t know anything about you - but the words wouldn’t come. and as you fought against the darkness creeping in, you realised that you couldn’t fight anymore. the exhaustion from days of running, fighting, hiding, it all caught up to you.

you didn’t even remember when you lost consciousness.

when you awoke, everything felt wrong. there was an unfamiliar weight in the air, a soft, sterile smell that clung to your senses. you tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your head, forcing you to stop.

you were in a bed.

the bed was unfamiliar. it wasn’t like the hard floors you had grown used to, or the metal cots they’d kept you on. no, this was soft - comfortable, almost too much so.

you blinked, your vision clearing as your senses slowly returned. you were no longer in that hellhole. no longer in the compound where they kept you.

but where were you now?

the room was quiet, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. the bed beneath you felt like a luxury. everything about this place was different. warmer. safer, almost.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. a figure stepped inside - someone you didn’t recognize at first, but then, as he moved closer, you could see him more clearly. tall, with dark hair and a rough, scruffy face. his eyes were intense - calculating, like he was studying you from the moment he walked in.

you didn’t trust him. you didn’t trust anyone.

“you’re awake,” he said, his voice low, rough. “good. you’re safe for now.”

you tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, as if you hadn’t used it in days. you coughed lightly, but still, the words wouldn’t come.

he reached for something beside you - a glass of water - and held it out to you. “drink. slowly.”

you didn’t want to take it. didn’t want to trust him. but you were parched, and the dry feeling in your throat was unbearable. so, you reached out and took the glass, drinking slowly, careful not to spill. the water was refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the dread building in your chest.

“where am i?” you finally croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

“the x-mansion,” the man answered, not missing a beat. “this is where we bring people who need help. you’re safe here.”

you didn’t believe him. you didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

but before you could respond, the door opened again, and another figure stepped in. this one was more familiar - his posture rigid, his presence commanding. a man who seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

“logan,” the first man said, a note of caution in his voice. “she’s awake.”

logan’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and unyielding, as though he could see right through you.

“how long?” logan asked, his voice tight.

“a couple hours. she’s stable.”

logan didn’t respond. he just kept staring at you, his eyes narrowing. there was something about him - something dangerous and cold. and yet, beneath that, there was a flicker of something else.

you couldn’t place it, but it made your heart race.

“you,” logan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “we don’t know what you’ve been through. we don’t know if you’re a threat.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“we’re not going to let anything happen to you,” the other man said quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “but you need to understand. this is just as dangerous for us as it is for you.”

you wanted to argue - to tell him that you weren’t the one to be scared of, that you weren’t the one who was dangerous.

but you couldn’t find the words. instead, you sank back into the bed, your thoughts spinning, your body heavy with exhaustion. you couldn’t escape this life. not now. not yet.

but maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to survive it.

as the hours stretched on, your body ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical injuries. the weight of your past pressed down on you with every breath you took, and you couldn’t escape it.

you closed your eyes again, letting the darkness take over.

for now, at least, you were safe.

but you had no illusions about your future. nothing was ever truly safe.

and logan? he wasn’t about to let you forget that.

you could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your own breath, the steady rise and fall of your chest as the darkness pressed in on you. the world outside felt so distant now - no longer the chaos of the compound, no longer the sound of explosions and gunfire. here, in the safety of the mansion, you almost felt like you could relax.

almost.

your limbs were heavy, your body aching in places you didn’t even know existed, but it was the exhaustion that wore at you most. it wasn’t just the physical toll, though. the ghosts of your past were still there, just out of reach but always lurking in the back of your mind.

you had done things. horrible, unspeakable things. and it didn’t matter where you were now - whether you were in the mansion with strangers who couldn’t possibly understand or back at the lab where they had made you into something else - it didn’t matter. you were still that person. the monster. the killer.

and yet, here you were. safe. for now.

but there was no such thing as true safety. not for someone like you. not for someone who had been broken and remade by those who had no mercy.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

a knock at the door.

you stiffened, the muscles in your back tensing instinctively. it was probably one of the x-men, maybe hank or scott, checking on you. but a part of you - the part you didn’t want to acknowledge - hoped it was logan.

you didn’t know why. maybe because he was the closest thing you had to an anchor in this strange new world. maybe because, despite the bitterness and the anger in his eyes, he was the one person who seemed to understand the weight you carried. not because he wanted to understand, but because he knew pain. he knew darkness.

but you couldn’t trust him.

you couldn’t trust anyone.

“come in,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

the door creaked open, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of surprise in logan’s eyes when he stepped into the room. it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the usual guarded expression that always made you wonder what he was thinking behind that hard exterior.

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he stood there in the doorway, his posture tense. it was almost like he didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you wondered if he had come to check on you because it was what was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

it was probably the latter.

you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against the headboard. “what do you want?” the question came out harsher than you intended, but it was too late to take it back now.

logan stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “just checking,” he muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges. it almost sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t sure why he was here. but the way his eyes kept flicking to your face made it clear he was still trying to figure you out. maybe you didn’t make sense to him.

“checking on what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he hesitated for a second, looking away. when his gaze returned to you, it was guarded again, the walls firmly in place. “you’re not dead yet.”

you snorted despite yourself, the bitterness bubbling up in your chest. “what, you think i’m going to fall apart just because i’m here?”

he shrugged, the movement quick and dismissive. “didn’t say that.” he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still studying you. “but you don’t exactly look like you’re in one piece.”

“and you’re not here to help with that,” you said, your voice sharp. “so what do you want?”

logan’s eyes flashed for a brief moment - something unreadable, something buried beneath the layers of his hardened exterior. you could almost see the frustration behind his eyes, though he hid it quickly, masking it with the usual indifference. “look,” he muttered, “i didn’t come here to babysit you. but if you wanna go out there again, you better be able to hold your own. i’m not gonna coddle you. i’m not here to make you feel better.”

his words stung more than you expected. was that what you wanted from him? no. you didn’t need anyone to “coddle” you. but something about his tone - cold, dismissive - made the weight of everything feel heavier.

"i can handle myself," you said quietly, looking away from him, hiding the sting in your eyes.

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “you should’ve said that to yourself when they were doing this to you,” he muttered under his breath. but it was loud enough for you to hear. it felt like an accusation, like a slap to your face.

you flinched, but tried to cover it. "don’t pretend you care,” you shot back, your voice breaking just a little.

logan didn’t flinch. in fact, he didn’t even react at first. but you saw the tension in his body, the way his fists clenched by his sides. he opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it, brow furrowed.

“i don’t give a damn about what you think about me,” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost like a whisper. “but i can’t stand seeing people throw themselves away without a fight. you can fight. but you gotta decide whether or not you wanna keep doing it.”

he turned on his heel, heading for the door. "we’ve got a long way to go before this is over. don’t think you’re gonna get out of it that easily."

and with that, he left, leaving you alone once more in the still silence of the room. the door shut with a soft click, but you could still hear the echoes of his words rattling around in your head. the weight of them sat heavy on your chest.

he didn’t care about you. not in the way you wished he would. but he cared about one thing: survival.

you hadn't expected much from logan. you never did. but you still couldn't shake the bitter taste his words had left behind. they gnawed at you, even though you told yourself it didn’t matter. you'd been through worse. you could handle it.

but there was something about the way he'd spoken to you that made your stomach twist. it wasn’t just what he’d said - it was the way he said it. like you were nothing but a problem to be solved, a task to be managed. his words were cold, sharp, like they were meant to cut deeper than they did.

he didn’t care. he never would.

you were sitting at the kitchen table, the bright, sterile lights of the mansion making everything feel even emptier than it already did. it was one of those rare moments where the mansion felt... silent. as if it, too, were waiting for something. maybe it was waiting for you to break.

you hadn't seen logan since he’d left your room earlier that day. a part of you was glad for it, even if you hated the reason why. the truth was, you didn’t know if you could look at him again without that biting edge creeping back into your voice.

a voice - someone's voice - cut through the silence.

"you alright?"

you flinched, startled. you turned to see scott standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. of all people, scott. you didn't want to talk to anyone, but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. he was trying to be kind, but it felt too... loud.

"yeah," you said, your tone flat. you pushed the empty mug in front of you away, suddenly too aware of the quiet surrounding you. "just... tired."

scott didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it. instead, he took a seat across from you, looking like he had something else on his mind. it wasn’t a long time before the door opened again, and the last person you wanted to see walked in.

logan.

you didn’t even look up. the instant you heard his boots on the floor, you felt the walls come up, higher than before. you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret. you knew he’d seen your face, the way your mood had shifted earlier, but he didn’t care. nothing you felt mattered.

logan didn’t even acknowledge scott as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. he looked disinterested, almost bored, like he was doing this out of obligation.

you focused on the mug in front of you, trying to ignore him. you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but the words he had said still hung in the air, suffocating you. maybe you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help it. he’d made you feel small.

"what’s up with you?" logan’s voice was rough, breaking the uncomfortable silence. he was looking at you now, and the gaze sent a shiver through your spine, though not in a way that felt good. it felt like an accusation.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

instead, you picked at the edge of your sleeve, the fabric worn thin, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. why did you care?

"you’ve been acting off since we got back," logan continued, his voice a little more insistent. “you’re not some porcelain doll. quit pretending like you are.”

you couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. the way he always saw you as fragile - it made your blood boil, and you hated how much it stung when he said things like that. porcelain doll? you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protection. you weren’t weak. but the more you tried to convince yourself, the more the truth settled on you like a heavy weight.

"i’m not pretending," you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. your hand clenched into a fist, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay calm. you didn’t want to get into it with him. not now.

but logan wasn’t letting it go. his eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was searching for something. it didn’t feel like concern; it felt like judgement.

“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking. “because from where i’m standing, you look like a damn mess.”

you sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to sink with each word. a damn mess.

it was like a slap across the face. you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, a deep, gnawing sensation that told you to shut down, to stop caring. but the words, those words, kept echoing in your mind, getting louder with every breath.

you look like a damn mess.

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t defend yourself because it felt like there was no defence to it. what could you possibly say to that? the worst part was, you were starting to believe him. maybe you were a mess.

but in that moment, the anger bubbled up - anger you didn’t even know you had - and you didn’t care about anything else except getting him to stop. to stop seeing you like that.

"maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself," you muttered under your breath, but the words were brittle.

logan didn’t back down. “you’re not fooling anyone, kid. if you can’t even keep yourself together long enough to pull your own weight, you don’t belong here.”

the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, harsh and unforgiving. it felt like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the sting that followed.

you looked up at him then, your eyes burning with the anger and hurt that had been building up. “you don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

but logan wasn’t done. he never was.

"you're damn right, i don't," he said, his voice still biting. "and i'm not interested in learning. all i know is, you’re a liability. and i don’t need one of those around."

the room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. a liability. that’s what you were to him. that’s what you’d always be.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. it was as if your body had made the decision for you, your legs shaking with the force of the emotions swirling inside you.

"i’m done," you muttered, turning on your heel. you didn’t care if he was still watching you. you didn’t care about anything anymore.

you just needed to get away.

the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence and the distant echoes of the words that had broken you.

liability. a mess.

and somewhere deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. it was only the beginning of something much worse.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @bbittenapples, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 3 days ago

Text

Electricity

mingi x fem!reader

Trigger warnings: n/a

Content warnings: names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart), oral (f receiving), big dick mingi fr

Summary: mingi’s jealous of your best friend

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: hiiiii!!! so this is a piece that was requested by @18autumngirl. i would like to wish your friend a happy birthday and i hope you both enjoy the fic!! much love 🥰❤️

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You smiled politely at the group of men before you. Jongho, your best friend of twelve years, was introducing you to his college friends. All together, there were eight of them. And every one of them was stunning. Your eyes, however, continually drifted towards one of them in particular.

Six feet of pure testosterone and a pretty face stood staring back at you. He looked just as shocked as you. Did he feel the electricity too? The pull between the two of you? He quickly schooled his expression and offered a polite - if a bit shy - smile in return, the sight making your heart do a somersault.

“Mingi.” The tall man said, offering his hand. You took it and felt another jolt. You were instantly addicted to his touch and had to fight to conceal your reaction.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You said, your voice coming out almost breathless. Jongho gave you a quizzical look and you subtly elbowed him as you returned to his side, silently telling him not to worry about it. It wasn’t something you could easily explain.

Embarrassing as it was, your body naturally reacted to Mingi’s presence. You were almost a foot shorter than him and he towered over you. It made you think unholy things that you were horrified to be thinking of when surrounded by so many men. Especially one as perfect as Mingi.

Despite your attraction, you spent the afternoon glued to Jongho’s side. He was familiar. Comfortable. And you didn’t feel an unsettling jolt of electricity every time you touched him. So you stayed with your best friend and laughed at all his jokes, making a few of your own as you grew more comfortable with his friends.

You had no clue how much this bothered Mingi. Mingi was dying inside. For some inexplicable reason, he was dying to be the one making you laugh like that. He wanted to be the one sitting thigh to thigh with you, letting you lean on him as you chatted. Did you secretly love your best friend? Mingi seemed to think so.

So when you excused yourself to the restroom, Mingi offered to show you where it was. “I’m heading in that direction anyways.” He claimed. You were anxious to be alone with him but allowed him to lead the way. You were worried he’d know all the dirty things you’d thought in the last few hours. Had he noticed the way your thighs had been pressed together?

When you stopped in front of the bathroom and reached to open the door, he grabbed your wrist. “Wait…can we talk?”

You looked up at him in surprise but gave a small nod. “Yeah sure. Just let me…” you gestured towards the bathroom and he nodded, releasing you so you could use the bathroom.

While you were alone, you took a moment to gather yourself. You handled your business and then washed your hands, patting a bit of cool water onto your cheeks as you looked in the mirror. You weren’t sure what he wanted to talk about and you had no idea if you were prepared for the conversation. After a moment of bracing yourself, you opened the door.

Mingi was still there, still waiting for you. He immediately took your wrist again and led you towards his room. “Sit.” He gestured towards the bed. His tone left no room for argument so you quickly complied, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Mingi? What’s this about?”

“You’re driving me crazy.” He accused.

“What?”

“Hanging all over Jongho like that…it’s maddening. Are you doing this on purpose?” He stepped closer and you craned your neck to look up at him. When you didn’t respond, he continued. “I know you felt it too. You can’t deny it. I saw it on your face.” You were surprised by his words and struggled to form a coherent thought. “So why are you clinging to him when I know you want me? Because you do, don’t you? You want me.”

“Mingi…” you took a shaky breath when he stood over you, taking your chin in his hand and forcing you to look at him.

“I can see the way you’re trying not to squirm even now. I won’t let him have you.” His voice dropped low and you shuddered, not moving an inch as he leaned down.

“Tell me what you feel.” You urged, trying not to stare at his perfect lips.

“A magnetic pull. Electricity. And if I think about it hard enough, I feel your lips on mine.” Your breath hitched at his words and you stared at him for a moment, your eyes locked on his.

Then you leaned up and pressed your lips to his without warning. He inhaled sharply as you kissed him, naturally falling into rhythm with you the second you licked over his bottom lip. He took the lead then, his tongue delving into your mouth, and you tentatively brought your hands up to his chest, bunching the front of his shirt in your fists.

He took that as his cue to carry on and gently pushed you back on the bed, lips still locked with yours, and you let out a soft sigh against his lips. His hands caged you in, not that you wanted to move, and he wasted no time in crawling over you. He let out a soft groan when your hands began to roam his chest, the sound going straight to your pussy, much like his voice had been doing the entire afternoon.

This was moving too fast but you couldn’t be bothered to care. All you knew was you wanted him.

You tipped your head back to afford him more space when he began to kiss down your neck, his lips and teeth gliding across your skin, leaving light marks behind. You frowned a bit when he suddenly pulled back, his eyes wide.

“Wait. What about Jongho?” He asked, his chest heaving with each breath.

“What about him?” You asked, clearly confused.

“We can’t do this to him. I’m sorry, I can’t-” You immediately started laughing when you realized what he was getting at. He pulled back further and gave you a look that let you know he was shocked and starting to get angry so you began to explain.

“Mingi, wait.” You lifted a hand to gently squeeze his bicep. “It’s not like that. I’m not with him. He’s like my brother.” You explained.

“Well you seemed overly friendly earlier.” He grumbled and you laughed softly again.

“I promise, there’s nothing like that between us. He’s been my best friend for over a decade. There will never be anything like that between us.” You assured him, running your hand up and down his bicep. You could see the moment he accepted your response. Something in his eyes changed and they grew dark once more. “We have to be quick.” You reminded him upon seeing his expression change.

He nodded and resumed his kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt. Your skirt rode up as he nudged your legs apart to create space for him and you wrapped a leg around his waist, tugging him closer. “You know what else I've been thinking about the whole time?” He asked, his voice low and rough.

“Tell me.” You whispered, your hands tugging his shirt up and ghosting over his abs.

“I’ve been imagining all the pretty sounds you’d make with my head between your legs.” Your breath hitched at his words and you bit your lip hard as he pulled back again, cupping your breasts through your lacy bralette. “Can I do that? Can I make you fall apart on my face?” He asked, thumbing over your stiff nipples.

“God- please do. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the moment I laid eyes on you.” You admitted, nodding furiously.

In an instant, he was kissing down your stomach, his hands reaching for your thighs instead. You allowed him to guide them further apart and push your skirt all the way up. You didn’t have time to do things how you normally would so you’d have to stay dressed for this.

He began to kiss along your thighs and you let out a series of soft sighs, trying your hardest not to squirm beneath him. He smirked against your skin and bit down softly, earning a surprised yelp as you lifted your head to look down at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I just couldn’t resist.” You clenched around nothing at the shit-eating grin he was giving you and he leaned in again, pressing his nose to the front of your panties and inhaling your scent before licking you through the cotton. “Christ- you’re even sweeter than I imagined.” He groaned and you felt unbelievably sexy, your whole body responding to his words.

“Mingi-” you gasped his name and propped up on your elbows to watch as he tugged your panties to the side.

“All for me?” He smirked and you nodded quickly. “Sweet girl. Don’t you know that drives me crazy? Giving yourself to me like that?”

“You’re driving me crazy.” You accused and he chuckled softly before finally leaning in again.

“Sorry, baby. I just can’t help myself. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” He admitted and you whimpered softly. Before you could respond, he was licking a stripe up your cunt and your eyes were fluttering shut.

“Mingi-” you gasped again, reaching down to tangle a hand in his hair when he began to devour your pussy. He ate you like a man starved. He was enthusiastic and his tongue moved expertly against you.

When he groaned against you, he made sure you felt it by pressing impossibly closer and delving his tongue into you. You couldn’t stifle the series of moans that he dragged out of you as you held him in place. “Just like that-” you whined, your hips jolting away from the pleasure when he sucked on your clit unexpectedly. “Oh-”

You felt him smirk against you but couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed with his smugness as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pulled you firmly against his mouth, licking and sucking until your pussy was throbbing. You were so fucking close.

But then he pulled away.

You started to protest but he quickly spoke up. “I can’t- I need to feel you cum on my cock.” He groaned, quickly releasing you in favor of shoving his pants down to his knees.

Your eyes widened a bit when you saw him, wondering if it’d fit. He was bigger than anyone you’d been with in the past, though that wasn’t saying much, and he was hard as a rock. He was gorgeous and your mouth instantly watered.

You’d have to get his number so you could do this again.

You looked up to see him smirking at your reaction and instantly rolled your eyes. “Don’t say a word.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t.” He laughed as he lined up. “I’m thinking about it though.”

“Oh shut up and fuck me.” You huffed, too pent up to joke around. You normally didn’t get so demanding and when you did you fully expected to be shut down and put back in your place, but Mingi was too far gone to care.

“Fucking gladly.” He groaned as he pressed the tip in. “Fuck, baby…” he grunted under his breath, the sound so deeply satisfying that you couldn’t help but smirk. You loved when a guy had that reaction.

But before you could tease him about it, he was working himself further in, delivering shallow thrusts until he bottomed out. The second he was all the way in, you rocked your hips to test the waters. He let out a low growl and gripped your hips tightly, pulling out almost all the way only to snap his hips forwards and slam right back in.

“Holy shit-” you moaned out, your jaw dropping. He felt better than anyone you’d ever been with and he knew exactly what he was doing. He smirked at your response and repeated his actions, drawing out another moan.

Everyone downstairs would absolutely hear if he kept it up. You wouldn’t be able to stifle your sounds if he kept hitting all the right spots.

The moment the thought crossed your mind, he delivered a sharp thrust to your sweet spot and you saw stars, yelping out in pleasure. Your back arched a bit and your jaw dropped as he repeatedly slammed into that spot.

“Just like that, Mingi-” you gasped out, reaching to grip his forearms to ground yourself.

“Like this?” He teased as he slammed into your sweet spot again.

“Yes!” You moaned out, digging your nails into his skin as he held your hips tightly, pounding into you. You couldn’t be bothered to care that he was teasing you. It all just felt too good and you couldn’t get enough. You knew you wouldn’t last long if he kept going like that but that was the point.

“Fuck you feel so good, baby…” he groaned, his voice low and hoarse as he delivered a series of thrusts so sharp and precise that you couldn’t form a coherent thought.

“So do you- oh-” you gasped, your thighs beginning to tremble from the overwhelming pleasure. You were getting so close. One brush of his thumb over your clit and you’d surely fall apart. So you warned him.

“Me too. Let go for me. Cum all over my cock, baby girl.” He coached, releasing one of your thighs and swiping his thumb over your clit in tight circles.

Between his touch and the name, you couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure. You found yourself falling apart, your back arching as you brought a hand up to muffle your cries as you came entirely undone on his cock.

He didn’t stop until you were entirely relaxed, then he pulled out and stripped himself to completion, spilling himself over your still-spasming cunt as you relished the aftershocks of your orgasm. He looked absolutely stunning as he came and your heart stumbled at the sight. You knew immediately that you’d be doing this again soon because you’d be damned if you never saw that perfect sight again.

No one had ever made you cum so hard and you certainly hadn’t done so yourself. You were still in the clouds when he began to clean you up and then you felt your panties sliding down your legs. “I’ll be keeping these, thank you.” He smirked as he stuffed them in his pocket, his clothes now righted.

“And will they be returned the next time I see you?” You rolled your eyes as you sat up, fixing your skirt.

“After I've had the chance to use them to get off a couple times.” He winked and your cheeks heated just the tiniest bit.

“You’re impossible.” You mumbled.

“You think it’s hot. Admit it.” He teased, his voice full of amusement.

“I’m not admitting to anything.” You huffed as you crossed your arms, a grin creeping onto your face. “Come on. We should get back to them. They’re gonna get suspicious.”

“Oh, baby.” He shook his head, trying not to laugh. “They definitely heard all that. The walls here? Terribly thin.”

And just like that, your cheeks were rosy again. How the fuck were you going to face Jongho and the others now?

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #mingi smut #mingi #ateez song mingi #song mingi #song mingi smut #alura’s works

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lubdubology · 1 day ago

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I've been meaning to make this for a while now. Below is a compilation of my favorite Logan stories I've read--ones that have given me all the feels, made me kick my feet, cry with joy, weep with angst and all together delight my very soul. These are not in any particular order. If your story is tagged and you don't want it to be, please let me know and I'll remove it.

give me the first taste // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: from the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved. (Part 2 of Guilty Pleasure)

guilty pleasure // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

crawl home to her // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known. (Part 2 of You Can Use My Skin to Bury Secrets In)

you can use my skin to bury secrets in // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

blessed are the forgetful // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

epiphany // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

never is a promise // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

give me all that ultraviolence // @joelsgoldrush Synopsis: You give Logan head for the first time.

sugar, sugar // @eupheme Synopsis: Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

honey, honey // @eupheme Synopsis: Even after you wake up alone, and almost late for work, it doesn’t deter your interest in your neighbor - especially after the night you shared. (Or - a miscommunication, and the following through of two late-night promises.)

you've got me wanting you // @eupheme Synopsis: As the days pass, you think your time spent with Logan is pretty much perfect. Well... almost. (Or - a dash of insecurity, some badgood advice from Wade, a near-fight at a bar, and the confession of overdue feelings.)

from eden // @eupheme Synopsis: Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat. You were meant for gardens. For Eden. But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

just the tip // @pedroscurls Synopsis: you're ready to take the next step with logan, but you're still a bit nervous.

smoke and ash // @moonlight-prose Synopsis: cigar smoke trailed after him with every step, his mouth always desperate for something to wet, something to bite down on. and you with the match between your teeth indulged him every which way.

cardinal // @danidrabbles Synopsis: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

i could play the doctor (i can cure your disease) // @sceletaflores Synopsis: it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

runaway bride // @pedroscurls Synopsis: on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal.

nameless as a river undiscovered underground // @moonlight-prose Synopsis: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

soft and serene (let me feel you on my lips) // @sceletaflores Synopsis: logan's not a virgin by any means, but he's still wearing white...

beggin' for seconds // @yxtkiwiyxt Synopsis: You visit Logan at work when one of his colleague's sons gets injured and then he goes back to the hospital with you.

mirror sex // @avocado-writing Synopsis: Mirror Sex (Old Man Logan x Reader)

snow day // @silverskyeline Synopsis: logan hates the snow, hates that it reminds him of the past. but he soon finds that being with you gives it a whole new meaning.

dust to dust // @moonlight-prose Synopsis: when the days are long and he's grown weary of everything, he knows he can find his peace in your body. that is until he brings a whole new understanding to the belt buckle that sits proudly on his waist.

slippin' and slidin' all over you // @sceletaflores Synopsis: logan forgot to fix the ac...

new rules // @seventeenpins Synopsis: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away.

knuckle velvet // @ohcaptains Synopsis: he walks you home, then lets himself in.

the devil and i // @mystra-midnight Synopsis: logan might have looked like an ordinary man, but the weight of his metal-laced bones pressing against your back was intoxicating—deliciously so. and he knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the earth revolved around the sun.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #the wolverine x reader #old man logan x reader #old man logan #logan x reader #wolverine smut #old man logan x you

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kiwriteswords · 8 hours ago

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Hotch and Reader are both in love with each other and have been for years but are both too professional and care too mcuh about work and ruining things so they dont get together but they end up getting together finally. its angsty and delicious!! with a happy ending ofc! (bonus if smut is added at all!?!?!)

I love you in a place where there's no space or time

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: So sorry this one took so long to share, anon! I hope it's all you hoped for! xx

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.6k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, feelings un-acknowledged, canon-typical injuries, language, fade-to-black smut, sexual themes, friends with benefits, friends with benefits turned relationship, slow burn, family dynamics, intimacy with feelings, proposal, talk of marriage.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner has always been a man of order and control, carefully compartmentalizing the demands of his work and personal life. But when a long-standing partnership with a member of his team—you—begins to blur the lines between professional and personal, he’s forced to confront feelings he’s buried for years.

Aaron Hotchner had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was a skill he'd honed over years of leading the BAU, of balancing the chaos of his work and the fragile peace of his home life—or what passed for home these days. And you? You were a complication he never anticipated but somehow couldn’t imagine his life without.

You’d been with the team for years, carving your place with sharp wit, unwavering competence, and a sense of humor that could soften even the darkest days. Somewhere along the way, your partnership had morphed into something more. Late nights at the office became late nights at his apartment, pouring over files as Jack played in the living room. Work dinners turned into shared takeout meals, laughter filling his kitchen. And the tension—the chemistry between you both—it became a thread stretched taut, always on the brink of snapping.

But neither of you ever said a word.

Hotch couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, exactly. Maybe it was the time you showed up with a Batman figurine for Jack, just because he’d mentioned liking the character once. Or the way you sat with him on the couch after Haley’s death, saying nothing, just being there when he needed it most. Or the way you touched his shoulder during a case, grounding him when his anger threatened to boil over.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now, you were a constant in his life, and he had no idea how he’d let you become that. Friends with benefits, the team might have called it if they weren’t too polite to say it out loud. But it wasn’t just the sex—though that was undeniable. It was the quiet moments. The way you fit seamlessly into his life, into Jack’s life. Like you belonged.

Like you were family.

Hotch watched you now, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, a game controller in hand, as Jack giggled beside you. You feigned frustration as Jack’s character beat yours on the screen, throwing your hands up dramatically.

“You’re cheating,” you teased, pointing an accusatory finger at Jack, who grinned up at you.

“I am not!” Jack protested, his voice full of glee. “You’re just bad at this.”

“Bad at this?” you gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d mortally wounded you. “I’ll have you know I used to be the reigning champion at this game.”

Jack tilted his head, squinting at you skeptically. “When? Like, a hundred years ago?”

Hotch couldn’t hold back a laugh from the couch, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee. “Careful, Jack. She might just ground you for that one.”

You spun around, pointing the controller at Hotch like a weapon. “Oh, don’t you start with me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on Jack’s side,” he said smoothly, the rare smile tugging at his lips, softening the tease. “He’s clearly the underdog here.”

Jack beamed, puffing out his chest. “See? Dad gets it.”

“Traitors,” you muttered, shaking your head dramatically before turning back to the game. “Fine. But if I win the next round, you both owe me ice cream.”

Jack laughed harder, leaning against you as if you’d always been there. “You’re not winning,” he declared. “And even if you do, I pick the flavor. No weird ones.”

“No weird ones? Jack, I have excellent taste. Mint chocolate chip is a classic.”

“Mint chocolate chip is gross,” Jack said, sticking out his tongue.

You gasped in mock outrage. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.”

Hotch set his mug down, leaning back into the couch as he watched the scene unfold. This was his favorite view: you and Jack, a picture of domesticity he didn’t dare name.

The ache in his chest was familiar by now. Warm, heavy, and terrifying all at once.

Later, after Jack had gone to bed, Hotch found you in the kitchen, drying the dishes. It was a quiet ritual you’d fallen into over time, one neither of you had ever acknowledged aloud. The hum of the dishwasher and the soft clinking of plates filled the space between you, but it was far from silent. The weight of everything unspoken lingered, just like it always did.

Your shoulder brushed his as you reached for a glass, the simple contact sending ripples of awareness through him. It was ridiculous, he thought, how something so small could affect him so much. But that was how it had always been with you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, though he already knew the answer.

You glanced at him, a hint of amusement in your expression. “You know I don’t mind.”

Of course, you didn’t. You never minded. Whether it was a case of collapsing into bed together after a high-stakes day or nights like these—quiet, uneventful, and free of tension—you always stayed. It wasn’t just about the times the chemistry boiled over; it was about all the moments in between. The ones that felt effortless.

Hotch set the last plate on the drying rack and turned toward you, wiping his hands on a towel. “Jack really likes having you here,” he said, his tone conversational but deliberate. “He talks about you all the time.”

“And you?” you asked lightly, with a teasing lilt that tried to downplay the weight of your question. “Do you like having me here?”

His brow lifted, a rare smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I? You help with chores and keep Jack entertained. I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “Deflect all you want, Hotchner. I know you’d be lost without me.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle, one that softened the sharp edges of his usual demeanor. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, though his voice held more warmth than his words. “But I like having you here. More than I probably should.”

That caught you off guard for just a moment, but you recovered quickly, the teasing smile returning to your lips. “Good,” you said simply, returning to dry the last dish.

By the time the house had settled into silence, Hotch found himself in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as he unwound from the day. He heard your soft footsteps before you appeared in the doorway, your presence familiar and steady. You didn’t pause or hesitate, instead crossing the room to climb into the bed—his bed, though it had long since stopped feeling like just his.

You always stayed, and it had become a routine neither of you commented on. The guest room was just there for show, untouched and unnecessary. Some nights, the pull of tension between you snapped, leaving no room for words or space. Both of you would end up breathless and wanting in bed. Other nights, like this one, were quieter. Still, you stayed.

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” you asked, your voice low and tinged with humor. You were already lying on your side, propped up on one elbow, as you watched him with a curious gaze.

Hotch smirked faintly, shaking his head as he joined you, slipping under the covers. “I thought you might enjoy the peace and quiet,” he replied, his tone dry.

“I don’t think you’d know what peace and quiet were if it hit you in the face,” you shot back, though your words held no bite.

He settled beside you, his arm coming around you instinctively as you shifted closer. It was a gesture that felt as natural as breathing now, one neither of you ever acknowledged, but both seemed to rely on.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice soft against the stillness of the room, “it’s kind of funny how we never talk about this.”

“This?” he echoed, though his hand lightly tracing circles on your back betrayed the calmness of his tone.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the two of you. “Me staying. Us… whatever this is.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered his response. “Talking about it might ruin it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled at that, the kind of smile he couldn’t see in the dark but could feel in the way your body relaxed against his. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of the things neither of you dared to say aloud. And as you shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, Hotch allowed himself the brief indulgence of pretending that this—your warmth, your presence—was something permanent. Even though he knew it wasn’t.

Your company was appreciated and needed more than Hotch knew, even at work. The case was brutal. A family annihilator who preyed on vulnerabilities, using twisted logic to justify his violence. Hotch could feel the weight pressing down on him, but he didn’t have to carry it alone. You were there, as you always were, your presence steadying him.

When the unsub was in custody, and the team returned to the precinct, you lingered in the corner, watching him. He could feel your gaze like a physical touch as if you were daring him to break the silence that stretched between you.

“You okay?” you asked finally, your voice soft. Never prying.

He nodded, but the truth hung in the air, unspoken. He wasn’t okay. Neither were you. But that was the deal, wasn’t it? To keep moving forward without acknowledging the things that could break you.

That night, back at the hotel, the weight of the day lingered on Hotch’s shoulders, pressing harder with every passing moment. Cases involving families always hit him differently, carving into the parts of himself he worked so hard to protect. But tonight, something else tugged at him—a sharper, deeper ache he couldn’t shake. It was you. It was always you.

He’d known you’d come. You always did on nights like this, when the line between partner and something more blurred into nothingness. The knock on his door was soft but unmistakable, and when he opened it, there you were, leaning casually against the doorframe as if this wasn’t an unspoken ritual.

“You weren’t going to sleep anyway,” you said, your voice low, tinged with exhaustion but still carrying that edge of teasing familiarity.

“Neither were you,” he replied, stepping aside to let you in.

The door closed softly behind you, but the tension in the room was anything but quiet. It filled the space between you like a storm waiting to break. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and Hotch couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on you—the curve of your shoulders, the set of your jaw, the flicker of vulnerability in your expression you probably thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Rough day,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “They always are.”

You crossed the room, your steps slow and deliberate, until you were standing just in front of him. “But this one was worse,” you said softly, your voice lacking the teasing edge it usually carried. “For both of us.”

Hotch didn’t answer, because he couldn’t. The words caught in his throat, the weight of everything unsaid pressing harder than ever. But you didn’t seem to need his response. You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze steady, searching, and then you moved closer.

It happened all at once and yet not at all suddenly, as though it had been building for hours. His hands found your waist, gripping you tightly as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate as if he was afraid you might vanish. And you let him, meeting his intensity with your own, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him as tightly as he held you.

It wasn’t just adrenaline from the case or the pull of attraction that neither of you could deny. It was the unspoken understanding that this—whatever it was—was the only way either of you knew how to deal with the weight of the lives you led. It was raw, honest, and utterly consuming.

You tugged at his tie, loosening it with practiced ease, your movements steady but charged with purpose. His breath hitched as your hands brushed against his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with a deliberate slowness that had his pulse racing. His own hands mirrored your urgency, sliding under the fabric of your blouse, feeling the heat of your skin against his palms.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough but soft, his forehead pressing against yours as he paused just long enough to look into your eyes. The question wasn’t about this moment—it was about everything. About stepping closer to the line, you both swore you wouldn’t cross but had already blurred so many times.

You didn’t answer with words; instead, you pulled him back into a kiss, which was softer this time but no less consuming. Your lips moved against his in a way that spoke of trust, of understanding, of a desire too strong to deny. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say aloud into the way he held you.

When you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice was low and steady. “I’m here, Aaron. Always.”

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and something inside him gave way. He guided you toward the bed with a gentle but unwavering urgency, his hands never leaving you. The soft glow of the room’s lamp cast warm shadows across your features as you looked up at him, your expression a mix of vulnerability and certainty that made his chest tighten.

When you reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers against the faint stubble along his jaw, he leaned into your touch instinctively. “Aaron,” you said again, his name a quiet anchor pulling him further into you.

He tilted his head down, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and raw, the words escaping before he could stop them.

“I think I do,” you replied softly, your hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “Because it’s the same thing you do to me.”

The admission hung between you like a fragile truth, one neither of you had dared voice before. But instead of shattering the moment, it only seemed to deepen the connection that pulsed in the quiet space between your bodies.

Hotch’s hands found the hem of your blouse, his movements deliberate as he slid it up and over your head. His fingertips brushed your skin, the contact sending sparks of warmth that spread through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your touch steady despite the tremor of anticipation that hummed in the air.

When you finally settled on the bed, his weight pressing into the mattress beside you, the world outside the walls of the hotel room ceased to exist. The past, with all its heartache and shadows, faded away, leaving only the present—this moment, this connection, this intimacy you both shared.

Hotch leaned over you, one hand bracing himself beside your head, the other trailing along the curve of your side. The way he touched you was reverent like he was committing every inch of you to memory. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer this time, more deliberate, as if savoring the quiet intensity of the moment.

But there was something else beneath that tenderness—a tension he could no longer hold back. His lips pressed harder against yours, the kiss deepening with a newfound urgency. His hand slid from your side to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulled you closer as if closing the space between you would somehow quiet the storm raging inside him.

When you gasped softly against his mouth, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, usually so controlled, were filled with something raw, something unguarded. "Tell me if it’s too much," he said, his voice rough, the words both a request and a warning.

Your answer came not in words but in the way you hooked your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands gripping his shoulders as if daring him to let go. “It’s never too much,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the flush of heat in your cheeks.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slid up your thigh, his grip firm but not harsh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss wasn’t soft—it was demanding, consuming, as though he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way his mouth moved against yours.

Hotch’s other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access as he trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. He paused at the hollow of your throat, his breath warm against your skin. When his teeth grazed just enough to make you shiver, he chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Still okay?” he murmured, though the way his hands gripped your waist betrayed his struggle to hold back.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you arched into him. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The restraint that usually defined him seemed to unravel as his kisses grew rougher, his hands exploring with a certainty that left no room for hesitation. He shifted, guiding you further back onto the bed, his body pressing into yours, solid and unyielding. The way he moved, the way he touched you—it was as if he was trying to claim you, to prove that this moment, this connection, belonged to both of you and no one else.

As his lips returned to yours, his hands found yours, pinning them gently above your head. His weight and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of anticipation through you. "You’re mine tonight," he said, the words rough but filled with a quiet reverence that made your breath hitch.

“And what about tomorrow?” you teased softly, though your voice trembled with the weight of the moment.

Hotch’s grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his expression darkening with something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. “Let me have tonight first,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, and completely his.

The rest of the world disappeared as you both surrendered to the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a testament to the connection you shared—a connection that went beyond words, beyond labels, beyond anything either of you could easily explain. Times like this, when cases were especially bad, it was a little rougher than tender, but neither of you seemed to mind.

The silence in the room was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came after something unspoken had been shouted without words. Hotch’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath your head, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, grounding both of you in a moment that felt suspended in time. The storm of the night had calmed, leaving in its wake a raw, unfiltered intimacy that neither of you could explain—or acknowledge.

But then you shifted.

The movement was subtle at first, just a slight pull away from his side, but it was enough to snap him out of his haze. He felt your warmth leave him as you turned, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He watched as you reached for your clothes, your movements slow but deliberate, your back to him.

“You’re leaving?” The words came out gruffer than he intended, his voice low and edged with something he couldn’t quite define—something dangerously close to vulnerability.

You hesitated, your fingers pausing on the fabric in your hands. “I should,” you said quietly, though your tone lacked conviction. “We both need sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Hotch sat up then, the sheet pooling around his waist as he leaned forward. “You usually stay,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression guarded, but your eyes betrayed you. They always did. “It’s different tonight,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned, his brows drawing together. “Different how?”

You stood, pulling on your shirt as if the action might shield you from the conversation you were both teetering on the edge of having. “I don’t know,” you said finally, shaking your head. “It just… it feels too close. Like if I stay, it’ll mean something.”

Hotch swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He reached for your wrist, his grip gentle but firm enough to stop you. “It already means something,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in his chest.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn to face him. “We don’t talk about this, Aaron. That’s the deal.”

“I know,” he admitted, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull away if you wanted. “But tonight—” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “Tonight, I don’t want you to go.”

That stopped you. You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the weight of everything you both refused to say hung between you. You looked at him like you were trying to decipher some unspoken truth, but he didn’t flinch under your gaze. He couldn’t. He needed you to understand.

“I don’t know if I can,” you said finally, your voice wavering.

“Yes, you can,” he said, standing now, closing the space between you. His hands found your shoulders, grounding you just as yours had grounded him earlier. “Just for tonight. Stay.”

Your walls were up; he could see it in the way your jaw tightened, and your shoulders tensed. But he could also see the crack in your resolve, the way your lips pressed together as if to keep from saying something you might regret. You nodded slowly, and his hands dropped from your shoulders, relief washing over him in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch stepped back, giving you space even though every fiber of his being wanted to pull you closer. You climbed back into the bed, your movements slower this time, less certain. When you finally settled beside him, he wrapped an arm around you, his hand resting lightly on your back.

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence was heavy with understanding. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and he didn’t know if either of you could keep pretending this wasn’t something more. But for now, it didn’t matter.

You were here, and that was enough.

The room was quiet again, save for the rhythmic hum of the hotel’s air conditioning and the faint sounds of life beyond the walls. You were back beside him, though the space between your bodies felt heavier than before, as if the rawness of what had just happened was an invisible barrier neither of you wanted to cross.

Hotch’s arm rested lightly on your back, his hand brushing the curve of your shoulder in slow, deliberate motions. He could feel the tension in your body, the way your breathing was steady but shallow, as though you were trying to keep your emotions at bay. He didn’t push; he never did. But tonight, the weight of everything unspoken was almost suffocating.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less firm than it had been when he asked you to stay.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to look at him, your expression unreadable in the dim light. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, and there it was—your defense, sharp and ready, a shield to deflect the vulnerability threatening to surface.

“No.” The word came out before he could stop it, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for ambiguity.

Your eyes softened just slightly, but you quickly masked it, shifting to lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. “This feels… different,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like the other times.”

Hotch turned to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. “It is different,” he said, his gaze steady on you. “But I think it’s always been different. We just don’t say it.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, turning your head to meet his eyes. “We’re not exactly great at saying things, are we?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though there was little humor in it. “No, we’re not.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

You closed your eyes briefly, as if trying to absorb his words without letting them take hold. When you opened them again, there was something softer in your gaze, something that looked a lot like surrender. “You scare me sometimes,” you admitted quietly. “Not in the way you think. Just… the way you make me feel.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, his hand moving to rest against your cheek. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “Because I do.”

The air between you shifted then, the tension softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked as though daring each other to break the silence. Then, slowly, you reached for him, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll stay,” you said softly, almost as if reassuring yourself as much as him. “But just for tonight.”

It was always more than just tonight.

Hotch nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned down to kiss your forehead—a gesture so tender it felt almost out of place between the two of you. “Just for tonight,” he echoed, though the way his hand tightened around yours betrayed the truth.

You shifted closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, and for a while, you both lay there in silence, the unspoken words still hanging in the air but no longer suffocating. Whatever this was between you—messy, undefined, and terrifying—it was enough for now. It had to be.

Aaron Hotchner prided himself on control. In his work, in his demeanor, in the way he navigated the chaos of the BAU—it was a skill he had honed to perfection. And yet, when it came to you, control felt like a slippery thing, something he grasped at but never fully held.

The days following that night settled back into the rhythm you and Hotch always maintained—something hovering between routine and denial. At work, you were as efficient and professional as ever, the picture of a seamless partnership. You exchanged clipped updates about cases, worked in sync during briefings, and traded subtle glances across the room that said more than words ever could.

Outside of work, the lines blurred more than ever. You still joined Hotch and Jack for movie nights, helped Jack with his homework, and shared quiet dinners that felt far too domestic for two colleagues who claimed not to be anything more. You fell back into bed together on those nights when the tension boiled over (and many nights when you both were just too tired not to just be), and yet neither of you ever spoke about what it meant. That was the unspoken agreement: not to name it because naming it would make it real.

It worked. Until Beth.

She had been kind, warm, and direct in a way that took him by surprise. Meeting her at the park had been pleasant enough—a chance encounter during one of his runs training for the triathlon. She’d struck up a conversation easily, and before he realized what was happening, she was smiling at him in that way, the kind of way that left no question about her intentions.

“I-I could use some tips--if you’re not busy?” she’d asked, her tone light but confident.

For a moment, Hotch froze. His first thought, inexplicably, was of you—how you’d look at him if you knew, the slight quirk of your brow, the teasing edge in your voice. And yet, beneath that, there was something else. Something heavier.

“I—” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I just don’t know my schedule. I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, as you sat on the couch in his apartment, flipping through a case file while Jack played nearby out of hearing, Hotch broke the silence.

“Someone asked me out today,” he said, his voice calm, almost too casual.

You didn’t look up immediately, your focus still on the file, but he caught the way your hand stilled on the page. “Oh?” you said lightly, though the tightness in your tone betrayed you. “Anyone I know?”

He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “A woman I met at the park. Beth.”

“Beth,” you repeated, setting the file down. You finally looked at him, your expression unreadable. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.” He paused, studying your reaction closely. “It felt… strange.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a wry smile. “Strange how? Like you haven’t been asked out in a while? Or…?”

Hotch sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Like it would be wrong. Like I’d be… cheating.”

The word hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you laughed, though the sound was hollow. “Cheating? Aaron, we’re not—” You stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat.

“I know,” he said quickly, his jaw tightening. “But it still felt that way.”

You leaned back against the couch, your arms crossed over your chest. “How would you feel,” you asked after a long pause, “if someone asked me out?”

The question was quiet but sharp, cutting through the space between you. Hotch’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His first instinct was to deflect, to downplay it, but the truth was already clawing its way to the surface. His eyes darkened at the thought.

“I’d hate it,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “I’d hate it, and I’d probably want to throw a punch.”

Your eyes widened slightly, his uncharacteristic bluntness catching you off guard. But instead of teasing him, you leaned forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you mirrored his posture. “Really?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“Really,” he replied, and then, after a pause, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “There was a time… that officer in Seattle, the one who wouldn’t stop hitting on you.”

You blinked, clearly startled by the shift in the conversation. “The one who called me ‘darlin’’ every five minutes?”

Hotch nodded, his jaw clenching at the memory. “I had all I could do not to step in. Every time he touched your arm or found some excuse to be near you, I—” He stopped, shaking his head as if trying to will away the irritation that still simmered beneath the surface. “It wasn’t professional.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “You were jeal-ous.”

“I wasn’t—” he started to protest, but the sharp look you gave him cut him off.

“You were totally jealous,” you said, your smile widening. “You hated that someone else even thought about getting near me.”

Hotch shifted in his seat, his expression stern but not quite able to hide the faint flush of his cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You tilted your head, your gaze playful but laced with something warmer, deeper. “You know, it’s kind of hot.”

“Stop,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation, though the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him.

You laughed softly, the sound lightening the tension between you. “Fine. But admit it—you wouldn’t like it if someone else was interested in me.”

“No,” he said simply, his voice quiet but firm. “I wouldn’t. Because…” He sighed, fidgeting, running a hand through his hair. “Because it would mean someone else has something I want but won’t let myself have.”

The confession hung between you, raw and unfiltered. You looked at him for a long moment, your expression softening, though there was still a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Aaron…”

“I know we don’t talk about this,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “But you asked, and that’s the truth.”

You leaned back again, your arms wrapping around yourself as if for protection. “I don’t think I’d like it much either,” you admitted quietly, scrunching your nose at the thought. “If someone else had what I already think of as mine.”

Hotch’s breath caught at your words, and for a moment, the weight of what you’d both said seemed too much to bear. But then you looked at him, and something in your expression shifted—a quiet resolve that mirrored his own.

“We’re really bad at this, huh?” you said, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at your lips.

“Terrible,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly despite himself.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but it was also full of understanding. Neither of you had the answers, and maybe you never would. But for now, the truth was out there, raw and unspoken, just like everything else between you. And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Life fell back into its strange, unspoken rhythm. You and Hotch continued your routines, the moments that felt too much like a relationship carefully tucked away, ignored but ever-present.

Hotch had made his decision about Beth without much thought, declining her offer politely but firmly. He told himself it was because his life didn’t allow for complications like dating, but he knew the real reason.

He didn’t bring it up again, and neither did you. But sometimes, when you caught his eye across the bullpen or during a quiet moment at his apartment, there was a weight in your gaze that mirrored his own. It was easier not to talk about it.

The unsub had been cornered, a desperate man with nothing left to lose. Hotch could see the wild look in his eyes, the way his hand twitched around the gun. You stood a few feet away, crouched behind a car door, your gun trained on the suspect.

“Put it down,” Hotch commanded, his voice steady, calm, despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

The unsub didn’t move, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch like a cornered animal. Then, in an instant, he shifted his aim—toward you.

It happened so fast that Hotch didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He moved before the shot rang out, his body blocking the line of fire as he tackled you to the ground. Pain flared in his shoulder, sharp and searing, but he didn’t let it stop him. He rolled to shield you as Morgan and the local PD took the unsub down, disarming him within seconds.

“Aaron!” Your voice was sharp, filled with anger and panic as you shoved him off you, your hands immediately moving to his shoulder. “Are you—damn it, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, though the pain in his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not fine!” You glared at him, your hands pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding as the medics approached. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to let you get shot,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t argue as the medics came to his side.

Hotch sat in the back of the ambulance, his jacket discarded and his shirt pulled down over his good shoulder to expose the wound. The paramedic worked efficiently, stitching up the graze with practiced precision. He barely winced, his focus not on the pain but on you.

You were pacing a few feet away, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you muttered to yourself. He could tell by the sharpness of your movements and the tension in your jaw that you were furious. He also knew it wasn’t just anger; it was fear, worry, and something else neither of you would admit.

“Does she know you’re okay?” Rossi’s voice broke through his thoughts. Hotch turned to see Rossi and Morgan standing at the back of the ambulance, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“She knows,” Hotch replied curtly, his tone dismissive.

“She doesn’t look like she knows,” Morgan said, nodding toward you. “She looks like she’s about to tear you a new one.”

Hotch sighed, his hand clenching briefly at his side. “She’ll get over it. She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rossi asked, his tone pointed. “Because from where I’m standing, this whole act the two of you have going is starting to wear thin.”

“What act?” Hotch asked, though he already knew the answer.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “The one where you two pretend you don’t have feelings for each other. It’s getting old, Hotch. And frankly, it’s not doing anyone any good.”

Rossi crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Hotch. “You put yourself in the line of fire for her, Aaron. We all would have done it, but you didn’t think twice. That’s not just leadership. That’s something else.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering briefly to you before he looked back at them. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it’s not,” Rossi said, his voice gentler now. “But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. You’re not protecting her by pretending it doesn’t exist. You’re just making it harder—for both of you.”

Hotch didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor of the ambulance. The paramedic finished the stitches and stepped back, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the weight of Rossi and Morgan’s words.

When he finally looked up again, you were still pacing, your anger radiating off you in waves. And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Rossi was right.

The atmosphere back at the BAU was tense, the usual hum of activity muted by the weight of the recent case. Hotch moved through the bullpen with his usual efficiency, though the stiffness in his shoulder and the dull ache radiating from the stitches served as a constant reminder of how the day had started.

You were another reminder.

Since the moment he got out of that ambulance and was cleared to finish the case, you’d been snapping at him—sharp comments about his paperwork, curt responses to his questions, even a pointed remark about his “reckless heroics” during the case. It was all thinly veiled anger, but it wasn’t lost on anyone. Rossi shot him a knowing glance as he passed; Morgan smirked but wisely stayed out of it, and even JJ looked like she was holding back a comment. He’s pretty sure he even heard a scoffing laugh out of Emily at one of your brattier comments.

“Hotch,” you said sharply, interrupting his conversation with Reid about a case update. “If you want those reports done before midnight, you might want to clarify what you actually need. Or is guessing part of the job now?”

Reid froze mid-sentence, his wide eyes darting between you and Hotch. The tension in the room was palpable, and Hotch’s patience, already worn thin by the soreness in his shoulder and the mental fatigue of the case, snapped.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone firm but controlled. “My office. Now.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, he reached for your elbow and guided you firmly toward his office. The rest of the team watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement as you allowed yourself to be led, though the fury in your eyes was unmistakable.

Once inside his office, Hotch closed the door behind you, the sound louder than it needed to be. He released your arm, his hand lingering for only a second before he stepped back, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “You just dragged me in here like I’m fucking child.”

“You’ve been snapping at me all day,” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “What do you expect me to do? Let you keep undermining me in front of the team?”

“Oh, so now I’m undermining you?” you said, your voice rising. “God forbid anyone have a reaction to you throwing yourself in front of a bullet.”

“I did what I had to do,” he said, his tone clipped. “It’s my job to protect the team.”

“You’re not invincible, Aaron!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly on his name. “You can’t just—do that, and then act like everything’s fine. Like we’re all fine.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow breath as he tried to keep his frustration in check. He was tired. Tired from the case. Tired from the injury. Tired of the running.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let you get hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“And what about you getting hurt?” you fired back. “Do you think any of us would be okay with that? Do you think I would?”

Hotch froze, the intensity in your voice cutting through his fatigue and frustration. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The raw emotion in your eyes, the way your shoulders shook slightly as you tried to keep yourself composed—it was almost too much.

“This isn’t about the case, is it?” he asked, his voice softer now, though there was an edge of steel to it. “You’re not just angry about what happened.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you turned away, your arms tightening around yourself as if to create some kind of barrier.

Hotch took a step closer, his tone steady but tinged with something softer, something almost pleading. “Talk to me.”

You turned back to him, your eyes blazing with anger, but beneath it, he could see something else—fear, worry, hurt. “Why should I? We never talk about anything. Not really.”

The words hit him like a blow, the truth in them undeniable. And for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

Hotch stood still, every muscle in his body taut as he let your words settle in the air. The frustration and fire in your voice cut through him, but it was the vulnerability underneath that made him pause. He had always prided himself on reading people, on staying composed no matter the situation, but you had a way of stripping him bare, of making him feel exposed in ways he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Every time you step in front of danger, every time you put yourself in harm’s way for me—it eats at me. And then you have the nerve to act like it’s just another day at the office, like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t act like it doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice sharp, cutting through your words. “But we can’t afford for it to mean what you think it does.”

“And why is that?” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Because it might make you feel something real? Because it might mean admitting that this—whatever this is—actually matters?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to argue, to say that you didn’t understand, but the truth was, you understood better than anyone. “Because if something happens to you,” he said finally, his voice low but cracking at the edges, “it would destroy me.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And you think it’s any different for me? You think watching you throw yourself in front of a bullet didn’t tear me apart? God, Aaron, don’t you get it? You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his composure fraying with every word you spoke. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demanded. “From being hurt? From feeling? Because if that’s your plan, it’s not working. I’m already hurt. I’ve been hurt for years because we refuse to deal with this.”

“You think it’s that simple?” he asked, spinning back to face you, his voice rising. “That we can just talk about it and everything will magically be fine?”

“No,” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “But pretending it’s not there isn’t fine either. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away—it just makes it worse.”

The room was suffocating now, the air thick with all the words neither of you had said for years. Hotch’s mind raced, every argument, every excuse colliding with the raw truth you had thrown at him.

“This job…” he started, but his voice faltered. He took a steadying breath and tried again. “This job demands everything. It doesn’t leave room for mistakes, for weakness.”

“And you think this is weakness?” you asked, your voice trembling now, the anger giving way to something quieter but no less intense. “Do you really think what we feel—what we’ve built—is a liability?”

Hotch’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him as the weight of your words pressed down on him. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice raw. “I don’t know how to do this, how to balance it. I don’t know how to protect you and still let myself have you.”

You stared at him, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. But it wasn’t enough—not yet.

“You can’t have it both ways, Aaron,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You can’t keep me close enough to feel everything and then pretend it doesn’t exist when it gets too hard.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his admission. “I know I can’t. But I don’t know how to do this without risking everything.”

“Neither do I,” you said, taking a step closer, your voice trembling. “But the risk of losing this, of losing us—aren’t we worth figuring it out?”

Hotch closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking as your words sank in. He couldn’t argue with you, not when everything you said mirrored the storm that had been raging inside him for years. He opened his eyes and looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he let himself feel the full weight of what you meant to him.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and electric, the air in the room thick with everything you’d both left unsaid for far too long. Hotch’s gaze flickered to yours, searching for something he couldn’t name but desperately needed. His own words had fallen short, his admission incomplete, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

But then you spoke, and it hit him like a tidal wave.

“I can’t keep doing this, Aaron,” you said, your voice trembling but strong, each word deliberate and cutting through the fog of tension. “I can’t keep being someone you make love to, someone you fuck when it gets to be too much. Someone you play house with when we’re with Jack. You can’t look me in the eyes and expect me to pretend I’m not already part of your family.”

He flinched, the raw honesty in your voice slicing through the walls he’d spent years building. “You are part of my family,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“Then why do we keep acting like I’m not?” you fired back, your tone sharper now, anger laced with pain. “Why do you let me stay, let me take care of Jack, let me sleep in your bed—let me love you—but we act like it doesn’t mean anything?”

Hotch’s breath caught, his chest tightening as your words hit their mark. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done.

“You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Aaron,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “And you expect me to believe you’d do that for anyone else? That I’m just another member of the team? I’m not stupid. I know what this is—what we are. But I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

He stepped closer, his hand twitching at his side, but he didn’t reach for you. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t feel it every time I look at you, every time I hear Jack ask about you when you’re not there? You think I don’t know how much it means to me that you’re part of my life?”

“Then we have to stop running from it!” you exclaimed, your voice cracking as your arms fell to your sides. “Stop pretending it’s safer to ignore it, because it’s not. It’s killing me, Aaron. I’m so in love with you, it hurts. And it’s killing me to keep living like this, to keep pretending we don’t already know the truth.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, leaving him breathless. He felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him, like the armor he’d spent years perfecting had finally crumbled to dust. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of the storm inside him.

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, though your eyes never left his. “I need you to decide,” you said softly, but the steel in your voice was unmistakable. “Because I can’t keep doing this—loving you like this—if you’re not willing to let yourself love me back.”

Hotch’s throat felt tight, the weight of your ultimatum pressing down on him like a physical force. But as he looked at you, at the pain and determination in your eyes, something inside him shifted. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. “I’ve been running. I’ve been terrified. But I can’t lose you—not like this. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his, and for a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you finally giving way to something else. Something undeniable.

“I love you,” he said, the words raw and unpolished, but no less true. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try. With you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t look away. “Then stop pretending I’m anything less than yours.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady now. “Not anymore.”

The air between you shifted, the weight of everything unsaid finally lifting as you stepped into him, your arms wrapping around him as his enveloped you. It wasn’t a resolution, not entirely, but it was a beginning. A chance to stop running, to stop pretending, and to finally face the truth you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

The embrace lingered, grounding them both in a moment of quiet resolution. Hotch could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away as his arms tightened around you. For once, the silence between you wasn’t filled with unsaid words or guarded emotions. It was calm. Real.

But the calm couldn’t last forever.

As you stepped back slightly, your hands still resting on his chest, Hotch caught the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips. It was subtle, but he recognized it immediately—the way your mouth twitched just before you said something that would almost certainly drive him up a wall.

“You know we just gave the entire team front-row seats to our meltdown, right?” you said, tilting your head as you looked up at him. “They’re probably out there placing bets on how long it’ll take us to come out of this office.”

Hotch sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought the urge to smile. “I’d imagine Rossi’s leading the pool.”

“Of course he is,” you replied, stepping back fully now, though the warmth in your voice remained. “He’s been waiting for this for years. Probably thinks he’s some kind of love oracle.”

Hotch allowed himself a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll have to face them eventually,” he admitted, his tone resigned but not without a trace of humor. “It’s not like they’ll forget about it by morning.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. “Oh, they won’t. They’ve been watching us like hawks for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morgan starts calling us ‘Mom and Dad’ the second we walk out of here.”

Hotch froze for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean, ‘Mom and Dad’?”

Your grin widened, and you shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t know? The team’s been referring to us as Mom and Dad behind our backs for ages.”

He blinked, his lips parting slightly as he tried to process your words. “They… what?”

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” you said, your tone teasing now. “You’ve seen how they act around us. Morgan and Reid bicker like siblings, and JJ’s always trying to keep the peace. They’ve practically assigned us roles in their little BAU family.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice laced with amusement. “Because it makes a lot of sense when you think about it. I mean, you are kind of a dad to everyone, and I—” You stopped abruptly, the teasing edge in your voice faltering for just a moment before you continued. “Well, I guess I’m just always around.”

Hotch looked at you then, his gaze softening. “You’re not just always around,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team. You’re part of my life. And, apparently, the team’s ‘mom,’ whether we like it or not.”

The warmth in his voice made you smile, and for a moment, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. “Well,” you said, pushing off the desk and straightening your posture, “if we’re going to face them, we might as well lean into it.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Lean into it?”

“Sure,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Let them think they’ve been right all along. It’ll make their day.”

He sighed again, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you said, moving toward the door. “But it’s not every day we give them this much to gossip about. Might as well embrace it.”

As you reached for the door handle, you turned back to him, your expression softening slightly. “You ready?”

Hotch straightened, his shoulders squaring as he stepped forward. “Not even a little.”

Your laugh was soft but genuine, and as you opened the door, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Whatever was waiting for the two of you on the other side, you’d face it together. And that, at least, was something he could hold onto.

The weeks that followed were, on the surface, remarkably unchanged. You and Hotch still worked side by side at the BAU, the same unspoken rhythm of partnership guiding your every move. Your routines remained intact—late nights at his apartment, dinners with Jack, quiet moments stolen away from the chaos of your jobs. But now, there was something new woven into the fabric of it all. Something quiet and steady: the acknowledgement of what you were to each other.

It started small. He would brush his fingers against yours when no one was looking, or you’d linger in his office just a little longer than necessary, your smiles softer, your words laced with warmth. And the words “I love you” slipped into your conversations as naturally as if they’d always been there.

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you both returned to his apartment, the comforting routine of shedding your workday as familiar as ever. Jack was already in bed, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting a warm light as you both settled in.

Hotch disappeared into his home office for a moment, returning with a folder in his hand. He handed it to you without a word, his expression unreadable.

You took it, raising an eyebrow as you opened it. “What’s this?” you asked, flipping through the pages.

“Employee relationship disclosure paperwork,” he said simply, his tone neutral but his lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing as a slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Employee relationship paperwork?” you echoed, setting the folder on the coffee table. “What exactly are we calling this, Aaron?”

Hotch paused, clearly caught off guard by your question. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you looked at him with mock seriousness. “I mean, if we’re filling out forms, that means we’re officially labeling this, right? So, what are we? Is this… a relationship?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as though the question confused him. “Of course it’s a relationship,” he said, his voice steady. “It has been for a long time.”

You tilted your head, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, we’ve been playing house without acknowledging anything for years. So what’s the label, Hotchner? Are we ‘dating’? Am I your ‘girlfriend’?” You said the words with a playful lilt, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath your teasing tone.

Hotch hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered your question. “I don’t think ‘girlfriend’ really fits,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful. “It feels… juvenile.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Juvenile? Aaron, you sound like you’re 100 years old. What would you prefer? ‘Lady friend’? ‘Companion’?”

He shot you a pointed look, though the warmth in his eyes undercut his irritation. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you replied, still smiling. “If ‘girlfriend’ doesn’t fit, what does? You could’ve at least asked me to go steady or something.”

That earned you a quiet laugh, and Hotch shook his head as he sat beside you on the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re old-fashioned,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But seriously, what is this? What are we calling it?”

Hotch turned to face you fully, his expression softening. “We don’t need a label,” he said after a moment. “But if you want one… yes, you’re my girlfriend. My partner. Whatever word you want to use.”

Your smile widened, your teasing demeanor giving way to something warmer. “Your girlfriend, huh? Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You make me say a lot of things I never thought I’d say.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I like the sound of it,” you said softly. “But you know, if this is going to be official, you’re going to have to deal with the team making fun of us.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with amusement.

Hotch felt the faintest tug of a smile on his lips as your fingers threaded through his. The warmth of your touch steadied him in a way few things ever could. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze resting on you with that quiet intensity he so often wore, but this time there was a softness beneath it.

“You’re going to have to deal with it too,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. “You think Morgan’s not going to have a field day the second he hears about this?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch and letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Morgan’s going to call me ‘Mom’ for the rest of my career,” you said with a grin. “And don’t even get me started on Rossi. He’s probably already planning the toast for our wedding.”

Hotch groaned softly, though there was no real frustration in the sound. “Rossi thinks he knows everything,” he muttered.

“Well,” you teased, “he was right about this.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting down to your intertwined hands. He knew the rest of the team would have plenty to say, but for once, he didn’t feel the usual tension that accompanied such thoughts. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance, a sense of inevitability that, despite his usual resistance to change, felt strangely comforting.

Your voice broke through his thoughts. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually said it out loud.”

“Said what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to look at you.

“That you’re my boyfriend,” you said, the word tumbling out casually, but the way your lips curled into a playful smile told him you were testing it, savoring the way it sounded.

Hotch blinked, his brows lifting slightly. “Your boyfriend,” he repeated, the word feeling foreign but oddly fitting on his tongue.

“Yes,” you said, your tone mockingly serious now. “You know, boyfriend. Partner. Significant other. Lover—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, though the faintest hint of color crept into his cheeks as he shook his head. “I get it.”

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with his reaction. “I think it suits you.”

“I feel ridiculous,” he admitted, though there was no heat in his words.

“Ridiculously lucky,” you corrected with a smirk.

Hotch sighed, though his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something unspoken that now didn’t need to be.

He leaned back against the couch, letting out a quiet hum of agreement. “Maybe I do.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of this already, boyfriend,” you said, your grin widening.

He shook his head, chuckling softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you replied, settling into his side. “That’s half the fun.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he let your words settle, your playful tone doing little to mask the deeper warmth behind them. He tilted his head, watching the way you fit so effortlessly into his side, your teasing smile lighting up a part of him he rarely let anyone see.

“‘Boyfriend,’” he repeated softly, tasting the word again like it was foreign but not unwelcome. “I think I still prefer something more… permanent.”

You lifted your head slightly, your brow arching in curiosity. “Oh?” you asked, your tone laced with amusement. “What would that be? Partner? Spouse? Or—” You grinned, the mischief returning to your expression. “Are you saying you’re more interested in ‘husband’?”

Hotch didn’t flinch, though the faintest flicker of color touched his cheeks. He met your gaze, his expression steady, though his lips quirked in a faint smirk. “If we’re being honest,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, “that does sound like it fits better.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, your mock surprise more playful than genuine. “Aaron Hotchner, did you just casually suggest skipping the whole dating phase and jumping right into wedded bliss?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch with an air of calm that was entirely deliberate. “Considering we’ve been acting like we’re married for years already, it doesn’t seem like that big of a leap.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine as you swatted his chest lightly. “You are ridiculous. You’re not even my fiancé, and you’re already talking about being my husband.”

“Like I said,” he replied, his voice soft but steady, “I prefer more permanent labels.”

Your grin softened, your eyes searching his as the teasing edge in your tone gave way to something quieter, more reflective. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, the question almost tentative.

Hotch nodded slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t take things lightly,” he said simply. “Not with you. I never have.”

For a moment, the air between you was heavy again, but not with tension. It was filled with the weight of everything you’d both been building for years, every unspoken truth and every quiet moment of connection that had brought you here.

You smiled, leaning into him again, your voice soft but teasing as you murmured, “Well, if that’s the case, boyfriend, you’re going to have to start calling me ‘your wife’ in front of the team.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “One step at a time,” he said, though the warmth in his tone left little doubt about where his mind had already wandered.

Life fell back into its natural rhythm after you and Hotch filed the paperwork. The team made their comments, as expected—Morgan’s teasing was relentless, and Rossi’s smug satisfaction was borderline insufferable. But beyond the ribbing, nothing really changed in the day-to-day. You and Hotch continued your routines, slipping seamlessly between work and home as if the acknowledgment of your relationship had always been there.

Except now, there was an ease to it. A clarity.

The shift became apparent not in how you treated each other, but in how the rest of the world seemed to see you. It started small—another parent at Jack’s school, someone Hotch didn’t recognize but who greeted you both warmly at pickup one afternoon.

“Oh, you must be Jack’s mom,” she said, smiling at you before turning to Hotch. “He’s such a sweet boy. It’s clear he gets it from you two.”

You both had opened his mouth to correct her out of habit, but then he stopped you. What was the point? It felt right. Natural. So he’d smiled politely and said, “Thank you.”

Later, as you walked back to the car with Jack skipping ahead, you nudged him lightly. “Jack’s mom, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t correct her either,” he countered, his lips twitching with amusement.

You shrugged, your smile soft. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

It was one of those rare sunny Saturday mornings when Hotch found himself not at the office but at the local community park with you and Jack. The three of you had fallen into an easy rhythm—Jack running ahead to the swings while you and Hotch strolled behind, coffee cups in hand.

As usual, you and Jack had dragged him into this outing, insisting he needed a break. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but watching Jack’s laughter echo through the park and seeing the soft smile on your face made him realize how much he needed mornings like this.

While Jack climbed the jungle gym, you leaned against the railing near the benches, brushing a stray hair from your face as the breeze picked up. Hotch stood beside you, close enough that your arm brushed his when you reached for your coffee.

A voice interrupted the moment. “Aaron Hotchner, is that you?”

Hotch turned to see a woman he vaguely recognized approaching, her face lighting up as she drew closer. It took him a moment to place her—one of Haley’s old acquaintances from a distant social circle.

“It is you,” she said warmly, stopping in front of you both. “Wow, it’s been years. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” Hotch said politely, offering a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Claire.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity plain on her face. “And this must be…?”

“My wife,” Hotch said without hesitation, the words slipping out so naturally that he didn’t even think to correct himself.

You blinked, your lips twitching with amusement as you extended a hand to her. “Hi,” you said, your tone friendly but neutral. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Claire’s smile widened as she shook your hand. “It’s so nice to meet you too. And Jack! Oh, he’s grown so much,” she added, waving at him as he climbed the monkey bars.

Hotch nodded, his gaze following Jack for a moment before settling back on Claire. They exchanged a few pleasantries—updates about mutual acquaintances and polite questions about work—before she finally excused herself, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

“You told a lie,” you said after a moment, your tone casual but laced with quiet amusement.

Hotch turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “About?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a faint smirk. “About me being your wife.”

He paused, the realization settling over him, and then shrugged, his expression unbothered. “Didn’t feel like I needed to call you anything different.”

“Really?” you asked, your smile widening. “Is this what we’re calling it now?”

Hotch glanced at you, his dark eyes steady but soft. “It’s what it feels like,” he said simply. “It’s what we are.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, you said nothing, your gaze searching his. Then you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I guess I should get used to it, huh?”

“You’re not opposed, are you?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with amusement.

“Not in the slightest,” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee before looking up at him with a grin. “But if you keep calling me your wife in public, you’re going to have to follow through at some point.”

Hotch chuckled quietly, his lips twitching with a faint smile. “Noted.”

Jack’s shout from the swings broke the moment, and you both turned to watch him wave enthusiastically for your attention. Hotch gave a small wave back, his hand brushing against yours as he lowered it.

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to the simplicity of the morning, but the weight of what had been said lingered in the air. Neither of you felt the need to correct it. After all, it was the truth—whether there was paperwork to prove it or not.

The next instance came at work, during a meeting with another department. A young agent had introduced herself and, glancing between you and Hotch, asked, “So, you and your wife—do you find it hard balancing work and home life at the BAU?”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to him, your expression unreadable. But he also didn’t hesitate. “It’s a challenge,” he said smoothly, his tone professional but warm. “But we make it work.”

After the meeting, you leaned against the edge of his desk, your arms crossed as you smirked at him. “Wife, huh?”

“Again, would you prefer I said ‘girlfriend’?” he asked dryly, hating the juvenile label, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

“Not at all,” you said, tilting your head thoughtfully. “But you do realize you’ve been calling me that a lot lately.”

He shrugged, his gaze steady. “Feels accurate.”

Your smile softened, and you reached out to brush your fingers against his. “Feels accurate to me too.”

It wasn’t until one afternoon in the bullpen that the team finally confronted you both. Emily leaned against Morgan’s desk, her arms crossed as she watched you and Hotch exit his office together. She raised an eyebrow as the two of you exchanged a look and parted ways—Hotch heading toward the coffee station and you to speak with JJ.

“Alright,” Emily said, her tone laced with curiosity as she approached Hotch. “Are you and Y/N married? And don’t try to brush this off—I’ve heard you call her your wife at least three times this week.”

Hotch turned, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, we’re not married,” he said, his tone even.

Emily’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. “Then why do you call her your wife?”

He hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Because it feels more honest than calling her my girlfriend. That doesn’t seem to cover what we are.”

Emily blinked, clearly taken aback by the straightforwardness of his response. “Okay, fair point,” she said slowly. “But what’s stopping you from actually getting married?”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. What was stopping them? He knew it wasn’t fear or hesitation—it hadn’t been for a long time. And the thought of marrying you didn’t fill him with apprehension; it filled him with the same sense of certainty he felt when he called you his wife without a second thought.

“I—” he started, but before he could finish, you appeared at his side, holding a file.

“What’s this about?” you asked, glancing between them.

Emily grinned, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Just asking your husband here why you two aren’t actually married yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, before turning to Hotch. “Well?” you asked, your voice teasing but your expression curious.

Hotch met your gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around him. “That’s a good question,” he said, his voice steady. “What do you think?”

Your smile widened, your eyes softening as you leaned just slightly closer. “I don’t think either of us have a good reason not to,” you said, your tone light but meaningful.

Emily rolled her eyes but grinned. “Well, when it happens, let us know. Rossi’s already planning your wedding toast.”

As Emily walked away, you and Hotch exchanged a glance, your smiles matching. And for the first time, the idea of making it official didn’t feel like a question of if, but when.

The idea had been with him for weeks, lingering in the back of his mind as he watched you move through your life together. It wasn’t a sudden realization or a dramatic epiphany. It was quiet, steady, and inevitable, much like the way you’d become the most important person in his life. He didn’t need to overthink it because he already knew the answer. You were his partner in every way that mattered, and it was time to make that official.

But Hotch being Hotch, he planned every detail. Not something grand or ostentatious—that wasn’t either of you. Instead, he wanted it to be personal, grounded in the quiet, meaningful moments that had always defined your relationship.

It was a Friday evening, the end of a particularly grueling week at the BAU. You and Hotch had fallen into your routine, picking up Jack from soccer practice and grabbing takeout on the way home. The three of you sat around the dining table, laughing as Jack recounted a story about his coach’s dramatic attempt to demonstrate a bicycle kick. Hotch caught your eye during the meal, the warmth in your gaze settling something deep within him.

After Jack went to bed, you lingered in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs. Hotch joined you, sitting close enough that his knee brushed against yours. The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

“You look tired,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

He smiled faintly, his hand covering yours. “Long week.”

“You don’t have to tell me that twice,” you replied, your lips curving into a small grin. “But at least we survived it.”

“We always do,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a weight to his words that caught your attention.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing slightly. “What’s on your mind, Aaron?”

He hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing on him. But then he reached into his pocket, his movements deliberate but calm, and pulled out a small box. Your eyes widened slightly, and you sat up straighter, your hand still resting on his knee.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About us. About what we’ve built together. It’s not just a routine or a habit. It’s a life. And it’s a life I want to share with you—not just in words or assumptions, but in every way that matters.”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t interrupt. He opened the box, revealing a simple, elegant ring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect, understated in the way he knew you’d appreciate.

“I’ve called you my wife more times than I can count,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Because that’s what you are to me. It’s what you’ve been for a long time. And now, I want to make it real.”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Aaron Hotchner let every wall fall away. “Will you marry me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or tense. It was full of the gravity of the moment, the quiet weight of a decision that neither of you had to think twice about.

Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes soft as they brimmed with unshed tears. “Of course I will,” you said, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Yes, Aaron. Yes.”

Relief and joy washed over him, a rare, unguarded smile breaking across his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he pulled you close, his own arms circling your waist.

It wasn’t flashy or elaborate. It was simple, quiet, and utterly perfect. Just like the life you’d built together.

Aaron Hotchner had never been a man who dreamed of grand gestures. His life had taught him the value of simplicity, of finding solace in the quiet moments that others often overlooked. And as he sat with you on the couch that night, your hand resting in his, the weight of the ring now on your finger, he realized that this was everything he’d ever wanted. No fanfare, no spectacle—just you, him, and the life you’d built together.

The days that followed felt much the same, yet somehow entirely different. There was a new ease between you, a sense of certainty that replaced the unspoken tension that had once lingered. At work, the teasing from the team was relentless but good-natured.

But it was at home, in the moments away from the chaos of the BAU, that the shift was most palpable. You’d catch Hotch watching you with a quiet intensity as you helped Jack with his homework or laughed over a shared joke at dinner. And when you teased him about it, his response was always the same—a faint smile and a simple, heartfelt, “I’m just happy.”

One evening, as you sat curled up on the couch together, Jack asleep in his room, you glanced down at the ring on your finger and then back up at him. “So, husband,” you said, the word rolling off your tongue with a mix of playfulness and warmth, “how long do you think it’ll take before Rossi starts making bets on when the wedding will be?”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours. “If he hasn’t already, I’d be surprised.”

You grinned, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come? How all of this just… fell into place?”

He turned slightly, his arm wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “It didn’t just fall into place,” he said quietly. “We built it—one step at a time. And I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft but filled with that familiar spark of mischief. “Not even the part where the team found out and started calling us ‘Mom and Dad’?”

He smirked, his hand trailing absently along your arm. “Not even that.”

The two of you sat there in the quiet, the glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. It was a life neither of you had expected, but one you’d fought for in your own way. And as Hotch held you close, the future felt less like an unknown and more like a promise—a life you’d continue to build together, one quiet, meaningful moment at a time.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

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annwrites · 2 days ago

Text

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part five. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tragedy strikes when a plane crashes. john insists upon your relationship taking the next step. · tags: mothering kink, lactation kink · tw: possessiveness, codependency, attachment issues · word count: 3,742

One hundred and eighteen people are dead. In an instant. Just…gone. Fallen from the sky. Innocent people just trying to get from one place to another. Including a mother and her little girl. Teachers, families, couples…

It’s been everywhere today: on the news, social media, and on the lips of every person you pass in the halls at your college.

And you feel sick every time you think of the terror they must’ve felt. How…helpless they were as they probably clung to each other in those final moments, praying for someone—something—to save them…

You try to push it out of your mind, to the best of your ability, so you might make it through the rest of the day without bursting into a puddle of tears.

That evening, you pick idly at your dinner as you watch John on your flat screen.

Three minutes. If he’d been three minutes sooner, there at least would’ve been a chance at saving them.

And then you watch as he actually gets choked up—as tears stream from his bloodshot eyes—and your own chin wobbles in response.

Please, God, don’t let him blame himself.

He got there as quickly as he could.

While part of you hates him—is terrified of him—for the way he’s been treating you since first meeting a handful of days ago, you're sure he would’ve practically carried that plane to safety if it’d still been in the air when he arrived. He has every right to be angry. To be upset. Because countless lives have now been destroyed, and over a hundred taken through an act of evil—of terrorism.

At least they’re dead now, too.

You hope that if there is a hell—from whatever religion is it that they prescribed to—that they’re suffering in it.

You glance down to your barely-touched dinner, then rise to put it away.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and are ready to lie down for the night, you glance to your balcony doors, and, most unexpectedly, fill with disappointment when you find the space to be empty.

Then, you quickly fill with guilt immediately after. How could you expect him to show up here after the day he’s had? You are the furthest thing from his metaphorical plate—from his mind.

The real world is calling now, and your time of being a distraction to him is over.

He’s gone, and he’s not—

Just as you step toward the doors to close your curtains is when he lands outside them, causing you to jump from fright.

And then tears quickly gather in your eyes as you turn the handle.

John turns around slowly, and he gently rests his hands on his hips while shrugging slightly. “I—”

He shakes his head and glances to his feet. “I tried. I really—if I’d gotten there sooner—”

You throw yourself against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

You run your fingertips through his hair and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “There is nothing you could’ve done. This is not your fault.”

He slips an arm beneath your legs, and he carries you back inside.

John currently has one of your nipples in his mouth, and is gently sucking on it for comfort while you rub his head and keep blankets tucked tightly around him.

You turned quiet white noise on awhile ago to try and lull him to sleep, but every time you think he might be close to drifting off, he begins sucking again.

Such a strange arrangement this is tonight. And in general, really.

But you won’t tell him no in anything he needs to soothe himself. He’s been through utter hell today, and he came to you of all people to make it better. To hold and console him.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” You whisper.

He hums in curiosity.

“Let supes into the military,” you explain while resting a palm against the warm skin of his back.

He releases your breast from his mouth and swallows before replying, wishing you could lactate. He’d like that tonight. But he instead has to make do with what you have to offer.

At least he has the rest of you to do with as he pleases. Whether you like it or not.

And you’re even stupid enough to buy his sob story about being filled with immeasurable guilt over not being able to save the day. When, in reality, he doesn’t feel an ounce of it.

Because, really, it may just work out in the long-run for Vought, and get them exactly what Madelyn has been wanting for months on-end.

He smiles at the thought of her being pleased with him this time. She should’ve been for the last plane he brought down, but he set things right with those words he fed VNN just a handful of hours ago.

And now here he lies in your arms, while you coo over him like a loving mother.

He snuggles closer to you, feeling completely content for once.

He could get used to this. But only when he needs it—rather, wants it—of course. He can’t keep coming over here every night like he has been. Can’t come off as needy.

Even if he feels like he does need it: you, your attention, affection, and maternal comfort and love.

Finally, he replies. “It’d be ignorant as shit for them not to after what happened today, don’t you think? I mean, for the military to say that they’d rather have ordinary soldiers on the frontlines, as opposed to those who can survive a bullet or bombs…”

He shakes his head in indignation. “No different than today. Every day this country fails its people—people the government is supposed to be working for. Instead, they’re getting them killed needlessly. So, if us entering the military can save innocent lives, then I’m all for it.”

Your eyes flit between his while you gingerly cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your touch. “I know that physically, you can’t be hurt.”

You trail your fingertips up to his temple. “But what about in here?”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart, you have already been through so much pain because of these people. Going to war…the things you’d see—”

“I can handle it,” he says, cutting you short.

You grow silent for a moment.

“Is this something you want, or something you’ve been told will happen to you if the people at Vought get their way? Meaning you have no true say.”

He’s not used to this: someone looking out for him. He’s not so stupid as to think that when Madelyn tells him that all she does is to protect him that she actually means it. She’s just…telling him what he wants to hear. But, because he’s so desperate for the attention…he’s willing to pathetically play along.

But with you, it isn’t a sick game. It’s honest. You are.

You ghost your fingertips over his lips, waiting for a response.

Until he decides that he doesn’t much feel up to trying at giving one.

So, instead, he takes your nipple into his mouth again, and he begins to suck.

You sigh quietly, but don’t push the subject. Instead, you gingerly cup the back of his head and begin to hum a nursery rhyme, so as to lull him, hopefully, to sleep.

When John wakes in the morning, it’s not in your arms, but he’s immediately comforted by the smell of eggs cooking and the sound of bacon sizzling on the stovetop across the room. And you hum along quietly to pop music, which plays softly on your little vintage countertop radio.

Sunlight streams through sheer gossamer curtains a few feet from the bed, and he’s practically swaddled in blankets, with plenty of soft pillows to keep him comfortable.

He really likes it here with you. It feels like…home. A home he’s never, in all his life—over forty years—had a chance to have. But this place is just that.

It’s well-decorated, cozy, clean, and warm. Charming. Idyllic, even. Honestly? You deserve an entire house, he thinks. He’d love to see what you’d come up with in turning it, gradually, into a home. Maybe into one for the both of you.

You playing the role of his perfect, dutiful little housewife…? He loves the idea. Fucking adores it. And it’s not like you could ever hope for better, anyway. What woman wouldn’t want such a life given to her by him of all men? Only an imbecile would refuse it.

Now, he has something to truly think about and consider. Given you continue behaving yourself for him—continue doing as he says, and being his well-behaved young lady…and playing mommy to him, which he needs most of all.

“This is nice,” John says after taking a bite of buttered toast, with a smile on his lips.

A smile that you return while gently brushing your foot against his beneath the table.

You’re still wary of him. You’re not so stupid not to be. To be wholly trusting and adoring toward him when you know what he��s capable of would just make you careless toward your own safety and well-being.

Maybe you are anyway.

But what choice do you have but to continue entertaining him like this? To continue…mothering him.

“I’m glad,” you say quietly before taking a drink of orange juice.

He leans back then, and you watch as he looks around your apartment, carefully taking in every feature and facet.

You shift nervously in your seat, wondering what he’s thinking—why he’s studying the space so intently all of a sudden.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and you merely look at him shyly from beneath your lashes while swallowing a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs.

“I like it here,” he remarks. “It’s so…homey. You’re a good little homemaker.”

You flash him a toothy smile, and he genuinely returns it, enjoying the sight of you so happy.

You like being praised, he notes. You probably have no one to give you regular encouragement and approval. No one to give you attention.

He likes that you seemingly like having his. And certainly likes that his is the only that you have.

He doesn’t need to worry about someone else standing in his way—between the two of you. Between him and what now belongs to him. But, even if such a person existed…it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Thank you,” you say while actually blushing. “I’ve worked really hard on it. It’s not much, but I’ve done my best with what little space and money that I have.”

He takes a sip of milk, then licks his lips. “I can tell. I do wonder, though…”

Your brows furrow when he begins to trail off. “What, baby?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. God, he really fucking loves when you call him that. He likes when you call him any pet name, in truth. Baby, sweetheart, sweetie… He wishes you’d call him more. Like, perhaps, your sweet baby boy—or your perfect little boy. Maybe, in time, you will.

He shrugs, then waves his hand, as if he’s trying to be nonchalant. When, in reality, he wants you to push him to tell you. Wants you to show interest in what is it that he has to say. Wants to know that what he thinks matters to you more than anything. Well, that he matters to you more than anything—not just what he thinks.

You gently set your fork down on your plate, then rest your hands in your lap. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

He glances to his right, to where your balcony doors lie. “Just wondering what you might think about my place at Seven Tower.”

You blanch momentarily as he looks back to you.

He’s about to segue into asking you to come see it, isn’t he? His apartment, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to give you a tour of the entire building, just as an opportunity to show off. Not just how he, most likely, knows the whole of the place like the back of his hand, but also so you can witness how everyone there probably bows and scrapes before him: the face of the Seven. The face of Vought. The face…of the entire country—of America.

You know he’s waiting for a specific response. An agreeable one. One that will please him.

“What’s it like?” You ask, feigning mild curiosity, even if you couldn’t care less.

It’s probably like every other corporate skyscraper: soulless and without character. Just a giant advertisement for their brand. A monument to their greed.

He takes a bite of his bacon and chews thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “Guess you’ll just have to come and see for yourself to find out.”

You proceed to stare at him in response to his, admittedly, predictable answer.

You refrain from shifting in your seat, so as to prevent him from bearing witness one of your ‘tells’ for when you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh. W-when?”

You grab your glass of orange juice and hold it between your hands to try and keep them steady—to prevent them from shaking from nerves.

“How about today?” He replies, taking another bite of his eggs.

You grip the glass more tightly. “How? I mean—”

“I can fly you up. We’ll just go in through the roof. No need to bother with metal detectors and what-not.”

You nod slowly.

At least you won’t have to worry, then, about crowds and people snapping pictures of you on their cellphones. That is the very last thing you desire: obnoxious notoriety, and to have yourself splashed across the cover of a supermarket tabloid with a question in bold print asking who Homelander’s new girl is.

And there’s still Emma.

Emma, who you’ve been…somewhat avoiding as of late, strictly from guilt. Guilt that you’re lying to her by omission. Omitting the fact that you’re carrying on with Homelander, for lack of a better term, that is.

If she ever finds out, her heart will break in two. You’re dealing with enough right now, such as the man who sits before you. Adding the loss of your best friend to the list of stressors upon you might just be more than you can handle.

“Okay,” you finally say in reply.

John watches and trails along behind you as you walk slowly around his apartment, looking it over.

He suddenly feels like all his nerve endings have been exposed. It’s a similar—if not near-identical feeling—to how he felt that first night he laid in your arms without a stitch of clothing on, minus his briefs. But he’s gotten used to it; likes it even: the warmth of your body against his own in the middle of the night, when it feels like the two of you are all that’s left in the world.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, eager for your thoughts.

You turn around and ease your head back as you gaze up at him and into irises of blue.

“It…” You trail off.

You don’t want to anger him with your answer, but are also growing tired of lying to spare his overly-sensitive feelings. It’s exhausting walking this dangerous tightrope every time you’re together.

If he doesn’t want an unpleasant answer, then maybe he shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place, and furthermore shouldn’t be asking your opinion on his personal living space.

You nearly flinch when he reaches up and cups your cheek.

You truly detest his suit, including his gloves.

So, you reach up, take his hand in yours, and pull gently against the fingertips of the soft red material.

He stays quiet as you remove it, and then his other one, before tossing them both onto a nearby table.

You blink innocently up at him and he smiles.

You fill with relief that he didn’t take offense to the gesture.

God, he is truly exhausting.

He cups your cheek again and brushes his thumb along your soft, flushed skin. “You can be honest.”

You mentally raise a brow at that. “Did you decorate it, or—”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No. Not something I’d ever waste my time with.”

He smirks. “That’s women’s work.”

You do raise a brow then and frown slightly as well, so he grins at your response.

He turns you around and pulls you back against his chest before wrapping his arms around your neck. “So?”

“Well, it’s very clean, which I like,” you say while resting your hands on his arms.

He snorts. Of course you’d reply with that.

“And?” He pushes, wanting for more.

You sigh. “I hate it. It’s very…empty. Impersonal. It feels like we’re in an American History museum instead of what’s supposed to be your home. There’s no…personal touches. It feels far more like Homelander’s living space, and less like my John’s.”

He stills, which you take immediate note of, and you grow cold all over.

You fucked up. Said too much. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Your John,” he whispers.

With your back against his chest, you can’t see the tears shimmering in his eyes at the sweet sentiment.

Your body loosens and relaxes, and you lean further back against him—your legs now a bit wobbly-feeling from the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.

“I mean, do you like the way it’s decorated and arranged?”

His mouth tugs into a frown and he shrugs. “I don’t spend much time here, to tell you the truth.”

You turn around and slide your hands up his chest and into his hair while standing on tiptoes. “You could always have it redone, sweetie. Hire a decorator, pick some things out and—”

He smiles widely and you shut your mouth while your brows furrow.

“What…?” You ask hesitantly while cocking your head slightly to the side.

He rests his hands against the small of your back, holding you close.

“I could just have you do it for me,” he states while sliding his hands higher, beneath the soft feminine top you have on.

Your eyes flit between his, waiting for explanation.

“You could come live here,” he explains. “We hire a decorator, like you said, or I just give you my credit card and let you do as you please to turn this place into a proper home. I foot the bill while you…y’know, go nuts.”

He…wants to live together?

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too big of a step to take, and far too soon.

His attachment issues know no bounds.

There’s a specific word for this level of it, isn’t there? Co…something. Codependency, yes! And now he’s made you the subject of his sick version of it. You wonder how many have come before you—have failed and disappointed him—then disappeared, per Vought, so he can inevitably find another to take their place.

Or, maybe you’re the first.

Who knows?

But if you are…why?

He never did answer that question, did he? Why you, that is.

You don’t think you should force that answer out of him right now, though.

“Baby, that is…a huge step. And I don’t think that…after only knowing each other for little over a week, for us to…take that leap—”

The light slowly drains from his eyes, and his smile disappears.

You swallow thickly while your heart jumps into your throat.

“What? You don’t want to be here? Don’t want me around?”

You jump into damage-control mode. “Of course I do, baby. But… I have less than two months left in school before I get my diploma. I’m about to be loaded down with finals. And there’s work, too. Just…to move in the middle of it all…”

You cup the back of his head and smile warmly, desperate to keep him from getting angry. Terrified of what will happen to you if you don’t succeed.

“How about this, sweetheart: we can compromise, maybe, if you like? You could pack a bag: clothes, toiletries, books and movies—I’ll even help you. Just…whatever you like. And you bring it all back to my apartment. I’ll clean out one of the drawers in my dresser for you, and some space in my closet, a spot in my bathroom—whatever you need—and you can continue staying there, just like you’ve been. But this way, it’ll feel more like your home, too. I mean, you like it better there, right? You said that you do.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then gaze warmly into his eyes as you wait for—you desperately fucking hope—a positive response.

He considers for a moment—you note how he grinds his jaw while in thought—and then he exhales while nodding. “Alright. Fine. But only until you’ve graduated. Right?”

You ignore the feeling of fear that overtakes you at his insistence. “Of course. I’ll just have a lot less on my plate then, sweetie. And it’ll be good to wait. Because it’ll give us more time to get to know one another. And you to have an opportunity to make sure that that’s what you truly want: me living here. Because I’d hate to…to just move in, and you decide a week or two later that you’ve made a huge mistake, and I have no apartment to go back to because I gave it up, you know?”

He nods his head from side to side in understanding. “Okay. I’ll pack a bag or two, and I’ll just continue coming to you every night.”

He smirks while leaning down and cupping your face between his hands—the image of him crushing your head between them flits briefly through your mind—and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Besides, I love seeing you comfortable and in your element, anyway. And it’s nice having home-cooked meals so often.”

He grabs one of your ass cheeks, and your eyes widen in surprise. “And we don’t have to worry about the lemmings here at Vought up both our asses when we’re being intimate and when you’re…y’know, looking after me.”

You nod. “That’s all I want: privacy. And for me to have you all to myself.”

You hope he likes that last bit… You only tacked it on for his benefit.

When you feel his erection suddenly pressing against your stomach—hard and firm—you have confirmation that he does.

And then he presses his lips to yours once more.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @chaimshelii @sacha1slytherin

#fic: the boys (homelander x reader)#homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander x oc #homelander x reader #the boys x you #the boys x y/n

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pugh-bug · 2 days ago

Text

Needy

One shot

sub Art Donaldson x dom reader - smut

This was so fun to write! I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think it genuinely means so much just getting one comment - also if you want to be tagged in all future Art x reader fics let me know <33

——————————————————————

“You can’t be serious.”

It was Art…again. Ever since you’d slept together he’d been knocking on your door more and more. The confusing thing was that his visits didn’t concern sex, he’d want help with things - little things like finding his phone or keys. When that got ridiculous to redo he started faking illnesses, some more convincing than others, asking you for medicines or bandages. Now here he was again, puppy dog eyes gazing at you - desperate for some glimmer of hope or affection. How you pitied him.

“Patrick beat me again.” His eyes turned to the floor.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

No part of you was surprised, Art had been getting beaten by everyone recently. You’d stopped coming to his games to save yourself the embarrassment. The boy needed pushing, or motivating somehow. You looked at his little head, bowed in shame like a dog. “Come in then.” He practically jumped at that.

Once Art had gotten comfy, sitting cross legged in his shorts on your bed awaiting orders, you sighed. “You can’t keep letting Pat beat you, coming here and looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

You took in his slightly flushed cheeks, his doe eyes under the pile of blonde curls and the slight craning of his neck to show he was listening.

“Like that.”

Art smiled a smile you almost returned but couldn’t quite bring yourself to. He was demanding to be lead on - begging for it. Well, you wouldn’t.

“If I’d known you were gonna be this needy I’d never have fucked you.”

His smile didn’t falter at that. He was annoyingly positive sometimes, full of complaints when he wanted attention but never cross when he was being told off. Art just wasn’t one for giving up. You shrugged off your jacket and sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the way his eyes admired every inch of you.

“I’m glad you did.” Art grinned, feeling proud as he remembered you stripping in front of him and swallowing his cum as he whimpered. He saw it as his greatest achievement, far more impressive than any dusty tennis trophy. All he wanted, more than Wimbledon - more than fame more than anyone was you. You consumed him, you had since first year. Since he first plucked up the courage to ask you to a Stanford party and your friendship with Patrick had given him a doorway. One he refused to step out of.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, staring at your face in awe - his hand edging towards your own on the bed. You felt something at how earnest he was, something akin to warmth but something you couldn’t deal with just yet. “Careful.” You warned. “Just think before you speak.”

Art shook his head, moving closer to you. “Mmm, can’t. Not around you.” God, he was cute when he was desperate. His little wriggly movements, his wide eyes and puffy lips. He’s probably hard already, you thought trying not to smile. Poor baby, it had been a week since you’d touched him and for Art a week of pure longing. He’d touched himself to the thought of your kisses so much he’d forgotten how to finish without you in his head. Without the flashing images of your lips round his cock or your grin at his moans he felt nothing.

Sensing a ‘no’ coming, Art did what he did best. He begged. “Please,” he moved your hair off your ear to kiss under it. “I miss you.” You asked him how that was even possible when he’d been practically living in your room but time meant nothing to this star player. A second without you was a second too long. “Need you now mommy…please.” Your stomach flipped at the honorific, how it dripped off his tongue so deliciously. It suited him. You wanted him to say it again.

Before you could say anything Art was planting eager kisses up and down your neck. You let him, told yourself you were giving him a much needed win but really you were loving it. With Art so preoccupied with your neck you could safely squeeze your thighs together. You both knew how desperate he was to fuck you again, everyone knew. Patrick knew. His trainer. Your trainer. Everyone in a 10 mile radius. What you didn’t both know was how likely it was to happen again if he’d only beg a little more.

To Art’s dismay you gently pushed him off you, looking into his pleading blue eyes trying not to break. “You realise I’m not your girlfriend right?” It was harsh but a fair question. The boy seemed unsure. When he didn’t answer you narrowed your eyes. “Because I’m not fucking you if you answer wrong.” Suddenly the tent in Art’s pants hardened and his pupils grew a few millimetres. He got all wriggly, like an animal caught in a trap. A horny, desperate one.

“You’re not my girlfriend.” Art sighed but it was clear he was still hoping for your approval. He knew it should disgust him, how much he craved and desired it, but it didn’t. Your hand on his thigh only spurred him on, reminding him that he’d follow you anywhere and that he’d be or do anything for you. Anything you asked.

“Art,” you could tell he’d retreated into his head. Nothing a hand down his shorts wouldn’t fix. “I need you to relax okay?” Art melted into your touch and at the gentleness of your voice, the care in it. You found his cock immediately, hard and desperate, and felt the weight of it in your hand for a moment. If you’d been feeling mean you’d have teased him but something told you if you didn’t touch him now he’d cry.

As your hand worked its magic Art closed his eyes, leaning his head ever so slightly back. He needed this and fuck did he look angelic taking it. His little breaths and fluttering lashes spurred you on. It didn’t take long for him to start bucking up into your touch desperate for you to go faster. You refused, ceasing your movements to pull him with both hands into a kiss. He practically gasped when your tongue entered his mouth but that was followed by a moan at the intrusion. He tasted like spearmint.

“You’re so,” you gasped in between kissing him. “Fucking cute.” Art felt charged up at your compliment. You usually avoided giving them out finding it easier to show your affection rather than state it. He treasured those moments where you let slip how much you really liked him.

“Mmmm!” He was close you could tell.

“You gonna cum for me?”

Art started nodding aggressively, eyes closed and hips bucking.

“You can’t wait till you’re inside?” You cooed in that patronising tone he found so sexy and hurtful. Art tried to think straight, though his body was betraying him as it chased the orgasm you were yet to give. You asked him again, playing nice, and it sunk in the second time. Art stopped bucking. He stopped moving at all. All he could do was watch in a mixture of sorrow and excitement as you let his cock go.

“Take your shirt off.”

Art knew an order meant sex was on the table - not even on the table it was guaranteed to happen. He didn’t let on how gleeful he felt at that fact, instead he obediently threw his t-shirt off. It landed in the pile of clothes on your floor but his eyes didn’t linger for long, they couldn’t not when you were taking your own shirt off. Art gulped at the sight of your bare chest, your tits that begged to be kissed and sucked and the line of your neck and shoulders. God he was obsessed with you, truly he felt almost in love.

Art’s mind raced with possibilities. Were you going to let him eat you out? Sit on his face? Were you simply going to straddle him without any foreplay and sink your warm, wet pussy down onto him? His cock twitched at the image. You hiked up your skirt and let him hurriedly pull down your soaked panties with wide eyed. He couldn’t believe that was for him - because of him. The most beautiful woman in the world is turned on…because of me.

“You’re so b-“

You promptly shut him up by sinking down onto him, his eyes grew even wider with shock. No warning, no words just pure lust. Art was inside you again, finally, and it felt so good he thought he could cum already. “Shit…” he moaned and you hadn’t even started to move. His size was an adjustment, especially seeing as you hadn’t let him pleasure you beforehand, but you felt deliciously full. Full and smug.

“I might just stay here,” you teased, rocking your hips painfully slowly. “Forever.” It was torture for Art, your painstakingly light movements and your gleeful smirk. You both knew what teasing him did to you - how powerful it made you feel. “Mommy…”

“I’m right here.” You cooed, gazing down at his eager face and lust filled eyes. He hadn’t bothered to take his shorts off, you’d just shoved them to the side, and somehow that turned you both on more. All that mattered to Art was you. Your bare skin so close to his own and your heavy breaths, those he could hear even over his own moans. Although you wanted nothing more than to torture Art and bring him to the very precipice of pleasure just to snatch it away you had to think about your needs. Your cunt was leaking already, your skin was hot and there was a fire inside you that needed him. So when he moaned:

“Fuckkkk…”

It seemed only right for you to say:

“Yes that’s it, fuck mommy.”

Art groaned, indulging his lust and carnal needs he’d usually feel embarrassed of. Before you Art had always hidden his desires from partners and even himself. He’d been raised conservatively, this you knew, so you found it gratifying to pull his real self out. It made you wet to see his cheeks redden when you said such things and you couldn’t help the smile that filled your face when you felt him harden even more inside you. He started to quicken his pace.

As Art closed his eyes to focus on how good you felt you stared at him, watching him. Studying him. The way he clamped his arms around your waist to easily thrust up into you, how his eyes were scrunched shut so he didn’t cum early and that one bouncy curl hiding his left eyebrow. He was beautiful, you had to admit. In your horny state it was easy to get lost studying Art and forget everything else. He felt the same about you.

Art didn’t wait too long before opening his eyes, not wanting to miss too much. Your tits were so close to his face as your chest heaved up and down up and down. It was driving him insane - you were driving the poor boy insane. How could he still need you when he was inside you?

The bed creaked under Art’s rabbiting movements, groaning under the strain of his excitement. He was groaning too, whimpering whenever you kissed or bit his neck and struggling not to cum. It was all too much, your warmth, your tits, your thighs wrapped round his own and your lips open to let out angelic moans. He wanted to give you everything, everything he had. All Art desired was to make you happy.

“Mommy!” there was a tinge of panic in his voice as he stared at you, awaiting permission but still fucking you hard and fast like you wanted. Feeling sorry for him you awed in his face, circling your hips to meet his movements and brushing the sweaty curls off his forehead. He wanted to cum. “Already?”

Art nodded frantically, feeling his release draw closer and closer. You were on the pill, he knew that, but he still needed permission. With every thrust he sheathed himself to the hilt and yet you still both needed more. “You gonna cum for me?” Art’s mouth started opening as he edged himself, not wanting this moment to end but needed release more than anything.

“Cum inside mommy, I want to feel it.”

That did it.

Before you could finish your sentence, Art was holding your waist impossibly close to him and releasing inside you. “Oh fuck…fuck mommy I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” His little whimpers and blushing skin sent you over, within seconds you were cumming too. The two of you were panting like animals, bucking into each other with all the energy you could muster. Art’s cum started to drip out of you, down his sensitive cock and onto the bedsheets but your focus was him. He was breathing heavier than last time, heavier than you’d seen him after matches.

“Are you okay?” You asked after a moment, with genuine concern. Not wanting to startle him you chose not to move, instead you held him in your arms and kissed his cheek. The softness of it made Art feel safe but more sorrowful that you wouldn’t date him. “I’m okay.” He looked out of it so you squeezed his hand. “You can sleep here.” The boy practically jumped for joy. He thought he’d won.

“No, no.” You laughed at his presumptuousness. “This doesn’t mean what you’re thinking.” But Art slept wonderfully well that night believing there was hope yet.

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Permanent Art taglist:

@theynothem @amorisxx

#challengers #pughbug #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art Donaldson x dom reader #sub art donaldson #sub art Donaldson x dom reader #challengers fandom #challengers art #challengers smut #Mike faist #challengers x reader

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silenzahra · 2 days ago

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... Hello.

First of all: I'm very sorry about my last post. I really wasn't feeling good at all due to a combination of things and felt that my writing didn't deserve any praise... but I'm doing way better now. I'm slowly reconciling with my writing and finding joy in it again, though I still have to make a decision about posting again in the future or not. I still need some more time to think about that.

Aside from that... I'm now unemployed. I learnt about this the day after posting my latest story, and the news joined my own insecurities and, well... the rest is history. Still, I've had some time to accept it, and I'm trying to see the bright side of it. I now have more time to study as I still have to take a very hard exam in two weeks time (December 14th... I'm dreading that date just as much as I want it to come asap).

So even if this hasn't been easy at all, I'm now doing better and trying to see how I can make the best of the free time this will give me. I'll obviously search for a new job, but for now I'm just gonna focus on my exam, and then perhaps I'll allow myself to take a vacation and just enjoy the Christmas festivities. I feel that I need it, even if I'm not a big fan of Christmas myself.

There's a couple of factors that have helped me go through this hard time and I couldn't be more thankful. Of course, the first one is you: all of you who have reached out in any way just to let me know I'm loved and supported just for who I am, and not for what I write or even if I write at all. I promise I never intended this to happen... I want to continue writing for myself like I've always done, but I don't want it to become a source of anxiety and insecurity. I already have enough of both 😅

My beloved @vulpixfairy1985 @megamagimugi @bberetd and @itsavee4117: thank you so much not only for commenting on my latest post, but also for reaching out through Instagram and being there for me on that site. Thank you for listening to me and allowing me to vent, and for showing me your support every day. I owe you a big one 💖

@aqua-peri and @peaches2217: thank you so much for reaching out privately, and @wahooitsamee @loud-kid2 @smokszyvverstar

@roscolate @eleventhhourfactor @pepperycar @multicolour-ink @elitadream

@kelbreyworshipper @katlyntheartist @stripetkattelalala54 @marioandluigi1983: thank you so much for your kind comments/reblogs on my latest post. To all of you: your words have truly made a difference and made me feel so loved and validated. I hadn't checked this site in two weeks and finding all your beautiful wishes and words of support has really moved me. Thank you so much 💖

As for the second thing that has helped me these past two weeks... I'm sure it's actually quite easy to guess 😊

This game and these brothers have kept my need to fangirl alive and well. It's given me so much. They have given me so much ❤️💚 Whenever I feel ready and have the time, get ready to hear me yap about Brothership because I beat it last night and I have SO MUCH to say.

Still, this doesn't mean I'll be active again. As I mentioned, I have an exam to take in two weeks, so I'll probably be missing most of the time. I won't be checking tags or anything else for now. I'll focus on my exam and the rest will come later. I may reblog some stuff occasionally but that's all you'll see from me until I'm completely free.

I sincerely hope you're all doing fine, and hopefully I can start catching up with everything soon. Feel free to reach out or tag me or whatever, but please don't expect a quick answer.

With that said: thank you again so much. I love you 💖

#so... I'm back but I'm not I guess?#anyways sorry again for everything #I sincerely love you very much #��💖💖

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planetpedri · 2 days ago

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Compromise — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pedri knew your relationship was over, but he still had hope. Even with that hope, he couldn’t let you try to compromise, he knew you deserved better.

Word count: 445+

Disclaimer/s: angst , sad ending, no part two!!!!

A/N: Role Model upsets me sm i love him dearly tho!

Pedri stood in front of you, the bouquet in his hands was losing petals the longer he stood there. The flowers were bending and so were you.

He knew he looked pathetic—showing up at your house to remind you he still loved you. He saw the way your eyes softened out of pity.

“Pedri..” You drawl quietly, removing the flowers from his grasp and setting them on the counter beside you. “It’s been two months, you should let this – this idea of us, you should let it go.”

You were too kind, even when Pedri didn’t deserve it. He lifts a hand, rubbing the side of his jaw. “No, I know. I just.. I don’t want you thinking that I didn’t, or don’t, care. I do. I did, I do.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

You scan his face, your resolve crumbling at how weak and sad he looked. “Listen, maybe we can try this again, if that’s what you want? You just have to figure out how to make time for me with your schedule and—“ Your words die on your tongue when you see Pedri start to shake his head.

“No. No, don’t compromise with me, cariño. You don’t deserve this, I want you to be happy. You aren’t happy with me.” He sighs, almost not believing the words leaving his lips. He hadn’t planned on saying this, he just wanted to fix things.

Scratching the back of your neck, you let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re throwing me through a loop here, Pedri. Do you want this or not?”

Pedri sighs. “I just want to say goodbye, to let you know I still and always will, care. But, I want you to move on and find someone who will give you the time and patience you deserve. I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.” He takes a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, softer this time.

You chew on the inside of your cheek and nod. “Right. Well, I’m sorry too. You have a game tomorrow, no?”

Confused by the question, Pedri nods slowly. “Uh, yeah..?”

“Good luck. I’ll be rooting for you.. in a friendly manor.” Your lips form a tight smile, “I have to go get ready, though.. family dinner. Thanks for.. whatever this is!”

The mans heart aches at your awkward shuffling, your eagerness to get away from him, but mostly your kindness. “Thanks.” He clears his throat, “and goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” You smile slightly, not reaching your eyes but still with a hint of warmth. Turning on his heels, Pedri makes his way to the front door, forcing himself not to look back.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie

#pedri gonzalez #pedri gonzalez one shot #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez angst #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri gonzalez x fem!reader #pedri gonzalez x y/n #pedri gonzalez x you #blurb #football #fanfic #fc barcelona #fc barcelona fic #pedri #angst #angst with no happy ending

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motherismotheringggg · 1 day ago

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power play 🗄️

summary: you and cooper are office rivals with tension that could be cut with a butter knife

type: cooper koch x fem! reader (i obvi know cooper is gay, this is just fiction)

tags/warnings: handjobs, fingering, passionate kissing, oral (f! receiving), p in v unprotected sex, cream pie

author’s note: i had been wanting to write something inspired by cooper in these glasses for a MINUTE so this was fun. also if you sent me a request, just know im working on it!!! anyway enjoy and please gimme feedback if you have it

word count: 3499

🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️🗄️

Team meetings were always a drag, and this one was no different. Your laptop sat open, toggling between the agenda and a crossword puzzle on NYT Games.

“Congratulations to Y/N for closing the marketing deal earlier this week!” the team lead announced, breaking your concentration.

You perked up, flashing a confident smile as applause filled the room. Glancing around, you nodded graciously and threw a playful wink at a few coworkers.

“And a congrats to Cooper as well—he’s presenting his portfolio to the partners this week!”

The applause continued, but you stifled a groan, instead rolling your eyes with a sarcastic grin.

“Some of us tip-tap on social media, and others actually crunch numbers—but hey, we’re all working hard, right?” Cooper quipped, his smirk sharp as ever.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’m sorry—if we’d known counting to ten was so hard, we’d have thrown you a parade,” you fired back, voice sugary sweet with a sting.

His smirk faltered, replaced by a hard squint and the clench of his jaw. For just a moment, his polished demeanor slipped, and you couldn’t help but savor the victory.

“Careful,” he muttered, leaning in just enough for you to hear. “I’ll make you pay for that later.”

The challenge in your tone sent a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your belly, “I sure hope so”, you said through a smirk.

-----

This push-and-pull had been building for weeks, a perfect storm of animosity and smoldering tension. Everyone in the office knew you and Cooper were rivals, constantly outperforming and excelling in your respective projects.

But for Cooper, it wasn’t jealousy that fueled him—it was fascination. Your confidence captivated him, the way you balanced grace and self-assuredness, never downplaying your success but never arrogant about it either. You were magnetic, a challenge he couldn’t resist.

Most women bent to his charm, but not you. When he crowded your space or accidentally brushed against you, you’d offer nothing more than a sly smile before carrying on. It drove him mad.

Meanwhile, his interest was obvious to you—the lingering glances, the way his eyes traced your legs in a mini skirt or lingered when you leaned over a desk. You weren’t blind to it, and you relished every second of his quiet frustration.

You kept teasing him, savoring every stolen glance and clenched jaw, until about a week ago.

-----

It had been a long day, and the two of you were stuck in the office late, prepping for a Zoom call with partners in a different time zone. To avoid technical issues, you both stayed behind, working through the fatigue to ensure everything ran smoothly.

After the call dragged on, you split the task of finalizing meeting notes, the office eerily quiet in a way that made even small moments feel charged.

In the kitchen, you leaned against the counter scrolling on your phone as the coffee machine whirred. Then, as if on cue, Cooper appeared.

He strode in purposefully, making direct eye contact before heading to the sink to rinse his tumbler. The air shifted immediately, though you tried not to show it.

“Good job on the call,” he said, his voice low and casual, though weighted.

You glanced at his back, noting the way his muscles flexed under his light blue button-up. Smirking, you replied, “Of course. I always deliver…you weren’t too bad yourself.”

He let out a soft laugh, drying his hands and turning to leave, only to pivot suddenly and close the space between you. Planting his arms on either side of you, he boxed you in, his body looming close enough for you to catch the woodsy warmth of his cologne.

Tilting your head, you met his eyes with a challenging gleam. “Need to get something off your chest, Koch?” you teased, voice calm but daring.

His gaze dipped to your lips, his smirk sharp as he leaned closer, heat radiating from him. “You love playing this game, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice rich and edged with something darker.

Your heartbeat quickened, but you kept your composure, leaning forward just enough to narrow the space. “Who says it’s a game?”

His jaw tightened, hands clenching against the counter as the tension between you crackled, the air thick enough to drown in.

For a moment, you thought he might hesitate—he’d never made a move before and clearly wasn’t used to a woman who challenged him. But then his hands gripped your waist, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, and his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss was frantic, his breath heavy as he devoured you. His lips were rough, his tongue insistent, drawing a soft sound from you.

Your hands weren’t idle, fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt. As the fabric parted, your fingers grazed over his warm skin and the hard lines of his chest, your nails scraping lightly. He shuddered under your touch.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he groaned against your lips, his voice low and strained. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. “You’ve been such a fucking tease.”

You grinned, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him hiss. “And yet,” you murmured, your voice dripping with challenge, “you never stopped chasing.”

His hands slid from your waist to your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as his fingers dug into your skin. Stepping closer, he pressed himself against you, his hard cock straining against his pants.

“I can play nice just this once,” you purred into his ear, reaching for his belt. His breath hitched as you wrestled with the buckle, his lips continuing their trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

Freeing him from his pants, you pushed him back slightly, creating just enough space. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you slowly licked your palm, never breaking eye contact.

“Fuck... you’re so fucking hot,” Cooper breathed, his voice ragged. Wrapping your hand around his length, you began to stroke him, deliberate and slow. His breathing stuttered, his shoulders dropping as a deep grunt escaped his lips.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, each word heavy with satisfaction. “You’re such a mess, Koch.”

His eyes snapped to yours, blazing with desire and frustration, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. “Are you—” he started, but his words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as your hand tightened, your wrist swirling expertly.

“Am I what, baby?” you teased, your lips curling into a smug smile as you quickened your pace. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

He exhaled a shaky laugh, gripping the counter behind him for support. “Are you... gonna let me... fuck you?” he managed, his voice strained but tinged with grudging admiration.

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning in so your breath ghosted over his neck, your hand never faltering. “But I like you like this.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But the way his body reacted to your every movement—how he twitched in your hand, how his breathing hitched whenever you changed pace—told you he was utterly at your mercy.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless. “Oh I know honey” you cooed back in response as he fell into you.

You pressed a kiss to his jaw, letting your lips linger. He let out a low growl, his hands moving to your hips, fingers digging deep into your skin to somehow ground him and the tension in his body.

A few seconds later, his release spilled warm against your hand, his muscles tightening before relaxing as he caught his breath. The air between you buzzed with the aftermath.

Without a word, you crossed the kitchen to grab a paper towel, your movements calm as he straightened and adjusted his clothes.

The silence was thick but not uncomfortable, and though your back was to him, you could feel his gaze burning into you. It wasn’t just a look—it was awe, mixed with something deeper, something that made him hesitate.

You liked it. You liked him like this—off-balance, unsure, but still captivated.

-------

And now here you both were again, another late night in the office. The hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards filled the air. Cooper’s cubicle wasn’t far, and his fingers flew over the keys, lost in his work.

You started to wonder if he’d forgotten his promise from earlier—or worse, backed out. The thought twisted your stomach. If he was going to take the lead, you didn’t want to miss it.

You loved having him at your mercy, weak and obedient, but you’d fantasized about him taking control—bending you over his desk,, his hands gripping your hips, his large hands slapping your ass hard enough to raise the skin. You craved that shift in power, him letting go of his restraint and losing himself with you.

The fantasy made you forget where you were. When you snapped back to reality, Cooper stood at your cubicle entrance, waving his hand in front of your face.

“Helloooo… earth to Y/N,” he teased, snapping you out of your trance.

You blinked, shaking your head, and quickly blamed your distraction on the work in front of you.

“I’m running out to grab a snack. Do you wanna come, or should I get you something?” he asked casually, but it felt off, almost too casual.

It threw you off—he sounded like a coworker, maybe even a friend, like nothing had been simmering between you two. For a moment, you wondered if he’d backed out.

Still, you nodded, searching for your wallet. “Yeah, could you grab me a ginger ale and one of those salami and cheese packs?”

Your words trailed off as your eyes met his.

Cooper wasn’t focused on your request. His gaze was hungry, undressing you with his eyes.

“Earth to Koch,” you teased, arching a brow, “If you’re gonna stare, at least buy me dinner, not just snacks.”

His smirk didn’t fade, and his gaze lingered. “Keep your money,” he said lowly, “I’ll take care of it.”

You leaned back in your chair, grinning slyly. “Is that so? From where I’m sitting, you’re used to letting me handle it.”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned down, bracing his hands on the armrests of your chair. “Well, daddy doesn’t mind picking up the tab… I do make more than you,” he teased, flicking his fingers with a smug grin.

You cocked your head and smiled. “But you’re good with taking the lead. Always have been,” he continued, throwing on his coat.

You held his gaze unflinchingly, the tension thick in the air, until he stepped back and walked away. You couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk on your lips as he disappeared down the hall.

------

Cooper’s footsteps echoed softly as he returned to the office, the bag of snacks and drinks crinkling in his hand. He made a quick stop by your cubicle, setting down the drink and snack you’d requested. But when he glanced around, he noticed you weren’t there.

Maybe she’s in the bathroom, he thought, shrugging it off as he turned back toward his own desk.

But the moment he sat down, he froze. Right in the center of his keyboard lay a pair of lacy pink panties—your panties—with a sticky note attached.

supply room <3

Cooper didn’t waste a second. He practically sprinted to the supply room, his long strides carrying him down the hall with a new kind of energy. His chest was tight, not with anticipation.

When he pushed the door open, his heart skipped a beat.

There you were, leaning casually against the small table, arms crossed over your chest like you had all the time in the world. The faint hum of the fluorescent light above cast a halo around you, but the devilish smirk on your lips said otherwise.

“Couldn’t even wait to finish your snack?” you teased, your eyes dropping to his heaving chest as you sat on the table, your skirt riding dangerously high on your thighs.

Cooper kicked the door shut behind him with a sharp thud, his gaze locked on yours, dark and determined.

“You’re insane,” he muttered with a smirk, stepping toward you with a determined glare.

Cooper crashed into you, his lips capturing yours with a fierce, desperate hunger that stole your breath. The kiss was a battle for control, his movements firm and possessive as he refused to yield, always staying one step ahead of your attempts to take the lead.

His strength overwhelmed you, leaving no room for resistance. His large hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head back as his lips left yours, trailing fiery kisses down your neck. Each nip and bite sent jolts through your body, unraveling your composure.

Cooper paused, his dark, desire-filled eyes locking on yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hand slipped under your skirt, his fingers finding your clit with deliberate, teasing circles. You tried to resist, still wanting him to work for it, but the whimper of his name betrayed you.

He licked his fingers before slipping one inside you, his pace confident and unrelenting. Your back arched in ecstasy as he murmured, "Mmhm, just like that... fuck, you're so wet," his voice low and intoxicating, urging you to let go completely.

“Exactly, Y/N... I like you just like this,” Cooper murmured, his voice low and gravelly as his lips hovered over yours. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips—just enough to leave you craving more. Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees, his hazel eyes dark and focused as they met yours.

He hooked your legs over his broad shoulders, pulling you flush against his face. His tongue traced over your wetness, each stroke deliberate and hungry. Your head fell back, a heavy sigh escaping as your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging lightly. Instead of the whimper you expected, Cooper let out a deep, guttural grunt, the vibrations traveling through you and making you moan louder.

When you tried to buck your hips against his face, he steadied you, his strong hands gripping your hips and anchoring you firmly. “Mm-mm, sweetheart, stay right where you are,” he said, flashing you a mischievous glance, his hazel eyes glinting with control.

His commanding tone made your breath hitch, his hands grounding you as they sparked a deeper craving within. You wanted to move, to take charge, but Cooper’s firm grip and steady gaze kept you in place, thrilling you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Your grip tightened in his hair, but there was no pulling him closer—he was already as close as he could be, his jaw flexing as he sucked harder on your sensitive bud, each movement sending you spiraling.

“Fuck, Koch, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate.

“Don’t rush it,” he growled, his voice thick with authority. “Let me handle you.” The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, your body aching to let go even as you tried to hold out.

His slow, deliberate rhythm had you trembling, the tension building with each wave of pleasure he drew from you. You gasped, your hips quaking as his intense gaze locked on yours, grounding you in the moment. His grip tightened just enough to keep you still, a silent command to surrender.

“Think I forgot my promise from earlier?” he asked, pulling back just enough for his words to reach you, his face glistening with your slick. His voice was a low, teasing growl, leaving you breathless before he stood, towering over you.

In one fluid motion, he pulled you to your feet, his hands firm as they turned you around. His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, slipping it from your shoulders before ripping off his own. The warmth of his chest briefly pressed against your back before he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as his whispered words sent a thrill down your spine.

"You like a challenge right?," he murmured, his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through you, "don’t cum until I say so,let’s see how long you can hold out.”

A shiver ran through you, and you nodded quickly, unable to form words. That wasn’t good enough for him.

"Use your words," he ordered, his hands trailing down your sides, gripping you firmly.

“Yes, Ko…Cooper,” you stammered, the anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

"Good girl," he muttered, satisfaction dripping from his tone. Without another second passing, he pushed into you, his swollen cock moved deliberatly, slowly, and utterly consuming. The angle stole your breath, his tip hitting your cervix in a way that left you in awe, all you could do was brace yourself against the table, gasping at the intensity of it all.

"You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart," Cooper rasped, his voice rough with control as he thrust deeper, his hips rolling with a intensity that made it harder to hold on. His grip on your sides was firm, grounding you, yet each movement chipped away at your resolve.

Your fingers curled against the edge of the table, fighting the mounting pressure inside you. Every inch of you felt on fire, every nerve heightened by the way he seemed to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Cooper,” you gasped, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of his command and the growing wave threatening to crash over you.

“I can feel you slipping, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he leaned in, his breath hot and teasing. “I thought you wouldve last longer,” he let out a low chuckle.

You usually pushed back when he was arrogant but how could you, here he was; finger tips dug into your hips, you biting your bottom lip to withstand the pressure building in your stomach from him filling you.

“Hold it,” he commanded, his hand pressing into your back pushing you down on the table.

“Cooper, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cut you off, his voice firm but encouraging, his rhythm picking up again. The sound of his hips against your ass mixed with his low grunts and your breathy moans, filling the small room in a heady symphony of desire.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he felt your walls clench around him. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate to let go.”

You nodded frantically, barely holding on, every part of you begging for release. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Not yet,” he said, his tone dropping even lower, sending another jolt through you.

The dominance in his voice made your knees weak, but you obeyed, biting down on your lip to keep from tumbling over the edge. Each second felt like an eternity as he pushed you further and further, his relentless pace and commanding presence overwhelming you.

“Now,” he growled suddenly, his voice thick with need. “Cum for me pretty girl.”

At his words, your body obeyed, the tension snapping all at once as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Your cries filled the air, your body trembling as Cooper held you steady, still stroking into you as you rode out your high.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his tone softening as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Good girl.”

-------

A few seconds passed in the quiet aftermath, the only sounds in the room your still-heavy breaths and the rustling of fabric as Cooper buttoned up his shirt. You leaned against the table, moving slowly as you tried to gather yourself, your legs still shaky and your mind buzzing.

He glanced at you, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. "You know," he said, adjusting his collar, "I always thought you’d be able to handle me better than that."

You shot him a look, one brow raised as you pushed off the table and smoothed down your skirt. “If I knew you were going to be that good, Koch,” you quipped, brushing past him, “I would’ve let you have me a long time ago.”

His grin widened, and he chuckled, stepping closer to you as you reached for your discarded blouse. “Well,” he murmured, his voice low but playful, “guess we’re just making up for lost time now, aren’t we?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you slipped on your shirt. “Don’t get too cocky, Coo— Koch. I’m still recovering.”

“Trust me,” he said, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief, “I noticed.”

The warmth in his tone softened the moment, leaving you both standing there with a newfound ease. It wasn’t just the heat between you anymore—it was something more comfortable, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the last time.

#nasty remix #cooper koch #cooper koch x reader #cooper koch x y/n #cooper koch smut #cooper koch fanfic

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