#maybe i will post Once i have them all on there

[moonchild1]

jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅺ)

hi everyone i am back and boy has there been some amazing fics posted while i was away it's awaken that spark in me again and this list is honestly packed, i went over like 60 fics for this one and i even added some of my ult. faves. the ones i have to mention again because they are just so amazing, trust me you will be going back for more over and over again too. you might notice some fics from ao3 and wattpad included as well they are hold a special place in my heart, they are masterpieces that need to be shared with you guys so please enjoy this new list and give all the authors mentioned all the love and respect they deserve seriously they work so hard on creating these beautiful fics and they deserve all the attention and gratitude we can offer them so please share your love through a like, comment and reblog them so they can feel the love and more people can find their masterlists and accounts because they have some really good fics there as well. I just wanna send an honourable mention to every single writer i have added to this list without you i would not have so much happiness when i come on this app and you have filled my heart and countless others with so much joy and happiness we appreciate you more than you will ever know and you make being here 10 times better your stories help us through alot and puts smiles on our faces and we get to spend time with a community of people who love what we love and we get to interact because of your ideas and it creates such an amazing experience so thank you for everything that you do the worlds you create and the ideas you come up and for sharing it all with us i adore you so much and you are just the best so once again thank you for everything and i look forward to what so many of you have planned - kiki ♡

NO MINORS ALLOWED PLEASE DON'T INTERACT!

happy reading everyone i hope you enjoy this extra long list of my faves and please remember to be happy and keep on smiling and interact if you want i love hearing from you guys and if you want you can send me a few of your faves 🥹🖤✨

f - fluff s-smut a - angst

series

lines of fate by @kookiestarlight s a exes au zombie apocalypses tattooist jk

⋆ the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

lost stars by @hueseok f a roommates e2l slow burn college au (33.2k)

⋆ the last person you’d expect to be there for you is your roommate, jeongguk, on the night you break up with your cheating boyfriend; because as far as you’re concerned, the both of you aren’t exactly friends, and he definitely shouldn’t be running to get you upon hearing you sob via phone call.so when he does, you begin thinking that maybe you’ve just been hard on him over the years, or perhaps he just liked pretending to be an annoying shit most of the time. either way, it becomes the beginning of an unexpected friendship finally blossoming.

a lovers kiss by @/hueseok f s a fwb i2l college au (55.6k)

⋆ a friends with benefits relationship never ends on a good note. unless, both parties are not dumb fucks who find themselves falling for each other along the way of their agreement, of course. and in yours and jeongguk’s case, you should have known better than to think the two of you would be an exception to the so-called curse of being friends with benefits with someone you already hold dear to you, since not even five months since it was agreed upon—the line between being only friends and being a little like lovers only continue to get hazier and hazier.

hell is empty by @aquagustd f s a ft.kth love triangle dadJK exJK CEO kth (164.4k)

⋆ life has a tendency to throw things your way when you least expect it, when you’re content, and the ominous presence knows exactly how to steer your existence back into the darkness.

to the stars by arckook (ao3) a zombie apocalypse (94.6k)

⋆ It was always you, and Jimin, and your best friend Jihyun. But fate, regardless of whether you believed in it or not, had other plans for you. Jimin told you once, "It's a tough road to the stars." Nowadays it was hard to believe the stars were somewhere you could reach.

moirai by norabean (ao3) f s a soulmates slow burn (95.2k)

⋆ On your 18th birthday a name appears on your wrist. The name of your soulmate. It’s a momentous day that everyone looks forward to, but you’ve always brushed aside; refusing to believe in a fickle mistress called destiny. But what happens when on the morning of your 18th birthday you wake to find the name of your mortal enemy? Jeon Jungkook.

from home by @yuzukult f s a e2l richkid jk fakedating au (89.5k)

⋆ a rich kid who gets cut off from family money meets an average post-grad girl who may be the key to getting him back on his parents’ good side.

and they were roommates by @hoseok666 f s a ft. kth e2l love triangle tsundere jk s2l (103.k+)

⋆ it all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung.

future hearts by @jungblue f s a ft. pjm punk jikook s2l band au f2l lost love (114.6k)

⋆ It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

mind games by @yerion f a tsundere jk roommates au (31.8k)

⋆ jungkook drives you to think strict criticism isn’t too bad, purely because you didn’t expect things to turn a bit steamier than intended. as the one and only female esports player, misery was at your fingertip when your skills suddenly deteriorated. however, the stoic leader of your team—jungkook, simply couldn’t sit back. he puts you back on track, yet no one told you sparks would fly; and the crazy fact that it’s inevitable

heartbeat by @xbaepsae s a ft myg unrequited love (24.9k)

⋆ “You fell in love with a boy who was in love with music, and you weren’t sure if he was capable of loving you the same way. This thought should’ve caused you to move away from him; but, if anything, it just drew you closer.“

one year, my love by @hayjeon f s a historical/royal au 100 days my prince kdrama (31k)

⋆ You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year. 

the love prognosis by @awrkive f s a medical au roommates f2l (90.7k)

⋆ for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

ever a never after by @yoonia s ft. ksj enchanted au (51.8+k)

⋆ Some say fate can be a cruel thing. Yet you never knew how true it was until fate played a hand in your bad luck. Merely moments before your happily ever after, you are suddenly sent out to a weird place. A different world. You wonder if this is a test from fate to see if you are truly deserving of your happy ending, or if perhaps fate wants to show you something else. Something that fate wishes you to learn before you can finally move on to take the next step towards your happiness.

between takes by @jeonstudios f s a fluffer au porn star au (74.6k)

⋆ as a fluffer for a popular porn star, your focus is to keep him hard and performing on set. turns out he's not the only thing that's hard

Shatter With Me by @colormepurplex2 f s a surrogate au best friends husband (46.4k)

⋆ Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem��happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.

Chasing Cars by @oddinary4bts f s a college au brother best friend forbidden love (218.5k)

⋆ when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

hold me close by @ahundredtimesover f s a brother best friend (41.8k)

⋆ When you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though

sugar high by @yeojaa f a idol au childhood best friends unrequited love (33.3k)

⋆ You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

the law of attraction by @jexnkookie f s a lawyer jk girl of his dreams (26.9k)

⋆ Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

love bug by @here4kpopfics f s a established relationship (30.4k)

⋆ A collection of stories and drabbles with my comfort couple Jungkook and Love Bug as I affectionally call her. They were my first couple to write in over a decade and I hold them very close to my heart.

sh by @wwilloww f s a ot7 f2l (118k)

⋆ Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

bloodlines entwined by @spideyjimin f s a s2l soulmates werewolf au royalty au (30.8+)

⋆ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child.  

jump then fall (into you) by @writtenwhalien f s a bf2l fake dating (52k)

⋆ bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

not in that way by @girlygguk f s a ft. myg unrequited love bf2l (30k)

⋆ in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.

live through this by @starshapedkookie f s a band au exes to frenemies to lovers (46.5k)

⋆ A record deal. The one thing Violet needed to become the next big rockstars. As the front-woman to the band, life couldn’t have been any easier for you. That is until a devastating life event changes everything for you, leaving you heartbroken and in a downward spiral you can’t get out of. With your biggest competitor, Whailen 52 on your heels, your bandmates worried about the future, and your ex Jeon Jungkook being your only solace; you weren’t sure if you were going to live through this to see your dreams come to fruition.

a story that we paint by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft.kth college au scifi au (25k)

⋆ in which the lines between virtual and reality are blurred.

crimson park by heartbeatan f s a e2l crime au(159.6k)

angel in the darkness by @icyhobi s a mafia au prostitution au

⋆ after a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named jeon jungkook.

one night stand by @buryhny f s a ceo au e2l (382k)

⋆ as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

the alpha omega series by @borathae f s a childhood best friends to enemies to lovers werewolf au (40.8k)

⋆ Jungkook is the son of the pack Alpha and therefore heir of the titel. You are an omega and utterly out of his league. This is the story of how, against all odds, you and he became true mates.

4-7-8 by @jiminrings a marriage au (73k+)

⋆ you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

netflix & chill by @1kook f s blindate collge au (113.7+)

 ⋆ If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

the bad blind date by ravsisrekt f s a idol au f2l (wattpad)

⋆ Being set up on a date is hard as it is. But being set up on a date where the boy you're with loves your best friend is even harder-and trust me, being bubbly, cute, and incredibly hilarious doesn't work on him either…but on the other members it certainly does.

sns by narcotichobi f s a idol au s2l (wattpad)

⋆ Jae is a twenty-one year old Korean-American university student whose life is just ordinary. Struggling through the confines of cultural differences between her lifestyle and ethnicity, Jae finds herself through social media outlets and the integration of k-pop into her American life. Jungkook is a twenty year old singer, dancer and producer of the Korean-Pop idol group, BTS (방탄소년단). He works over twelve hours a day and has almost every second of his life circulating around social media. Jungkook, with newly found dating privileges, is slow to trust another person with his personal life and thoughts. Follow Jae and Jungkook through a love-story heavily motivated by social media and press

40 weeks by magicalmochii f s a teeange pregnancy f2l (wattpad)

⋆ They didn't want to be virgins when they graduated. Two friends agree to let go of their innocence together, no strings attached. Life had other plans.

unconditionally by magicalmochii f s a parents au (wattpad) sequel to 40 weeks

⋆ They survived high school and overcame the obstacles that tried to break them apart. Together they adapt to college life and work, all while caring for their new baby. Now, two friends turned lovers prepare for their wedding. Life had other plans. The continuation of 40 Weeks. Bring tissues.

blood ink by pocketbangtan f s a gang au tattoo artist jk (wattpad)

⋆ "That's my tattoo, Y/N, on your body. You know exactly what that means."

one shot

wait for your love by @/spideyjimin f s a exes2lovers parents (17.3k)

⋆ sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

Inkling by @gguksgalaxy s a f2l tattoo artist jk (17.7k)

⋆Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

in this paradise by @ressjeon f s a s2l survivor au (16.3k)

⋆ in an attempt to escape what’s been planned for him, Jungkook hopped on a ship only to face a tragedy that he didn’t expect and then there’s you who somehow couldn’t believe to find company in this isolated land. was this fate or was this just a temporary chance of bliss as a challenge for you both?

sleepover by @personasintro f s best friends brother (10.4k)

⋆ Jungkook is your best friend’s little brother who invites you to have a sleepover at his place. Nothing can happen, right?

bottle up old love by @wintaerbaer f s a exes to lovers (4.6k)

⋆ Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

the devil’s change up by @/jungblue f s a coach au (41.3k)

⋆ Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better. 

entertainer by @taegularities f s a s2l (32.4k)

⋆ Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

habits of a clandestine nature by @alphabetboyluvr s a college au rich jk e2l (16k)

explorer by @/1kook f s alien au s2f2l (17.8k)

⋆ Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. 

million dollar darling by @kooktrash f s a e2f2l crazy rixh asians inspired (19.7k)

⋆ jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

little surfer girl by @ppersonna f s a summer love suferjk (9.8k)

⋆ every summer you watched jeon jungkook turn into a perfect, professional surfer. every summer, you wanted him more. this summer, you were determined to make him yours.

the whole of your heart by @lcksndkys f s a husband au band au (8k)

⋆ Save a drum, bang a drummer.

sketch by @moonscriptsx f s soulmate au artist jk (9.6k)

⋆ After sixteen years of dreaming about the same unknown beautiful girl, Jungkook finally gets to put a name to the face — and she's so much more than what he's dreamt of

strings attached (to my heart) by @jungkoode f s spiderkook college au (11.8k)

⋆ You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

it was always you by @/hueseok f s a childhood best friends to lovers (13.2k)

⋆ for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.or at least, that’s what you think.

mio angelo by @/hueseok f s a mafia au established relationship (33.3k)

⋆ it’s no secret to the whole nation how powerful the jeon family was. the efforts of the highly respected don jungsoo was the reason why the name of their clan continues to be a name that people thought greatly of and sometimes even feared. despite your father working alongside with the don, you never truly understood what the family possessed to earn them such acclaim; that is until you got closer to one of his grandsons, jeon jeongguk, that you caught a glimpse of how much power they truly seized as you see it first hand and become a part of it yourself. inspired by the godfather and vincenzo

ultimatum by @parkmuse f s spiderkook (10.3k)

⋆ Your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

melomaniac by @jungkxook f s a band au f2l (13k)

⋆ you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

Navigating Tides by @jjungkookislife f s a exes2lovers (18.9k)

⋆ A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea f s idiots2lovers roommate au (6.7K)

⋆ So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…

pull me down by @starryeyedkoo f a badboy gang college au (22.9k)

⋆ “Do you regret it?” “What?” “Falling in love with me? It feels like I only weigh you down.” “I’ll let you pull me down to the depths of hell if that’s what it means to love you.”

espresso by @joonberriess f s a boxer jk idol oc (14.6k)

⋆ a rowdy boxer and the pretty it-girl he bagged by being him. jungkook’s doing anything to prove he’s serious, even if it means making a fool outta himself.

changes in between by @/taegularities f s a roommates s2f2l (24.7k)

⋆ Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

not my fault by @/taegularities f s college au classmates 2 lovers (12.6k)

⋆ After sparking a sinful conversation on a dating app, you vow to yourself that you won’t give in to more the notorious college fuckboy Jeon Jungkook might have to offer. That is, until he rings your doorbell just one night later – and it’s truly not your fault that he’s so damn hard to resist.

the secret beneath our stars by @subvk s a college au f2l (13.1k)

⋆ Falling in love with Jeon Jungkook was everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more, but maybe it was exactly that: a dream so blissful and comforting that it was too good to be true, something that could all disappear when the night changes to day, and your eyes open again. Or, making a marriage pact with your best friend was supposed to instill a sense of hope for you, so why does this hurt you more than it should?

mature by @/jiminrings f a pining f2l (8k)

⋆ alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

movie goers by @mi55delulu f s a e2f2l (16.4k)

⋆ starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.

hopless hearts by @cupofteaguk f idol au s2l (17k)

⋆ you never understood the gravity of your position as an intern working Kcon until you fall for one of your favorite idols, Jeon Jungkook—quite literally too.

dissonance by @/yuzukult f s a rockstar jk student oc (19.4k)

⋆ something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything… but all he’s missing is you.

this is how we break by @ahundredtimesover f s a exes au (20.6k)

⋆ There are things you prepared for coming back home and that includes seeing your ex-boyfriend, but helping him design his apartment isn’t one of them. From meetings over coffee and lunches with your friends, you both learn more about the time in-between, and what you find out leave you heartbroken, wondering if there’s enough of you left to try to get back what you’d lost.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

[nottsfavoritewitch]

The Other Girls (t.n)

Pairing: theo nott x malfoy reader

Warnings: VERY VERY VERY LONG!!!!! 18+, mdni, smut, some fluff, a little angst, draco's little sister, brother's bsf, choking, nipple play, fingering, heavy cursing, drug use (theo smoking), corruption kink, degrading, praising, google-translated italian, porn with plot, obsessive/possessive theo, innocent reader, inexperienced reader x very experienced theo, lowercaps intended.

Summary: you're draco malfoy's younger sister by a year, and you've had a crush on theo all your life. you and theo were close childhood friends, but when he went to hogwarts, he forgot all about you. you joined hogwarts a year later, and unfortunately got sorted into gryffindor. as a result, theo and you only drifted apart further. he was always surrounded by girls. as the years go by, you try to get theo's attention in every way, but he never notices you. as a last resort, you end up taking advice from the girls that theo hangs around, in hopes that maybe... maybe it might finally work...

Author's note: WARNING: VERY VERY LONG! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! (sorry but i tend to get carried away with the details). This is my first time writing smut, or posting it here on tumblr... Please be nice. Also, many many apologies that this is super, super long... Kinda got carried away.. Enjoy :))

THEO always spent Christmas at Malfoy Manor. Ever since his mother's death, and his father always having some sort of 'business trip,' Narcissa suggested that Theo resided with the Malfoys for the whole Christmas break, and some of the summer.

You had always loved him. Since you were three years old, you used to follow him and Draco around, tagging along after both of them, much to your older brother's annoyance.

Even during your Hogwarts years, you always tried to attract his attention, trying to show him you were all grown up, that you were more than Draco's little sister. But he never saw, he never once acknowledged you as anything other than a sisterly figure.

During your fifth year at Hogwarts, you realized that Theo was never going to reciprocate your feelings, so you decided to try and get over him. You weren't allowed boyfriends. Draco always beat up any guy who dared to ask you out, and Theo did the exact same. Any guy who talked to you, or said something about you behind your back, or even looked at you, would end up in the hospital wing. As a result, you had been stood up many times, wondering why your date never showed up, only to realize he had either been beaten up, or scared away by Theo and Draco. That night always ended up with you crying.

You were never allowed to go to parties, or drink either. Draco and Lucius were always very, very protective over you. You were the Malfoy princess, the youngest child, the favorite, the spoiled little girl...

Yet somehow, right before the Christmas break, you gave in to your little rebellious streak and your friend's persuasion to sneak into one of the Slytherin parties.

The moment you got to the party, you were completely shocked. This was nothing like what you had in mind... Your outfit, a pretty, dainty, little white dress with a skater skirt felt far too modest, and the whole room smelt of weed, sweat and alcohol. People were publicly making out, the girls dressed in the skimpiest clothing you ever saw, and at the center of it all, next to Draco and his friends, you saw him.

Your breath hitched. He was sitting on the couch, legs slightly spread, surrounded by girls, one was even on his lap, and he was holding a cigarette. Smoke surrounded him as he blew it out from his mouth, laughing as his hand trailed up and down the girl's thigh.

All at once, you felt jealous. All the feelings for him you had tried so hard to bury came surfacing, and your blood boiled with anger, hurt, betrayal... What did Theo see in those girls that he never saw in you??

You quickly turned around, before Theo, or your brother saw you, and accepting the firewhiskey your friend had gotten for you— even though you'd never drunk before.

One sip became one glass, and before you knew it, you were intoxicated enough to dance to the loud music, and you were soon surrounded by a small group of boys, who simply couldn't believe you, of all people, were actually at the party.

Theo had managed to catch sight of you, and he dragged you out of the Slytherin Common room after beating up all three boys to the ground, jaw ticking and fists clenching with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stared up at him, but you didn't let them fall. You clenched your jaw, angry at him. He always, always ruined your fun.

"Partying, of course," you replied, a little too sharply for Theo's liking. But then again, you were drunk, after just one glass.

"Does your brother know?" Theo asked, ripping the almost empty glass of firewhiskey from your hand and tossing it aside lazily. "Do you want me to tell him you're here?"

"I don't care," was your reply, you sounded sullen. "You're not my dad, or my brother."

The answer was enough to send Theo into a rage, and he angrily grabbed your wrist with a grip slightly too harsh. "Go," he ordered, his dark blue eyes ablaze. "Go back to your dorm."

That had been the end of it.

Yet somehow, you still couldn't get over the memory of seeing Theo with a girl over his lap, and somehow, you wished that that had been you instead.

After that, you started to slowly eavesdrop on those Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls that usually hung around Theo, and you had managed to learn a few things from them...

One, that Theo loved short skirts, two, that he liked low necklines and tight blouses, and three, that he liked having girls sitting on his lap.

Which is why you were currently wearing the most revealing outfit you'd ever worn in your life, at the moment.

You always gave Theo a present for Christmas, every year, since you were very young, and this year was no different. The only difference was, that instead of leaving it under the tree, you'd be giving it to him in person, this time.

You'd made him some brownies— muggle style. It had been your first time ever baking something, and you were rather nervous of the outcome. Theo loved brownies, since he was young, and for someone who had everything in the world, you felt like something handmade would definitely be seen as more heartfelt.

The little white box of brownies sat on your dresser, wrapped with a pink ribbon— your signature style as you stared into the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit and applying all the finishing touches.

If your parents, or your brother ever saw her in this outfit, she knew she would forever be banned from doing your own shopping.

A baby pink, short, pleated mini skirt rested around your hips, just covering your ass. If you bent over, your ass would most certainly be on full display. You paired it with a lace, white, bralette top, with a deep, plunging V-neckline. It exposed your entire midriff, ending just short of your ribs, the lace transparent enough to see the milky skin underneath.

Your blonde hair was tied into a high ponytail, a few tendrils framed your face. You applied your waterproof mascara and a final layer of lip gloss.

You had never felt so bare. And yet, you felt so confident that you looked pretty.

Grabbing the box of brownies, you glanced at the clock. Ten past midnight. It was officially Christmas. Everyone was in their own rooms, and Theo's was conveniently just down the corridor from yours.

You were completely silent as you left your room, closing the door behind you, and headed to Theo's.

You gently knocked on the door, softly enough for anyone else not to hear.

"Come in," came Theo's lazy drawl.

Cautiously, slowly, nervously, you stepped in, closing the door behind you, the box of brownies held behind your back.

"Hi Theo," you whispered shyly, balancing on your heels.

He hadn't been expecting you. He had probably thought you were Draco.

But God— did his eyes rake your figure when he saw you wearing that tiny fucking skirt. The sight of you standing there, looking so goddamn shy and innocent was refreshing, to say the least.

He was seated on the couch, legs spread slightly, smoking a cigarette. Just like how he had been sitting at the Slytherin party—an empty bottle of whiskey rested on the side-table. The only difference? This time, his shirt was fully unbuttoned, tie draped around his shoulders.

You couldn't help but let your eyes wander down his chiseled abs, his bare muscular chest, and your fingers had the sudden urge to travel down his bare skin.

His hair was tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it... It looked so soft, you wanted to touch it. His dark blue eyes bored into yours with a hint of wickedness. God— he was so attractive.

"Baby Malfoy. I didn't expect to see you," he purred, lips curling into a smirk. "What brings you here at this time of the night?"

Oh, he knew of your feelings for him, he wasn't that oblivious. He knew exactly why you were here.

"I..." He always made you nervous. You couldn't help but stutter. "I came to give you your Christmas present..." you said softly.

"At this time?" he drawled, motioning for you to come closer with two fingers.

His hands.

His fucking hands.

They always drove you insane... Perfectly manicured, long fingers, veiny, defined, smooth... On numerous occasion, you had imagined him holding you with those hands, touching you...

But those were all fantasies.

Slowly, you moved closer, hesitantly, tentatively, cautiously... You didn't answer his question, you merely set the box in his lap and waited for him to open it.

He was quite surprised to see the brownies, to say the least. He had been expecting something else, something... bought.

He raised his eyebrows, looking at you carefully. "You made these?"

You nodded.

"By yourself? The muggle way? For me?"

You nodded again.

Once again, he smirked, and he grabbed a piece, gently biting into it, maintaining eye-contact with you the whole time.

Your heart was beating madly. Your stomach was full of fluttering butterflies, and goosebumps erupted all over your skin, making you feel cold.

Of course, it was winter, and you were dressed in practically nothing.

He chewed it, slowly, still holding your gaze. "It's good," he finally said, licking his lips and placing the box full of the rest of the brownies on the side table. "Good job, Baby Malfoy..."

He spared you no second glance as he went back to reading his book, and once again, you felt a sinking sensation fill you, and disappointment in your heart.

Obviously, he had expected you to leave. But when he still saw you standing there, he raised a brow. "Is something the matter?"

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You shook your head.

He went back to reading.

Until you could stand it no more. He hadn't mentioned one, single thing, one single comment about your outfit. You felt hurt. Hurt that you had put in so much effort, taken so much time to get ready for him, and he hadn't even smiled.

The words slipped out before you could control them.

"Do you like my outfit?" you blurt, sounding a little bit offended. "Don't I look pretty?" you continued, shyly biting your lip.

"You look like a whore," Theo replied coldly, without even looking up from his text.

This time, you couldn't help welling up at his harsh, hurtful words. He never said anything to those other girls when they dressed up like this for him.

"Th-there's no need to be mean," you whimpered, evident hurt in your beautiful silvery gray eyes. You were on the verge of tears. "I.. I spent hours dressing up just for you... and... and then you say—" You broke off, unable to finish your sentence.

That was enough to snatch Theo's attention. His eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

"You dressed up for me?" he echoed, his tone commanding, yet smooth, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The way you blinked and looked away was enough to tell Theo your answer.

"What gave you the idea I'd like your outfit?" he asked, setting his book aside and putting out his cigarette, leaving the end in the ashtray.

Your cheeks turned red, and you averted your gaze back to the floor. "D-Daphne Greengrass and the other girls," you whispered shyly, very, very softly.

"Is that so?" Theo mused, taking in your every expression.

Slowly, you nodded.

"What else did you hear Daphne Greengrass and the other girls say?" he mocked.

You couldn't catch the irony in his tone until it was too late. Somehow, the answer slipped out before you could catch it. "Th-that you like it when girls sit in your lap," you mumbled, your voice sounding troubled, still very hurt by his words.

He really was mean.

You wanted to go back to your room and never see him again.

"Hm," said Theo thoughtfully, before he slid his tie off his shoulders, crumpled it into a tiny ball and flung it across the room, where it landed directly onto his bed.

"And? Aren't you going to follow their advice?" he asked, inching his legs slightly further apart.

Your eyes slowly slid up to meet his, utterly shocked he would even suggest it when he didn't like you that way.

Tears clung to your eyelashes, and you stood frozen, right there, unable to move.

A dry chuckle rumbled through him, and you hated the way it sent shivers down your spine. "Aren't you? Go on, I'm waiting..."

You blinked, a small whimper leaving you as you took a small step back, ready to go back to your room, but when he patted his lap, as his eyes bored into yours, challenging you, you realized he was being serious about this.

You wanted to leave, but part of you wanted to stay. Your eyes fell down to look at his lap.

This might be your first and last chance to sit on his lap, and before you knew it, you gently perched your bottom on his knee, avoiding his gaze, hands in your lap.

The moment you made contact with him, you felt his breath hitch the slightest bit, but otherwise, he remained composed.

"Like this," he ordered, both hands grabbing your waist and pulling you harshly towards himself, until both your legs were on either side of him and you were straddling his lap.

Fire danced on your skin, especially with the frigid metal rings he wore burning into your skin.

You let out a soft, yet audible gasp and your breath hitched.

Having no clue what to do, or what to say, you shied away from meeting his gaze, nervously chewing on your lower lip, unaware that Theo's eyes were burning into you.

"Good girl..." his praise rumbled in his throat, and once again, those butterflies returned in your abdomen.

His praise sent shivers down your spine, and slowly, tentatively, your eyes slid upwards to catch his gaze.

"Such an obedient whore," he murmured in a low tone, and once again, tears began pricking your eyes. No one had ever spoken to you this way, no one ever dared to.

"I'm... I'm not a whore," you whimpered, your teeth sinking harder into your lower lip.

"Well, you're dressed like a whore," Theo replied, faux pity lacing his tone. "Aren't you?"

You blinked, trying not to cry, but the tears only clung to your lashes and threatened to trail down your cheeks any moment.

"Answer me," he demanded, hands pressing your waist harder, cold rings searing your skin.

"Y-yes," you whispered, your teeth attacking your lower lip once more.

"So since you're dressed like a fucking whore, I'm gonna treat you like it... la mia puttana," he purred, lightly swatting your thigh.

That was all it took for you to break.

"Y-you're being mean," you whimpered, a single tear sliding down your cheek, tears swimming in your pretty gray eyes.

"Aww, poor baby," Theo scoffed. "Never had anyone talk to you like this? Never been treated like a whore before?"

He was breaking you, and he was succeeding. You had always gotten what you wanted, since birth. All you had to do was smile and flutter your eyelashes, maybe pout and fake a few tears...

Theo treated you differently. He didn't treat you like royalty, like you were used to... He treated you like... like a whore, and he seemed totally unaffected by your tears, which were real.

"I.. hate you," you cried, your voice breaking. "I.. I put in all this effort, trying to get you to notice me, and you..."

You broke off, choking a sob, pushing his chest in an attempt to get off his lap, but he only gripped your waist harder, setting you down on his lap and preventing you from moving.

"Sit fucking down," he growled, and you couldn't help but obey. "You're not leaving until I say you are, are we clear, amore?"

You nodded, another small sob leaving you as you gulped.

"I need words," Theo demanded.

"Yes," you whispered, sniffling, refusing to look at him, stubbornly glaring at your lap with your lip stuck between your teeth.

"Good girl," he praised, before his gaze softened slightly, realizing that you had probably learned your lesson. His demeanor shifted, becoming less harsh as he gently lifted his hand to your face, gently caressing your jaw.

Surprised as you were by his tender touch, you still refused to look at him. His thumb gently brushed your tears away, from both eyes.

"Look at me," he requested softly, tone low and very, very gentle.

You slowly lifted your gaze up, as if you expected him his sudden gentleness to be a trick your mind was playing on you. Your eyesight was slightly blurred by the tears you had shed, but as you looked at his face, you could see the softened look in his eyes.

"Shh, don't cry now, Principessa," he murmured softly, thumb gently caressing your cheek bone as he looked into your big, vulnerable gray eyes, full of innocence.

"Pretty girl," he murmured, thumb tracing soothing patters on your cheek.

Your stomach flipped at the praise. You couldn't believe your ears— Did he just call you pretty after calling you a whore??

"You're such a pretty girl, so fucking gorgeous," he continued. "You don't need to wear such revealing clothes, show off your body to look pretty..."

You were silent, yet your sniffles subsided. You were now staring at Theo with rapt attention, his praises slowly bringing back your confidence.

"Those other girls..." he murmured softly. "They're not as beautiful as you, that's why they need to show off their bodies... That's why they dress like whores..."

His voice was soft, delicate around you. "But you..." He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "You're not a whore, you're a fucking princess..."

One of his hands rested on your cheek, the other at his side, on the seat of the couch, next to his pocket. "Why would you listen to the other girls, hm? Why would you want to be like the other girls?"

"I..." you began, finding your voice. "B-because you like them," you whispered. "You notice them.. I thought.. I thought maybe if I become like them, you'd like me too.. You'd notice me too..."

You couldn't hide the pain in your voice, the longing in your tone. And somehow, as the words slipped out, you realized you had practically confessed your obvious feelings for Theo, the feelings you tried so hard to hide.

Once again, you bit your lip, an irksome habit that you'd had since you were young.

Slowly, Theo's thumb gently trailed down your cheek and landed on your lower lip, and he softly tugged it free, away from the grasp of your teeth. His touch was cold against the warmth of your lip, and his thumb lingered there for a while, as if he did not want to pull it away. "I've always noticed you," he confessed, his voice a low mutter.

Your breath hitched, and he chuckled slightly, gently running his thumb across your lower lip.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your cheeks turned slightly pink at how good Theo's touch felt, even though it was just a little bit.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured softly, and you nodded singly, just once.

"Use your words, Baby," Theo cooed.

"Theo," you whispered, accidentally blurting out his name.

Once again, he slowly moved his hand back to your bare waist, rings pressed into your skin, and his thumb resting just at the hem of your bralette top, underneath your ribs.

His other hand remained on your cheek as his thumb continued caressing your lower lip, coaxing your mouth to open slightly, before he slipped his thumb through your parted lips.

A small whimper left your lips, and you opened your eyes, your gaze locked on his.

Slowly, without even realizing it, your tongue accidentally brushed against the pad of his thumb, and Theo bit back a low groan as he pushed the entirety of his thumb into your mouth.

Your heart was beating thunderously in your chest, and you had no idea what Theo was doing, but whatever it was, you liked it. You didn't want it to stop... You had his attention, and you wanted it on you forever.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you enjoyed the way his thumb fit perfectly in your mouth, until you got carried away, tongue tracing the length of his digit.

Theo suddenly lost it. All his control snapped as a growl escaped him. "Does my dumb little whore want her mouth filled?" he drawled, pulling his thumb away.

Hot. You felt hot with the way he spoke, with the way his words drove you insane. Even though he called you a whore, this time, you liked it. Because he called you his pretty little whore.

A whimper left you when he pulled his thumb away, disappointed at the lack of contact.

A smirk curled across his lips and he let out a small chuckle. "Mm, that's what I thought," he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Before you knew it, he had pushed the tips of two of his fingers into your mouth; his index and middle, fingertips pressing down on the pad of your tongue.

"Let's see how long you can suck on my fingers without gagging, shall we?" he cooed, pushing the rest of his fingers deeper into your mouth, until they were all the way in.

A small groan left you, but it was muffled by his fingers, and slowly, you started sucking on his long digits, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in a rhythm.

Theo pressed harder on your tongue, activating your gag reflex, and he only chuckled when you gagged.

"Just my fingers, I know you can handle it— such a good girl..." he praised, his other hand tightening around your throat, blocking your airway.

You choked, a huge wad of saliva dribbling down your chin, tears filling your eyes because you couldn't breathe.

The thought of his very large, veiny hands manhandling you like this only turned you on, and he had barely even touched you. You could feel yourself grow wetter between your thighs, and the fact that you were on his lap, barely clothed, only caused your heartbeat to quicken.

He only pulled out his fingers when they were covered in your saliva that dribbled down your chin, and gently wiped them on his lap.

Once again, you were disappointed. It was like he was playing with you. One moment he was all over you, the next... he was gone.

"Theo, please," you whispered, your voice hoarse from being choked.

"What?" he asked, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted. He had expressed it very clearly that he wanted you to use your words, and that was only when he would give in to your desires.

"Please kiss me," you breathed shyly.

He did not hesitate. Both hands gripped your face gently as he kissed you.

He started off gentle, his lips gently brushed against yours, just barely. Then, when he felt your hands gently rest against his bare chest, he dove right into your mouth.

His lips collided with yours, his mouth devouring yours like a man starved.

You moaned softly, whispering his name, and that was all it took for Theo's other hand to roughly grasp your waist and slide you forward, pulling you closer, until your hips were flush with his. "Fuck," he gasped. "Such a pretty little moan—"

His teeth harshly grazed your lower lip, and he took advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue into your mouth, engaging with yours in a fierce tango.

Once again, you felt needier and needier between your thighs, and you were filled with a mixture of fear and anticipation of Theo finding out exactly what effect he had on you.

He pulled away, and your mouth opened to protest, but the sound was drowned out when he attached his lips to your neck. He took a little bit of skin between his teeth, biting your flesh and eliciting a gasp from your lips as he sucked a mark there, his tongue running soothingly over the spot.

When he pulled away, a red spot had already began to bloom against your skin.

He didn't stop there.

His lips began trailing lower and lower as he left hickeys everywhere. Every sensual caress of his lips, every nibble of his teeth sent you into overdrive. His spicy, citrusy cologne kidnapped your senses, only heightening your pleasure.

His lips traveled all over your neck, all over your collarbones, trailing down to your chest. He was leaving hickeys all over the exposed swells of your breasts, your nipples hardening underneath the thin fabric to the point where they were reduced to aching pebbles.

"Wanna feel these perfect tits in my mouth," he murmured, his hands on both your boobs as he squeezed the soft flesh— they were the perfect size to fit into his palm.

You couldn't control your hands as they harshly gripped his hair, your thighs tightening around his hips. Involuntarily, your hand dragged his head down, until his lips came into contact with your clothed nipple.

"So fucking perfect..."

His hot mouth closed over the little nub, saliva dampening the white, lacy fabric. His other hand slowly caressed your other breast, squeezing the soft mound, thumb tracing gentle circles around your nipple through the thin cloth.

He sucked on your tit, before he grabbed the clothed nipple between his teeth and tugged, causing you to yelp.

At last, you could hold back no more.

A loud moan escaped your lips, and you cried out sharply, begging for him. "Theo, please," you whined, begging him to touch you where you needed it most. "I need you— please..."

That was all that was needed for him to unlatch his mouth from your clothed nipple with ragged breathing as he brought his hands to your back and shifted your position.

Now, you were lying down on the couch, and he hovered above you, leaning down to gently kiss you again.

"Tell me what you want, amore," he murmured, lips brushing against yours. He wouldn't push you, he wouldn't do anything you weren't ready for.

Your chest heaved, and you looked up at him pleadingly, your nipples aching underneath the damp fabric of your bralette top and your panties soaked.

"I... I want.. I want.." words failed you, so instead, you took a deep breath and swallowed thickly, gently grasping one of his larger hands in yours, and sliding it from your waist, to your thigh, above your skirt. "Anything," you whispered. "Please, please... touch me..."

Slowly, not wanting to rush you, Theo allowed his hands to gently travel down your bare midriff and your thighs, smoothing down the material of your tiny skirt, the hem barely reaching your mid thigh.

"Gods— so fucking sexy..." he murmured, allowing his hand to slowly slip underneath your skirt and caress your upper thigh, his thumb inching closer and closer to your heat, settling in the split between your thighs, right where you needed him most, resting above your clothed cunt.

"Is this okay?" he whispered softly, thumb gently tracing soft circles over your clit, through the thin, lacy fabric. He did not look underneath your skirt— he kept his eyes trailed on your face, on your flushed cheeks and your pretty eyelashes that kissed the chub of your cheeks every time you blinked.

"Yes," you breathed, nodding softly.

On feeling how soaked your panties were, a hitch blistered in his throat. "Poor baby," he cooed. "You must be so needy..."

You whimpered at the sensation his words sent through you, and you found yourself nodding.

"Let me help, yeah?" Theo murmured, his fingers sliding underneath the waistband of your panties, hand somewhere underneath your skirt.

He groaned loudly the moment his fingers came into contact with your wetness, and he couldn't help the curses that tumbled past his lips.

His index finger ran up and down your leaking slit, accompanied by his middle finger, whilst his thumb continued rubbing your clit in circles.

He balanced on his knees as he looked into your eyes, his other hand gently sliding the straps of your bralette down, exposing your breasts to the cool air, and to his gaze.

He was hard. So fucking hard.

No one had ever gotten him this hard before, and the sight of you, spread on the couch underneath him, so willingly almost caused him to cum in his pants.

So many times he had envisioned you like this, unbeknownst to you... So many times he had jerked off in the bathroom, imagining what you looked like underneath your clothes.

But he had to hide his desire for you, his obvious need— he couldn't face the wrath of Draco, let alone Lucius.

You were the best Christmas present. The best sight he had ever seen.

"Shit, shit shit—," he rasped, completely speechless, his fingers still playing with your folds underneath your skirt. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he praised, bringing his mouth to one of your nipples as his fingers teased your hole.

You were a whining, moaning, leaking mess for him. You were so wet, you felt like you would explode any moment, yet you needed him— more, more, more.

He seemed to understand, because the moment he licked a long stripe over your nipple, he gently eased the tip of his middle finger into your hole.

"So tight— so perfect," Theo groaned, as your virgin walls fluttered at the invasion, clamping tightly around his finger. He slowly eased it all in, gently pumping it in and out, his eyes watching your reaction for the first time.

Your chest heaved, and your moans grew more frequent at the blissful sensation of having something fill you.

You were content, until Theo eased another finger inside you, pumping both fingers faster into your hole, stretching it. Your eyes widened, and you gripped his hair, tugging on his roots harshly, eliciting a string of muttered curse-words.

"Fuck, fuck— Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo—"

You never realized you could feel this good, and Theo only heightened your pleasure when his two, long fingers curled up inside you, pressing against that fleshy spot.

"Such a tight little cunt," he grunted, words slightly muffled as his teeth attacked your nipple, with roughness that bordered on assault.

You could feel the knot form in your lower abdomen. You spread your legs slightly more as your climax approached, and you made it awfully clear that you were close as your moans grew louder.

"Oh my God—" you gasped. "Theo— ah— please, more... I'm... I feel.."

Theo quickened his pace, his fingers pounding into you as he watched your eyes roll back, your chest heave, your boobs bounce slightly with the way you moved your hips to seek more friction to get you to your climax.

The sound of him sliding his ringed fingers in and out of you was drowned out by your ecstatic moans, as Theo pumped his fingers faster and faster, thumb pressing against your clit. His biceps flexed, the veins popping out as he fingered you, curling and scissoring his fingers to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

His rings were cold against your heat, serving to bring you to your climax faster as they added friction when his fingers pistoned in and out of you.

"You're gonna cum for me—" he promised, hand pinching your nipple harshly, whilst he tugged the other one between his lips, your hips bucking into his fingers.

Her hands were clenched, fingernails digging into her palms as you cried out his name like a prayer. "Theo— ah— fuck... I'm so close... argh—"

That's it, cum for me, lia mia piccola puttana... Cum all over my fingers like a good little slut," he muttered. "Make a mess on my hand..."

With a deliberate force of his hand, he drove his fingers upwards one more time, thumb pressing roughly on your clit to draw out your climax.

With a shudder, and an arch of your back, your walls clenched around his fingers, you finally orgasmed, your body spasming and contorting in pleasure, and there was nothing else on your mind but him.

"That's it, my pretty girl, moan for me," he praised. "You sound so fucking pretty when you moan for me like that..."

Your juices soaked his hand, trailing down his fingers and curling around his wrist, and it was only when your orgasm ended that he stopped thrusting his fingers.

He slowly eased them out of you, blindly sliding your panties back into place with his other hand under your skirt, bringing his long fingers up to his mouth to taste your essence, groaning at how fucking delicious you tasted.

"So fucking sweet," he murmured, licking his fingers completely clean. His dick was hard under his pants, straining against his zipper, but he did not let the attention waver off you.

You watched him, eyes transfixed on his as he slowly slid your bralette back into place, covering your boobs.

"Merry Christmas, Principessa," he whispered softly, gently kissing you.

A smile formed on your lips as you stared up at him, still so shy as you thought about what you had just done. "Merry Christmas, Theo," you whispered back, unable to hide your joy.

You returned to your room a few hours before dawn, before anyone else could catch you. Changing into your pajamas, a constant grin was plastered on your face as you drifted off to sleep.

It lasted for the rest of the Christmas holidays too.

Author's note: there, my first time publishing and writing smut. i hope you guys liked it... please, please reblog/repost (i have no idea how to use tumblr) and let me know if you'd like me to write a part two of this fic.

i know it's super long, but aside from that, i hope it was okay? please let me know your thoughts, comment pleasseeee.

also i take requests, so feel free to send them it!

love, jas.

[lokirulesmidgard]

My best friend from my kindergarten to senior year and I reach out to each other maybe once every few months. We like each other's SM posts too. And she invited me to her wedding out of the blue. I still love her and know that I can trust her. Forever best friends.

I have three people I talk to on the daily, and I feel the same way about them. All four are my people. I have their backs, and they have mine.

Friendships as a teenager: we used to talk 5 hours every night now it’s down to 3… are we still friends 🤔? I wonder if they don’t like me anymore

Friendships as an adult: omg I’ve finally cleared up 20 minutes of my schedule to talk to my friend I haven’t spoken to in 4 months #bffs #we will find eachother in every life

[rainb0ws-h4t]

Heartslabyul

continuation of my other post cuz I have motivation now. Kinda changed ur personality a bit, URE a boss now

Continuation of this

Tw: stalking, yandere themes , mentions of blood, hate comments online, slight manipulation(?),

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Before you properly formed a friendship with Yuu, you never interacted with him. Not that you wanted to anyway, he was too strict for you and it was clear you two wouldn't get along with each other.

Of course, you two sometimes caught glimpses of each other in the hallways and library, but neither you or Riddle were interested to chat.

You heard stories of him and his overblot, and you did feel slight sympathy for the man. After all, it wouldn't easy overblotting and dealing with the aftermath. You just hoped he'd recover and everything would go back to the normal and mundane school days like before. This was the farthest your nonexistent relationship with Riddle went.

As you and Yuu became closer though, you heard a few passing whispers on how Riddle became prone to lashing out at others more often. Something about Yuu not attending his tea parties again? Although he did make up for it by properly apologizing, it did cause the students of the Heartslabyul dorm to be cautious of him again.

It was a small break in between classes, and you just kinda wanted a few minutes of being by yourself. Absolutely nothing can compare to the comfort of solitude. You were holding a few books from the library, wanting to catch up more on Trein's history lesson.

You were enjoying the peace and quiet until—

"Don't you ever attempt to act this foolishly in my presence again! Off with your head!" The familiar redhead raised his magic pen and summoned a collar that chained itself around the necks of two students. He crossed his arms, "Maybe this will teach you how to behave as a proper human being, rather than some uncivilized bufoon-" He interrupted himself as he caught sight of your figure down the hall.

Noticing his distracted state, the two students scurried off. Riddle's gaze darkened immensely as he marched towards you. You were not sure if his anger was directed to you or someone else. Your head quickly whipped around if anyone else was the cause for his darkened stare. By the time you looked back at him, he was already right in front of you.

"Do you really assume that the Prefect actually holds the slightest bit of interest towards someone like you?" He spoke, tone dripping with malice.

"Excuse me..?"

"You don't even hold a candle to the Prefect, so don't even bother attempting to do any more damage than you already have done." As expected of the housewarden of Heartslabyul, always so stern and strict...

"Why are you speaking for them? It's clear that if the Prefect didn't want to form a friendship with me then they wouldn't have. You're acting as if I'm forcing them to be friends with me."

"Don't speak back to me." His anger flaring up once again. "I am in a much higher position than you are, and I command you to never speak or even be near to the Prefect ever again!"

Your gaze hardens the more he speaks, "Using your position to force someone to never speak to their friend again because someone can't contain their sensitive feelings? And I thought a Housewarden should know better than to abuse their power."

Riddle's face turned to shock as his voice was hitched in his throat, not finding the ability to speak. You took this as a sign to walk away, the power Riddle held was more than anything you could ever achieve. You were lucky he didn't immediately blow up on you.

~~

Riddle was stunned.

He wasn't used to anyone holding their ground against him. Of course, there were times that it did happen (ace—ahem) but this was different. The fact they didn't seem the slightest bit scared of him intrigued him. Their hardened gaze never faltered, and their words remained sharp and steady.

Huh.

Maybe the Prefect was on to something. He was starting to see the appeal. After his anger had cooled and he started going about his regular schedule , the image of you standing your ground against him just never left his mind.

He stalked observed you from afar and was able to see different parts of you that he wanted to explore. That day when you argued with him was only one side of you that you showed to him. Your playful side, serious side, quiet side, and so many more.

His preferences never left the Prefect, but somehow, your enigmatic personality draws him in.

Riddle describes you as a rose. The deep red petals mesmerizing his mind, reminding him of every single part of you that he has yet to explore. His hand would grip the stem tighter, the thorns prickling at his fair skin. The blood would stain his pristine white clothing, but he wouldn't care. If it meant that he gained more time to take in your hypnotizing beauty, then what was there to lose?

CATER DIAMOND

Cater always rubbed you the wrong way.

His smiles never reached his eyes, the boisterous personality he expresses definitely felt off. Everything he did just seemed like an attempt to cover up something.

You never approached him before you and Yuu became close, you doubt you would be able to keep up with his upbeat energy without exhausting yourself. You did, however, stalk his account sometimes when you just felt like it.

There was this one time that Yuu mentioned Cater asking for your Magicam username. You didn't think into it too much because it could've just been him being curious or just for the randomness.

That was until your Magicam account started getting bashed on for absolutely no reason did you start connecting the dots. You had only a few posts that were all from last year and the comments and replies were just hating on you intensely

You couldn't think of anyone else responsible other than Cater. The intervals between his posts were usually 1-2 days long but there was these two posts that had a week long interval. It could've just been a coincidence, but that week was the same week you've been getting all these hate comments.

To confirm your suspicions, you created a burn account and checked Cater's profile again. Safe to say, there were multiple posts containing fake information and unreal images of texts between your account and his. He must've just blocked you from seeing those posts, that must've been the reason why you weren't able to view those on your main account.

The notifications from the haters (as much as you hate to admit) got to you, even if you didnt do anything. The comments stung. You hadn't done any wrong so why did it hurt? This caused you to be more detached from social media, your view of it dimming by each hate comment.

You ultimately made the decision to delete your account, afraid that if you waited any longer and your personal information would get leaked. That and you planned to confront Cater. You normally wouldn't resort to confrontation, but you refused to take the disrespect. Plus, you'd doubt he'd stop without someone stepping up to him.

It was around lunch when you, grim and the prefect sat together. They had to leave for a few minutes for the bathroom. You silently scanned the cafeteria, checking for a familiar ginger male. You noticed him walking right past where you were sitting. Funny how he thought he had the audacity to ignore you when he started an online bash against you for existing.

"Do you think I wouldn't be able to find out?" You asked, back facing Cater as he froze in his steps.

He immediately turned around, that same fake grin plastered on his face like tape. "Oh, heya!" He waved his hand. "Uh.. Were you talking to me?" He questioned, a slight quiver in his eyebrow.

"You're the one who started that online hate train for me, right?" You turned your head to face him.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Don't act stupid with me. You're much more conniving than you present yourself to be." You stood up, facing him fully.

Cater hesitated to speak, "Sorries! But I'm not sure what you're talking about! But hey, send me a dm if you wanna talk more. Gotta go, peace!" He made a peace sign with his hands, before making an attempt to flee the scene.

Although before he could exit, a loud slap ran loud through the cafeteria. Everyone's eyes immediately locked on the source of the sound.

Cater's eyes widened as his cheek suddenly stung with burning pain. He brought a hand to slowly cup his reddened cheek as his eyes locked on to your serious ones.

"Didn't you hear me? I said don't play stupid with me." He continued to stare. "I wasn't planning to make this dispute a big deal if you had just admitted to me you did it." You took a step closer to him.

"W-wha.."

You raised your hand, readying to slap him again harder.

"(Name)? Hey, what happened?" The prefect spoke, sensing the tense atmosphere. Your raised arm slowly lowered.

"Myah, why's everyone staring at us?" Grim asked as he casted a curious glance at everyone in the room.

With one last look you shot him, you exited the cafeteria immediately with Yuu running after you. Cater still stood there, quiet. His hand still cupping his stinging cheek. His ears ringing as it blocked out the whispers that spread through the space.

___

Cater sat on his bed, phone in hand as he tried to figure out what to post. A few students had already posted about what happened earlier during lunch. Sevens, this was bad... Each letter he type was deleted a few seconds later, and each idea he had was scrapped.

His focus wasn't completely on his screen though. It kept flickering towards... you. You humiliated him in front of many, and almost outed him for what he did online and yet...

He wasn't mad.. no, he was intrigued. At first, he was mad that the prefect slowly gained the confidence to refute his dates and selfie ideas when they started hanging out with you. He thought your influence was the reason his relationship with Yuu slowly fell apart, his insecurities flaring up and blaming you.

One of the main reasons he sent a hate train to bash account.

But ever since he saw you up close, how he wished Yuu could embody every single trait of yours that you held. So maybe then could they be more like you— identical even. But even then that wouldn't be enough. He always thought you were this reserved and quiet kid who would never stand up to anyone unless the situation really called for it.

That entire dispute at the cafeteria changed his whole perspective on you entirely.

Cater started taking selfies with you in the background, some people even thought you and Cater made up. The hate towards you slowly dissapeared, thanks to Cater.

It wasn't long before Cater eventually swayed the internet into thinking that you and him were dating off screen. The rumors started coming in rapidly, after all, Internet celeb Cater Diamond had a partner!

Though, everything was denied by you personally. With you posting a statement that what the internet made you two to be was just a giant misunderstanding, and that you and him were nothing more than just acquaintences. Unfortunately, Cater's voice in the social platform held more power than yours ever will.

As you turned off your phone to focus on walking back to your dorm, a camera shutter suddenly sounds.

TREY CLOVER

Trey was... ordinary you guess. Sure, he was a great vice-housewarden and an amazing baker but nothing about him struck you. Unlike the others, Trey was laid-back and relaxed and never involved himself unless the situation called for it.

So you were confused when Yuu confessed that Trey intimidated them the most in Heartslabyul. You didn't understand though, he seemed nice and you never sensed any strange or even creepy behaviour from him to Yuu.

Yuu was invited to another Unbirthday party by those two freshmen who hung around them constantly. Unfortunately, the prefect wasn't able to refute their persistance.

"I'll go with you." You offered.

"Huh..?" Yuu looked up at you.

"I said I'll go with you. You're uncomfortable going by yourself, right?"

They stared into your eyes for a few seconds, "You'd do that for me?" They muttered.

"Sure, we're friends after all."

With that, you forced (even if you offered) yourself to go to the party with Yuu. You couldn't just leave them by themselves especially when you know how they felt around those boys.

As you walked, you immediately avoided making your appearance known. You'd rather drip dead right there than maintain a civil conversation with Riddle and Cater. Yuu stuck beside you though, seemingly more attached to you than ever. Of course, it was inevitable that Riddle and Cater noticed you two.

You excused yourself for the bathroom after asking Yuu if they'd be fine. You wandered around Heartslabyul, you probably should've asked for directions.... But oh well. As you continued walking around the dorm, you stumbled on a cute kitchen. No one was inside it currently.

Interested, you explored the space. It seemed recently used; with bowls in the sink, the mixers still plugged in, and the oven warm. It was clearly for the party outside and the one who inhabited the kitchen was probably still outside. That means you were alone...

A creek from the door you entered alerted you,

"(Name)?" A familiar dark green haired male entered the kitchen.

"Trey? How'd you know my name?" You asked, not remembering talking to Trey or even telling him your name.

"And how'd you know mine?" A small smile formed in his face.

"Well, Yuu told me about you." You responded.

"Riddle and Cater told me about you too." You observed a slight wariness in him as he spoke. You wondered what Riddle and Cater made you out to be..

Not knowing how to continue the conversation, "So... you bake?" You asked.

"Yeah, I do. My family ran a bakery where I'm from so it's only natural I'd also learn to bake." He replied.

"Do you... do you want help in cleaning the place? It'd probably go faster if you have someone helping ya." You offered, feeling slightly bad that you were leaving Yuu by themselves even longer.

"Huh? You don't have to trouble yourself really. I made the mess and I should clean it up." Trey started moving towards the dirty dishes in the sink.

You moved in front of him to prevent him from getting any closer to the sink. "And I desperately need an excuse to not go back outside at the moment."

Trey appeared surprised for a moment, "You don't plan on moving anytime soon, are you?"

"Yeah." You responded blankly.

Trey smiled, "I guess it would be better with company."

You and Trey spent the next 20 minutes together cleaning the kitchen. It was peaceful, barely any chatter was involved between you two.

As you headed back to the party, you couldn't help but wonder why Trey intimidated Yuu the most. He was nice and a hard worker. Immediately after noticing your presence, Yuu jumped in your arms and kept blabbering about how they were glad you were safe and unharmed.

You're not sure if that's what started it, but Trey has lately been inviting you over to Heartslabyul for baking sessions. You've started enjoying his company even more, his sweet tarts are just a plus.

___

Trey didn't understand Cater and Riddle.

Riddle made you out to be this insolent and misbehaving buffoon that had no place in a prestigous college like NRC. He also did mutter how you should spend more time at Heartslabyul so that you'd be influenced by their traditions.

Cater complained about you. How you almost outed him and humiliated him in the cafeteria. But then he also whined complained about how you kept ignoring him in hallways and his dms!

So it was no surprise that he developed a slightly dimmed view of you as the two continued talking. But he always avoided making assumptions, so he didn't just regard you as a douche right off the bat.

Color him surprised when you turned out to be so nice. You offered to help him clean and initiated a conversation with ease.

Trey felt a sense of pride that the nice side you showed him wasn't being presented to Riddle or Cater. Feeling slightly special that he was able to be friendly with you unlike the aforementioned two. You were so friendly, how could you ever be the same insolent brat Riddle mentioned?

He started inviting you more often than normal, even expecting you to show up without telling you. He wanted— needed to see that soft side of yours. That addicting smile you sent him every time made all the gears in his head stop working.

C'mon, don't you like baking with him?

___

Yuu has been discouraging you to go though, but you've always brushed their warnings off. You convinced yourself that you could always see through someone's facade, no matter how well they conceal their true intentions. It worked on Cater, right?

But.. you find it harder and harder to refuse his invitations. His saddened expression, his disappointed "oh..", and his guilt tripping remarks.

You really should've listened to Yuu.

ACE & DEUCE (it's easier for me to write them tgt)

Ace and Deuce were annoyed how the prefect suddenly distanced themselves from them. They were even more irked when they realized it was because of another person. How can the prefect just abandon them like that? The two were practically the first friends they made here!

In response, the two ambushed the unwilling prefect at random times and dragged them away to hang out together. That was when they first met you.

You and Yuu we're sharing a small conversation between each other, just the two of you under the comforting shade of a tree. The serene atmosphere disturbed by the two goofs who approached you two unwanted and unannounced.

"Prefect, we've been looking for you!" Deuce exclaimed as he stopped right in front of you.

Ace came running behind him, panting. "You couldn't have waited a few seconds for me you jerk?" He remarked as he caught his breath.

Yuu looked at the two boys Infront of them, nervous and fidgety. "Oh.. Ace and Deuce, what are you guys doing here..?"

"Wellll..... Professor Crewel gave me a really complicated project to make up for that test I missed last week.." Ace explained while scratching his head, ultimately leaving out an important detail where he intentionally missed that test cause he knew Professor Crewel would give him an extra hard project to make up for it.

"He's basically asking you to help him! And plus, you haven't hung out with us all day, so maybe this can make up for it!" Deuce eagerly spoke.

Sevens, these two boys are so hopeless... You remember seeing Ace wandering the courtyard the day of Crewel's test, and only conveniently making an appearance after the test ended. They'd go that far just to have an excuse with the prefect. Have they even courted an actual person before?

"You've spent too much time with your friend already, don't ya think?" Ace stated, not asking, stating.

"You guys can always hang out another time, right?" The two were persistent, you'd give them that.

Yuu fiddle with the ends of their blazer, not sure if what they really wanted to say would appease them. "Well.. I'm not sure if-"

"I know you're free today~" Ace tried to play it off as a joke with a laugh, which in return, came out more menacing.

"Stop it." You intervened.

"Huh?"

"Eh?"

The two said in sync.

"The prefect has been feeling sick. I'd rather they avoid coming into contact with chemicals." You lied, hoping they'd buy it. Yuu turned to you in surprise.

"What? But Yuu has been fine the entire day?" Deuce confusedly said.

"You're lying." Ace furrowed his brows.

"I'm not." You replied.

"Okay, prove it." Ace's irritation becoming more palpable by the second.

"Just ask Yuu."

Then all the eyes turned to the prefect, two sides awaiting and wanting completely different answers. They hesitated, but spoke with sureness in their voice. "Yeah.. I've been feeling a bit down casted today. I just didn't want to make it obvious.."

You turned to face Ace again, "See?" The seemed to have hit Ace he wrong way when his fists visibly clenched.

"Then you have to go back to ramshackle and rest immediately! We'll escort you.." Deuce offered, a slight red tinting his cheeks at the last part of his offer.

Ace placed his facade on again, "Yeah! We'll even cook soup for you!"

Yuu's conflict to choose between either you or the two boys was growing by the second. Normally, they'd just go along with what everyone said. That's how they have always been. But that was also before you came into the picture. "I.."

"They're fine with me." You said.

"You can stop speaking for them, y'know." Ace crossed his arms.

"What do you think Yuu?" Deuce asked, still eagerly waiting for Yuu's answer.

But Yuu knew who they'd feel more safe with, "I'm fine with them. You really don't have to trouble yourself with-"

"It's really no problem! I can take care of you the entire time while youre sick!" Deuce invaded their personal space and held their hands in his.

Just as Ace was about to but in, you spoke.

"The two of you either must be blind or just ignorant." You slowly pushed Deuce off of Yuu. "Can't you see that they DON'T wanna go with you two? Seriously, is it really that hard to read the room?"

The two were quiet for a moment.

"Oh yeah? And who are you to be talking for them like you're doin' them a favor?" Ace's expression darkened visibly.

Deuce cracked his knuckles, "For all we know, you're probably the one who's forcing Yuu to stay with them!"

"Right! That must be the reason why they even started hanging out with you!" Ace accused.

"Or have you ever considered the idea that they actually like me?" You asked.

"Oh please, the prefect could never like someone like you!" Ace yelled.

"You're not showing us anything to like about you right now, so I doubt the prefect could hold a positive opinion for you!" Deuce continued.

"Why should I present someone any likeable qualities when I want them to hate me?" You said.

Just as Ace and Deuce were about to retort, another voice barged in.

"Bad and tardy pups. I expect the two of you in my classroom this instant." Professor Crewel stood behind the boys, who instantly turned from mad to shivering.

You sighed in relief as the two boys finally left, glad their suffocating and persisting presence finally exited. You turned to Yuu who seemed to be staring at you with... Admiration?

They quickly shook their head, snapping them out of their trance. "Thanks a lot.. Im not sure what I would've done without you."

"Don't mention it." You smiled at them.

___

Ace dreaded seeing you whenever you were with Yuu. You always gathered all their attention effortlessly, he used to be able to do that... That's why he hated you. Some part of his mind told him that the prefect got bored of him, so that's why he'll try to get them back!

He'd purposely catch you at times whenever you were with Yuu, so that he'd attempt to impress them by humiliating you. Except... He'd always leave as the defeated. He even tried punching you, but he missed when you dodged instantly.

This one-sided rivalry started an addiction.

He had this rush of adrenaline whenever he argued with you, and he chased after that sensation by the second. Ace wasn't even sure if this was even for Yuu anymore. He was lost in whatever spell you casted onto him that fateful day under the tree.

You made him taste something that ignited a spark within his soul, and he'll forever chase after it.

Deuce wasn't the same case... Well, kind've bit not exactly. He wanted the prefect's attention, how did he achieve that however? He stalked observed you. You were the sole reason the prefect started this sudden change of theirs. How you captivated the prefect in such a short amount of time confused him...

In other words, he was jealous. Jealous of how easily you handled him that day. Jealous of how you could fight back without losing your temper. Jealous of how easily you enamoured Yuu. That's why he'll simply observe you from afar and copy your techniques!

But then.. he started wondering how he could impress you as well... He invited the prefect over to his club to originally impress them with how fast he could run. But when he saw you sitting together with the prefect, he started running and running— Heck, the winds were probably struggling to catch up with him— until he reached the end. He beat his old record, but he didn't focus on that.

When he saw that bewildered look in your face, something in him obsessively started planning even more crazier stunts to have you captivated and jaw-hanging as you stared at him.

That's right... keep your attention on him and him only.

___

Finally done <333

Can't say I'm proud I'm just glad I'm finished with this tbh

It might be ooc sorry yalllzzzz 💔

i might write some alternatives to this cuz I some good ideas!!!

People who wanted to be tagged: @fancyhawk45 @brights-place @avalordream @kthehoeforfictionalmen

[ssa-dado]

24 - Logos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, that made it even sweeter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no. She didn’t let you finish.

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

You choked.

Actually choked.

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

Your counter.

Your floor.

Your poor, innocent, pristine white pants.

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

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

You wheezed, still coughing. "Penelope-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

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

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

"OH. MY. GOD."

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

"OH MY GOD. YOU DID."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

You should have seen that coming."Penelope!"

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

Yes.

And no comment.

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

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

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

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

"Penelope, please." You were already suffering.

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

You froze. "Do not finish that sentence."

"BIG, HUGE D-"

Time to draw the line.

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

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

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

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

You absolutely would.

And you did.

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

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

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

…Hmm. Well. Yes?

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

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

Not important. Moving on.

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

Connected.

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

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

There was a pause. A beat.

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

You froze.

Penelope froze.

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

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

Aaron in the shower.

Aaron, freshly out of the shower.

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

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

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

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

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

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

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

Dead silence.

Garcia looked like she had been struck by divine retribution.

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

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

Nothing.

Just the sound of sheer existential regret.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just stared at her.

She just stared back.

Then, in perfect sync -

You both screamed, laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You still somehow winced thinking back about it.

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

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

She lifted her head just enough to nod. Begrudgingly.

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

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

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

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

You nearly choked, again. "Penelope!"

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

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

Penelope screamed.

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

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

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

"You need to calm down," you deadpanned.

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

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

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

You shrugged. "You survived."

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

You tilted your head. "Who?"

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

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

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

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

"Why not?!" she howled.

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

She narrowed her eyes, assessing, calculating.

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

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

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

"I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"PENELOPE."

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

"We were disagreeing about the profile."

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

You let your head drop onto the counter.

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

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

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

Oh fucking hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"PENELOPE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should have seen this coming.

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

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

Aaron didn’t even let him finish.

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

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

And then - Penelope smirked.

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

Yeah. You were doomed.

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

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

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

Didn’t even let you reach for it yourself.

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

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

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

You had never wanted to fight for your life more.

Not because of the closeness.

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

No.

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

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

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

Oh, he was such a loser.

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

Like this was all perfectly normal.

Like you hadn’t just caught him.

"Aaron." You bit back a smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

He knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Okay.

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

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

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

"Best friends," you repeated.

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

A beat. A pause. Too long.

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

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

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

And then-

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

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

And God - that laugh.

It wrecked him.

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

He was so, so fucked.

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

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

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

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

It would consume him.

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

Unless he knew you wanted him too.

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

And that terrified him, because he was not sure.

Because you laughed like it was just funny.

Because you smiled like this was just a conversation.

Because you did not look wrecked.

Not like he felt.

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

Not ‘do you think I’m wrong’.

Not ‘do you disagree’.

But  - you think so too.

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

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

He was paying attention to everything.

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

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

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

That it didn’t mean anything.

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

You raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

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

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

It was dangerous, talking to you like this.

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

Especially when it came to him.

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

It was your job, afterall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did what he had always done.

He lived with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He understood.

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

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

Just a few inches at first.

And then he did the same.

You moved again. Then so did he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, that made it all the more devastating.

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

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

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

But then, you looked back up.

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

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

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

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

It was you who moved first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

Gentle. Steady. Tender.

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

You didn’t pull away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted him. Now.

You were ready - to let it all go.

“Aaron,” you whispered, looking into him.

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

Your temple.

The side of your right eye.

The curve of your cheek.

Down to your jawline.

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

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

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

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

The moment.

How do you measure a moment like this?

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

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that was the point.

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

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

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

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

But damn, how it changed with every turn.

The same, yet entirely different.

The weight of then. The depth of now.

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

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

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

The cycle never ends.

But neither, it seemed, did you.

Competing with each other, as always.

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

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

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

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

Damn him and his competitiveness.

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

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

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

Damn him.

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

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

And so, blame the position.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No shit, Sherlock.

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

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

No shit, Sherlock, part two.

Was he worrying about you or himself?

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

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

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

Oh God, how considerate he was.

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

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

But words it was, then.

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

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

How responsible.

How tragic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if you could talk.

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

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

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

Anyway, the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no, what a pity…

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

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

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

Mismatched underwear.

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

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

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

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

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

But plans didn’t seem to matter anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you refused to let a sound escape.

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

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

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

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

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

Attention that the insufferable man was withholding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. That smirk. Never a good sign.

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

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

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

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

From the knee.

Oh, come on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. What a whore.

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

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

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

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

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

Didn’t touch.

Just -

"You're a goddess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hilarious.

"You have it," you murmured.

That was delicious.

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

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

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

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

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

And it probably did.

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

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

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

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

And oh, he heard you, loud and clear.

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

Fuck him.

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

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

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

What a whore.

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

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

How cruel of him.

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

“Please do,” he said.

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

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

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

"Stay open for me."

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

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

Some things never changed.

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

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

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

"Aaron, I'm so close."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t stop.

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

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

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

And then he kissed you.

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

Romanticism truly was dead.

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

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

Who were you to refuse?

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

And oh damn-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reaction was immediate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fucking-

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re so tight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was no fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it was.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

Damn the stoics for being right.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, neither was your cu-

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tried to respond, he really did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stilled.

Aaron’s face hardened. Rocher’s victims.

The ones he had been taunting you with.

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

Aaron’s eyes sharpened. "What?"

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

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

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

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

You were both there.

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

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

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

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

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

The answer was obvious before he even said it.

“…philosophy.”

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

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

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

Because it wasn’t just the age gap.

It wasn’t just the coincidence of numbers.

It was what made it undeniable.

A lawyer.

And a philosopher.

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

Almost like in the musicals.

Almost sweet.

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

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

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

[gojoest]

this was supposed to be a ramble post but i went on and on ;-; i might fw this idea some more in the future! tried to be as eloquent as possible but failed

royal au, crown prince!gojo satoru, f!reader (she/her), you reject him but that ain’t stopping the king to be from pursuing you, wc: 1.5k

crown prince gojo satoru, predictably, was the most desired man in the kingdom.

along with his royal heritage — the simple fact of being the next in line to the throne — his highness was undeniably a well-favored, handsome man that no other could hold a candle to. naturally, ladies would often throw themselves at him — some charmed by power, others harboring genuine feelings. he could see through them all and he would politely, and sometimes not so — depending on the intention — would turn them down.

his highness found no thrill in the concept of love. he saw no challenge in it and in someone dolling up for him and speaking to him of all the things that he, supposedly, wanted to hear. he deemed it boring. thus, he’d often sneak out of the castle (jumping off his balcony, unharmed) when the ladies arrived to visit him. other times he’d send the servants to deliver the unfortunate (and very much untrue) news of his highness being sick and needing rest to recuperate his strength. he truly could not be bothered while there were other things that piqued his interest more.

the battlefield, he admired it.

he grew up as — what others considered — a problematic child. ditching etiquette lessons to go into the forest and climb the trees, hunt animals and pick up branches to practice swordsmanship by himself. other times he’d simply act up in inappropriate ways, purposely so, that would inevitably bring punishment upon him, resulting in him being locked in his room to reflect on the unfitting of a royal behavior he displayed that day.

yet, nobody knew how agile and flexible he was, that he had learned how to climb and land safely after jumping from dangerous heights.

hence why, to this day, his highness uses his balcony as an exit when faced with unwanted guests. and to this day, nobody knows to where the crown prince has perished when the noble ladies line up in the castle to meet him.

truly, a problematic man.

his father, the king, was not having it. he thought, maybe, if he were to actually send his son the battlefield in order for him to come face to face with the harsh truth of it, that it was not as the fairy tales told so, that it was bloody, merciless and brutal, filled with death and decaying corpses — he would, maybe, come to his senses.

but, unfortunately so, that did not do it.

so far, everything was going the way the crown prince had desired — he had learned, early on, how to manipulate his environment to get what he wanted, through mischief. he had become a self-taught knight by his own means. he had caused enough havoc in order to be sent away to the most desired of places he wanted to be. the battlefield.

he conquered lands. each time he returned to the royal capital, he brought victory.

the neighboring countries were growing wary, avoiding conflicts and easily agreeing and bowing to the demands of the kingdom in order to prevent wars from breaking. the army’s strength, led by none other than the crown prince gojo satoru, was unheard of.

soon, the entire world knew of it. the clashes and conflicts seized. nobody dared oppose the kingdom anymore.

the prince returned to the capital, back to his boring days.

the days once filled with dull etiquette and history lessons were now replaced with the constant nagging to review a list of candidates in order to pick a bride to be the next crown princess.

it was a bothersome activity. his only challenge now was finding new excuses every day to avoid it.

but alas, there was only as much he could do to run away from his royal responsibilities of continuing the bloodline.

it was after the king had threatened to have the head of his right arm in combat and best friend, the glorious knight geto suguru, that the crown prince caved and considered looking at the portraits of the candidates presented to him.

in front of him were a list of the big families and the portraits of their daughters sent in.

“say, suguru”, satoru lifts a curious brow. “the lady of this house”, he points at the paper, “i can’t see her portrait”

suguru chuckles. “i am afraid, she did not send in one”

the prince scrunches up his nose. thinking. “i don’t understand?”

suguru, covering his mouth, tries to hold his laugh back. “she did not send in a portrait”

“did she forget?”

“i don’t think so”

“then? why?”, satoru stares. clueless.

suguru, with his entire willpower, is earnestly trying to fight the laughter climbing up his throat. the crown prince might be his best friend, but he didn’t really know how this man would react when faced with rejection for the first time in his life.

“in my humble knowledge”, he clears his throat before continuing, “when a lady refuses to send in a portrait to the royal palace, it only means she is politely withdrawing from the list of the candidates, your highness”

silence.

and then, a stretch — of lips, into a smile. a smile of disbelief. one that resembles the smile he shows when faced with a challenge on the battlefield that his audacious opponents throw at him.

“is she rejecting me?”

“i am afraid so”

intriguing. it’s been too long since he felt that kind of thrill, and to think he’d experience it while flipping through mere portraits of his wife-to-be’s. perhaps, he should’ve listened to his father sooner, huh?

he chuckles to himself. “good. i want her”

from that day on, the crown prince, who was once apathetic and uninterested in banquets held by the nobles, attended every one of them that was rumored to have you as a guest.

sadly, you rarely showed up. during the times you were present, you obviated his approach in a crafty and tactful manner.

he started sending you gifts — luxury gems and stones, hairpins, foreign cloths and dresses that were considered hard to obtain even by the big noble families. you sent them all back to the royal palace.

but unfortunately to you and very fortunately to the crown prince, this uncourteous gesture of yours intrigued him even further. he already had a hunch from your previous encounters, that you were not one to be bound by etiquettes of high society nor were you one to be easily blinded by opulence. but just in case, he wanted to test you. he wanted to see more of your deviant nature.

yet, he almost felt defeated, ashamed of taking you so lightly — as if tarnishing and trampling on your character — every time upon seeing the gifts delivered back to him in the same state that he had sent them, unpacked. not even touched out of curiosity. spotless as they were — as a sign of unambiguous rejection.

maybe, he shouldn’t have acted so carelessly with you.

it was during a banquet hosted by the royal palace in honor of the visiting diplomats from the neighboring countries when satoru finally got the chance to strike a more private conversation with you.

eyes glued to you all night, watching as you danced and socialized with other nobles, he was waiting for the right moment to approach you.

and just as you happened to leave the ballroom and walk toward the balcony to catch some fresh air, he excused himself and followed behind you.

“don’t tell me you’re already bored and want to leave, my lady?”

you turn around, visibly unfazed by his presence.

“good evening, your highness”, you politely greet, bobbing a curtsy to him. “although it is not to my liking, i wouldn’t call such a fancy banquet objectively boring. i was merely getting some fresh air after dancing”

there she goes again with that witty tongue of hers, he chuckles. “i see. you find it subjectively boring, if i may assume?”

“you may and that wouldn’t be far from the truth”

he lets out another chuckle, wiping a hand across his face as if at a loss of words. you truly are one intriguing woman.

“i will be very frank with you, my lady”, he speaks. “i think, i might’ve fallen for you”

you remain unamused, not even a single feature on your face flinching at his very confession.

“love is not something you think, but rather something you feel, your highness. curiosity, on the other hand, might pick at your brain and make you think and ponder”

he chuckles. “they’re not mutually exclusive, i believe. can’t love start from curiosity?”

you crack a soft smile. “perhaps”

“may i assume this is you giving me permission to pursue you further?”

“excuse my impertinence, your highness, but — do you have a thing for getting rejected?”, you tilt your head, an impish grin on your lips. “how long are you going to keep this up for?”

he steps closer, “i promise i’ll stop”, taking your hand into his and courteously going down on one knee before kissing it — “when you stop rejecting me, my lady”

[ishasturnz]

Cookies ‘n Head

based off this post @sunrisemill and this fic.

contains: porn with plot, counter head?, some fluff, i think thats it, male receiving.

Bsf!Reader x bsf!Chris

authors note: it took me like an hour to figure out a plot just for this because i wanna spoil you guys. Also click on the first message to see the full thing. And RUSHED and maybe a part 2.

wc: 579

character count: 2635

4:36

My car started to pull into his driveway, the smell of freshly baked cookies filling my nose slightly making me lightheaded.

I parked and stepped out of the drivers seat and headed to the front door. Before I could even knock the door swung open revealing a very excited Chris.

“Thank you! thank you! thank you!” He squealed like a girl before attempting to take the white box away.

“Hey! Calm down, you get fed every day I think you’ll be fine without COOKIES for a few seconds.”

5:48

“Can I eat them now?” Chris persistently asked repeatedly like a child. “Okay go ahead and eat some since you want them so badly.”

I grabbed one for myself since I was a bit hungry since I didn't eat lunch.

I took a small bite of the soft food, Chris just stared at my lips the whole time.

Noticing how plump my lips were, how smooth my brown skin was, but his thoughts shifted from something else.

And wasn't appropriate once so ever.

“Chris dude, are you even gonna eat the cookies? I’m only saving them because I want you to have some, secondly, I’m hungry too” My voice chose to get a slight attitude and sassiness added into it.

“Well first off lose the fucking attitude, secondly, M’not hungry. Not for food at least.” His accent started to slip out slowly the deeper his voice got.

“Okay, then what are you hungry for? Because you’re not the only one hungry. But I’m hungry for food so what do you wanna eat then?” I started to slowly get hangry and sassier by the second.

“I got something that’ll make you full.” Those were his last words before I somehow ended up on my knees in front of him.

6:09

"y-yeah—shiit, juuust like tha--mmpfh-ah," Chris’s head fell back against the white cabinet behind him.

His rough hands pulled my hair into a makeshift ponytail, guiding my movements as I continued sucking him off.

His eyes hooded, making it seem like they’ve rolled back completely. His hips started to buck into my mouth making the tip of his oversized cock nudging against the back of my throat making me continuously gag around him.

The noise of gargling filled the entire kitchen "fuuuck, I’m right there, just... just—shit," he groaned out loud.

Hot tears spilled down my face as he continued to face-fuck me. Until the tight coil in his lower stomach started getting tighter and tighter by the second.

and his climax hit him hard, his whole body shuddering, hips twitching into your mouth uncontrollably.

his hips twitching almost involuntarily as he spilled deep down your throat, he held your head down by the makeshift ponytail to make sure you swallowed all of his sticky release a quiet moan left his mouth “..Shittt…”.

6:40

I wiped the corners of my mouth getting rid of access cum and licking it off my thumb. “You should drink more water or something chris— your cum tastes like ass.” My tone playful but I wasn’t joking at all.

“Yeah I don’t think now’s the best time to mention that.” Chris spoke while catching his breath yet munching on one of the soft cookies.

“Yeah sure buddy” I paused before speaking again, “Also who knew Christopher Sturniolo whimpers, more blackmail for me”

“Oh fuck you Y/n.” He uttered with a mouthful of chewed-up cookies in his mouth.

“I mean you can if you want to, I’m not saying no.”

taglist: @tezzzzzzzz @chrepsi @angvl3tears @theylovedemi @sturnshood @sturnberries @sturniologirlzz @muwapsturniolo @dykes4chris @chrisisadilf @chrissturniolossidebitch @baileysturnz @slut4christopherr @slxt4chriss @slvtf0rchr1s @slxtarchive @raesturns @hjvi @starkeyszn @audreyscave @lailasnight @sturns-mermaid @ikyoudreamofme @sturnsmadl @ohmanareyoucereal9 @sossturn @blushsturns @rcklessheavn @55sturn @phone4pills @cupiidk1lls @bsturnzmtts @wh0remikasas @sfoiasturn @trevorsgodmother @bluestriips

MASTERLIST

[runninriot]

No Time For Romance

written for @steddiemicrofic

february prompt: rose | wc: 367 | rated E | tags: Sexual Content/Bathroom Blowjob, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Normal Guy Steve, Established Relationship

They don’t have time for romance. No candles, no roses, no sweet-talk. Not when they barely find a moment of peace between shows and interviews. Time where they can be alone – no cameras pointed at them, no one demanding their attention.

“Hurry up, baby!”

“Not my fault you always wear the tightest pants! How am I supposed to get you out of these? They look like they’re painted on.”

“There’s a thought, maybe I should switch to body paint. You wouldn’t have to undress me at all.”

Steve isn’t sure if Eddie’s joking but it would definitely make this easier.

“Baby, come on,” Eddie whines, needy as always, “You’re killing me.”

“Keep complaining and you won’t get to come at all.”

It’s an empty threat and Eddie knows it but he keeps his mouth shut anyway, behaving for once.

Finally, his cock springs free and Steve wastes no time to sink to his knees.

“Oh, fffuck! God, your mouth’s- ah! So perfect.”

Steve flicks his tongue around the tip, letting the salty taste of skin and sweat and precome fill his senses.

Post-show Eddie is his favourite flavour. Probably his favourite version of Eddie, too, if he had to choose. When he’s pumped up with adrenaline and Steve is the one that gets to taste and touch and fuck him like this. Not the people who desperately wish they could get a piece of him; this is all for Steve.

Encouraged by Eddie’s praise, he takes him deep, holds himself down until his lungs scream for air. He’s moving his head up and down, swallowing Eddie’s cock like it’s his last meal, feels high on moans that are too loud not to get them caught.

And right on cue, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Coming!” Eddie yells and it doesn’t take much before he makes true to his words, spills his release down Steve’s throat.

The moment ends to too soon, like always.

“Can’t wait for this tour to be over, so I can take my time with you. Gonna shower you with roses and love you so good,” Eddie promises before he kisses him long and deep.

And for now, this is enough.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[vinyldraconia]

MAAAN ALRIGHT MY FNAF 4 MALLEUS SHITPOST ACTUALLY GOT ME THINKING SHIT LOL!!! OKAY HERE'S AN IN-DEPTH THING ON HOW HE'D OPERATE IN FNAF 4:

OVERBLOT MALLEUS IN FNAF 4

(all pics are in-game screenshot edits of me drawing malleus & fireflies over it!)

Overblot Malleus can appear in either one of the entrances: left door, right door, or the closet. He can only appear at one entrance at a time, so no clone Malleuses LOL

When checking any one of these, you may start to see fireflies. These always mean that he's approaching and are always visible, even without the flashlight turned on. If you wait for a while without checking where the fireflies appear, they'll eventually vanish.

If you check where they appeared too soon, then you'll start to see Malleus appear at the far end of the hallway/in the far corner of the closet. He's hidden in the dark, so only his glowing horns and eyes are visible, along with the gradually increasing fireflies. At this point, he's gonna show up regardless and won't go away until he's checked in on you.

[ MORE YAPPING BELOW SINCE THE POST IS SUPER LONG ]

If you decide to check again, Malleus will appear closer to the door: still far away, but close enough to see his face when you shine the flashlight on him. If he was in the closet, his head will be peering over from the side, almost like he's tryna be playful.

Once you go back to the room, it should all seem okay at first, with the nightmare animatronics doing their own thing. But after a few moments, you may start to hear him humming a gentle lullaby while everything's happening. HE KNOWS YOU'RE AWAKE. THIS IS WHEN YOU GOTTA IGNORE THE OTHER NIGHTMARES AND PRETEND TO BE ASLEEP! too bad if too many of them glitchy teddy bears is on the bed when this happens

As FNAF 4 is heavily focused on listening to sound cues, Overblot Malleus' is no different:

If you choose to close your eyes and pretend to sleep:

Malleus' sound cues come in stages: You will hear his gentle humming grow closer first, then the sound of the door/closet opening (he doesn't close it back). After a few moments, you'll hear him breathing calmly next to you, standing there for about 10 seconds to 25 seconds. After that, you'll start to hear his footsteps grow distant, followed by the sound of him closing the door veeeery slowly (or if in the closet, you'll hear magical crickets or smthn, whatever sound he makes when he's teleporting LOL). You can open your eyes back at this point, but DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR OR CHECK THE CLOSET YET!! You gotta listen very close and wait until his footsteps down the hallway/his teleportation sfx in the closet fades away completely.

If you try to check without his footsteps fading all the way completely, you will hear him chuckle before coming right back to do the same thing over again.

However, if you decide to...

❌ Open the door/closet: he'll appear RIGHT at the door with his towering presence/have his whole head out thru the closet (like Foxy). In both scenarios, his overblot presence will cause your flashlight to flicker off, only leaving his glowing features visible in the darkness. (I don't have drawings for these yet, maybe i'll do it in the future)

❌ Open your eyes: he'll appear next to the bed, staring at you. At this point, closing your eyes again won't do anything.

And for both scenarios, after that it's............. *OVERBLOT MALLEUS JUMPSCARE ANIMATION*

OK THANK U FOR LISTENING TO MY FNAF MALLEUS RAMBLING ‼️‼️

[v3lvieraven]

Big squeeze pt.2

Note: I’m so sorry it took so long but I’m back!

Characters- Ace, Deuce, Cater, Jade, Jamil

Warnings- deuce pushing you away, deuce summoning a cauldron onto his head, deuce crushing ace with a cauldron, Jamil giving you the silent treatment

Ace-

• at first I think he wouldn’t like it that much, mainly because it would catch him off guard and he didn’t want to seem vulnerable

• honestly ace would be one of those guys who would squeal then cover it up by yelling because they don’t wanna seem girly

• Ace’s face would be red but yes he likes it (loves it)

• He’d tease you for it a lot, but the moment you revoke his squeezing privileges he’d be a whiny mess

• like a five year old who was told they couldn’t have ice cream type of whiny

• Ace would try, key word is try, to discreetly follow you around until he got what he wanted

• but everyone can tell by the way he’s trailing after you that he’s probably wanting affection

• he’s not very good at hiding his feelings, his face says everything before he can even speak!

• Ace isn’t very used to being the one chasing after someone’s attention, he used to be a playboy after all.

• so it’s strange for him to be feeling this way.

• Once he gets what he wants he’s in pure bliss though, he likes the feeling of being secure in your arms.

• After a long day of dealing with failed potions and deuce summoning a cauldron that ends up falling on him, he’s just happy to recharge in your embrace.

Deuce-

• he’s a lot more of a sweet heart about it

• Deuce definitely likes the squeezing but sometimes it can be a bit much

• so you need to make sure to read his mood before giving him one because it reminds him of his fights he used to get in

• on those days where he needs affection he will ask for one, maybe in his dorm room (he doesn’t want Grimm or Ace to be there) it’s a lot quieter compared to ramshackle

• he will usually lay next to you awkwardly for a while until you get fed up and pull him on top of you, his favorite position

• it’s the easiest way for you to squeeze him, but eventually your arms will get tired

• when that happens he likes to switch positions so you can still give him that sense of pressure and security

• don’t take it to heart if he randomly yells when you do it though, he isn’t mad, just startled

• he accidentally pushed you away a few times, each of those times he summoned a cauldron to drop on himself

• be surprised he doesn’t have brain damage

Cater-

• as long as you don’t do it in public he loves them!

• even though he’s a very social person and seems to not care too much about what others think of him, he does.

• he likes to keep this wall up, only allowing others to see a part of him that isn’t entirely truthful

• but when your alone he feels he can be himself, affectionate and calm

• he doesn’t feel like he needs to hide himself away from you

• he likes when he can just experience something without sharing it with others

• of course he will sometimes post you squeezing him, but those types of posts are rare because even though he loves to show you off, he likes to keep some aspects of your “relationship” (crush, or relationship) private

• he’s the type that likes it every once a while (maybe twice a week?) but overall doesn’t mind it if you do it all the time

• he just thinks it’s nice to be surprised, it feels more special this way, and less suffocating

• when you do squeeze him he always gets flustered, burying his face into your neck

•These are the times you see him smile, and not one he put on just for show, a real smile…

Jade-

• Im not even gonna put it any other way- he will bite you.

• he’s like his brother, mischievous and sneaky, except he doesn’t have so much mood swings as Floyd

• he’d shake his arms around your waist, and before you can continue to squeeze him harder he beats you to it

• he doesn’t do it as hard as Floyd usually does but it still takes your breath away.

• that just makes you love squeezing him even more.

• but be aware you will be getting harassed by Floyd because now he’s jealous and that just will not do!

• Jade likes to be a tease and kiss the place on your neck where pulse can be felt against his lips

• he enjoys how it’s quicker do to the restrained breathing

• “Jade I cant breathe!” You’d say between giggles

• “should’ve thought of that before you squeezed me…” he’d mumble, voice muffled with his lips against your neck

Jamil-

• at first he’s NOT having it

• that’s his personal space man like what the hell do you think your doing?

• once you get in a relationship he’ll be more accepting of if (he loves it)

• he’s never really felt like he could have something to himself so he’s happy that you aren’t doing it with anyone else-

• what’s this? You gave kalim one of your squeezes because he did you a favor?

• que temper tantrum

• I’m talking silent treatment, side eyes, huffs of air, avoiding you like the plague.

• you will literally have to trap him for him to acknowledge you

• of course he misses you but his jealousy is strong, he’s had to give up so many opportunities to serve Kalim and now that he thought he had something for himself, it wasn’t just for him?

• you quickly pick him up bridal style, causing a loud yelp to leave his lips

• he feels you bury your face into the crook of his neck as a hand goes through his hair with a certain care

• “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you mad… please stop ignoring me..” You said, sounding genuinely confused and hurt.

• damn now he feels like a dick! Especially with how you sound like your abt to cry (srry if your not that type of person)

• “I…don’t worry about it…” he’d grumble

• obviously you don’t take it as that, squeezing him tighter as you change positions so that his legs are now wrapped around your waist, giving you more access to hugging him.

• “I am worried about it though…”

• he sighs hiding his face away with a small groan “I was jealous

•You park up “Hm?”

• “I was jealous of when you squeezed Kalim, I don’t want you doing that with anyone else…but me.” He’d whisper

• that’s when you cup his cheeks and press a kiss to his lips.

•you learned quickly that it was worth it to just share this with him, you’d show your appreciation some other way because this was reserved for Jamil.

[literallyjusttoa]

Realizing I also want to keep track of the songs Apollo mentions, so I'm gonna go back real quick and mention "You Send Me" by Sam Cooke, released in 1957, which he mentioned in chapter 2, and "Rise to the Sun" by Alabama Shakes, released in 2012, which he mentions in the opening of chapter 10. Listened to them both, and honestly, they're both great songs! And Rise to the Sun actually fits Apollo really well, I was genuinely surprised.

Going back also makes me realize that Apollo was going to sing an honest to god love song to stop Cade and Mikey. That image will stay with me for years, I think.

Rhea is described as dressing like a "Libyan queen of old" which is interesting, bc I couldn't find any reference to Rhea being an important figure during the period where Ancient Greece had footholds in the region. What's interesting though, is that Apollo definitely was. One of the two cities Greeks established in Libya was Cyrene, and some myths even call the native Libyans the founders of both Delos and Delphi. So like, I have no idea where Rick got the idea of Rhea being connected to Libya, but it helped me learn new things, so that's cool!

Another anecdote: When Apollo drives the sun chariot as a bus, Hermes always sits in the back, because that's where troublemakers sit.

The way Apollo describes his physical state, I'm convinced he's just constantly in excruciating pain. Like, all he does is get off the cot in the Apollo cabin, and he says that his "eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their sockets." Bestie, what? Are you dying, wtf lmao?

Anecdote: Apollo once attempted target practice in Zeus' throne room. That feels like it might have been a more pointed thing.

Apollo sees Nero in his dreams for the first time in chapter 10, but he doesn't recognize him yet. He spends the rest of the chapter simply referring to him as "The man in the purple suit", "The ugly mauve-suited man", and simply "the ugly man" King behavior, honestly.

I know I made a post about it a while ago, but I still can't get over Apollo's outrageous claim of 33 mortal girlfriends and 11 mortal boyfriends. He has past that in Ancient Greek lovers alone lmao.

Rick does a really good job of writing these long flowing internal monologues for Apollo, only to cut them off with a short sentence that both allows for an easy transition out of Apollo's head and back to the action of the scene, but also simulates Apollo getting distracted in his own ramblings and then abruptly coming back to reality. Like, he goes on for three paragraphs about Nico and will, and then his past loves, and then his embarrassment over sharing his love for Hyacinthus and Daphne, only to end it all off with the short line "I am so confused." and then we're right back into the scene. It's a really great comedic bit, and it does wonders for Lester's characterization. (Also my god does Lester read so much like he has ADHD. Almost more than Percy to me, but then I think Lester's flavor of ADHD is much more similar to my own than Percy's is)

Anecdote: Apollo cosplayed Rocky at midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Queen.

Apollo mentions that he filmed the orientation film on "a tight budget in the 1950's" which like, why? Maybe it's mentioned in the supplemental books somewhere, but why would a god ever be put on a budget for something lmao?

"Had I been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me." One, Apollo she is twelve dear god. Two, I love this as a character moment for Apollo (Stay with me here). Apollo comes from a culture that is so focused on strength and power and violence. The moment he loses control of a situation, he grasps for any way to get power back into his hands. And in these moments, his way of giving himself power is by reassuring himself that he could totally murder everyone here if he wanted to. Killing people is a way to assert control, it's a way that Zeus and the other gods assert control all the time. And there's an implication with Apollo using these lines too. By asserting that he can kill people, it's also an assertion that the people he is threatening cannot kill him. Idk it's just a very interesting way of coping.

Real quick fun fact! Lester describes the Oracle of Delphi in Greece as a "cavern filled with volcanic fumes" but that's not actually 100% correct. The oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece was actually in the Temple of Apollo, with descriptions from ancient scholars putting her either in the cella or in an adyton that was below the main temple. There was a opening in the ground in this chamber, but it certainly wasn't a cave. Furthermore, the whole idea of Apollo fighting Python in a cave? From what I can tell, this is also not based in myth! Most descriptions of the fight between Apollo and Python that I can find in myth describe Python being coiled around the mountains of the Parnassus range, which is a terrifying image honestly. Just find it interesting that none of the cave stuff is actually a part of the Delphic Oracle. I mean, from what I can tell, the nearest mythologically important cave is the Corycian cave, which has nothing to do with the oracle and is also like a 45 minute drive away from Delphi.

I usually try to read three chapters before rb'ing, but I had so many notes on these two that I'm gonna cut it off here. Also, this has kind of just become pointing out shit I find interesting instead of focusing specifically on Lester-isms, but I'm def still gonna point those out, so the tag will stay. I just have so much to say about my little blorbo, sorry guys.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[midnight-mourning]

Jelly Hearts

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 7💘💘

I FORGOT TO POST THIS AHHHHHHH, my bad all, please enjoy some self-indulgent jealousy hehe

Prompt: also I think that I'd put in a request for some really jealous dca time. maybe they see reader getting some other valentines or hears that they have plans the day of after they're off work and assume that they've got a date (rightfully or incorrectly idk) and they just can't let this happen. y/n is Theirs™️

Word Count: 1750

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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The flowers on the desk were a surprise, about a week before the middle of February, roughly. You weren't sure where they'd come from or what they were doing there, and found yourself very surprised to find it was in fact, a gift for you. The card stuck inside the bouquet had neat script, and was to the point. 

'Happy Valentine's day! From, Your Secret Admirer'

You'd asked the security guard if they knew anything about who had gifted it, but they had no clue either. It had been a common theme over the past few days, the kids had been gifting you early cards and treats, but this seemed to be a bit more than that. 

"What've you got there, Sunshine?"

You turn, confused smile on your face. "Looks like a gift! From a uh, secret admirer? You know anything about that?" You tease. 

Sun tilts his head sharply, rays and faceplate spinning from the force. 

"Hm, no. Don't think so!"

Your smile falls a bit, mainly because you'd been hoping it was him, and based on his tone he wasn't lying about it to mess with you either. "Oh, gotcha."

"But! I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled just for you, Starlight." He bends down quickly, coming eye to eye with you and booping your nose. "And if I do find out, I'll be sure to let you know."

He stands straight and walks off then, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You probably just imagined the edge to his tone. You shake your head, and glance back down to the vase. 

Huh. The card's missing. It must have dropped somewhere. 

But after a quick search you never did end up finding it. 

Not that it mattered much, as a day or so later you were sent another gift, this time jelly candy hearts and heart-shaped chocolates. Same message as last time, 'Happy Valentine's! Love, Your Secret Admirer'. You sat and enjoyed the sweets during nap time, just to keep from any little hands or pleading eyes from trying to snatch one for themselves. 

As you were snacking, Moon suddenly sat down beside you, hands folding into his lap and head almost snapping to look at you. 

You raise a hand to greet him. "Hey, Moon-man."

"Star."

You cock your head to the side, popping another candy in your mouth. "Need something? Or just come over to hang out?"

"Where did you get that?" He points to the half-opened box in your lap. 

You shrug, lifting the little slip of paper for him to read. "Secret admirer strikes again I guess."

"Seems so." He snarls out.

It surprises you, brows raised as you look at him again. "You alright?"

"Fine." He turns away from you and the card, facing forward to observe the Daycare. 

You don't speak again for the rest of the time. 

Similarly 'issues' arise throughout the rest of the week. Little gifts from that same person being sent your way, not to mention the growing number of cards and the likes from the Daycare kids. 

During all of this, the attendant pulled back from you, you weren't entirely sure why. They were shorter, blunter, not nearly as talkative or teasing with you. You wonder if it was because of all the attention you were getting compared to them, which made you feel awful. They deserved some appreciation too. 

It's not until the day of Valentine's that you realize who your 'Secret Admirer' is after all. Specifically, it was your best friend, who you'd been helping out with getting set up on a date the past couple of weeks. You'd laughed about it once you'd found out, getting on to them for 'leading you on' even though regardless of who your admirer was, your heart belonged to someone else. 

Specifically the two someone's who'd been avoiding you all week long. 

You planned to talk to them about it tomorrow, tonight you had to focus on holding to your promises and make sure your friend's date actually went well. You were going to shadow with another friend of yours to see to it the date proceeded smoothly. 

You sling your jacket over your shoulders, taking one last glance around the Daycare before you head to leave. Just as you turn to head to the door, your face knocks gently against something metal. You jump, stepping back to find that Sun is standing before you. 

"Going so soon, Sunshine?" He tilts his head, eyes uplifted crescents. 

You nod, smiling. "Yup! I have a date tonight—"

"A. Date?" 

You bite your tongue. You hadn't meant to say that at all. "Oh no, I just meant that—"

"You know, I think there's some cleaning up still left to do, friend." Sun takes you by the shoulders, and leads you back into the Daycare, you lose your jacket at some point in the process. 

You try to protest. "I, Sun I really should go—"

"Stay." He states, speech a bit garbled for a moment before uplifting into his usual cheer. "I really must insist! We can't have this place looking less than perfect when the kiddos come in tomorrow now, can we?"

You scan the play area, nothing seems out of place to you, so you say as much. "No offense, Sunny, but everything seems just fine—"

There's a crash to your left, over by the arts and crafts tables. Turning you're bewildered to see Sun lying amongst a disaster of spilled craft supplies, some of which leaks quickly onto the padded floor. You don't even know how he got over there, he was just right next to you moment's before.

You're not able to question it much before Sun's speaking up. "Whoops! I don't know what got into me! Could you lend me a hand with this, pretty please, Sunshine?"

"Of course but are you okay?" You ask, slightly hurrying as you walk over to him. "Don't need to go to Parts and Services or anything?"

Sun makes a noise similar to grinding gears, next words blunt. "No. It was just a simple mistake."

"I, right, right." You offer him your hand, which he takes and uses to help get to his feet. He doesn't let go once he is standing, however. Leaving you no choice but to hold his hand, lest you make this awkward. 

You think for a moment. You should stay and help clean this up, you know how neurotic he—and moon—can be when it came to messes. You did feel bad about not being able to make it up to them regarding their lack of gifts, this could be a good chance. Especially when the opportunity presents itself to you.

"And I'll tell you what, Starshine. If we clean up quick I'll make sure to it'll be worth your while. How's that?" His hand squeezes yours just a little tighter. 

Something about the way he phrases it makes your cheeks heat up. You cough into your hand with a nod. "Yeah, that um, sounds good."

"Perfect."

The next hour or two is a blur. After you cleaned up, the attendant had one activity then the next for you to do together.

Making a last couple of Valentine's crafts before putting the supplies away for the year, making puzzles, reading stories, acting out scenes, dancing to music. From one moment to the next it was something, something, something. You would have expected this out of Sun for sure, but the fact that Moon was just as active a participant was more than surprising. 

In a brief moment of a break, while sitting down to watch a movie, do you think to check the time. 

Twenty minutes before your friend's date. Shoot, you'd lost a lot more time than you'd thought. You peek up to Moon, who's focused on the screen in front of you both. He's got his arms wrapped around you as you sit—practically—in his lap. You think if you try to move you'll get trapped further, so you attempt with words first. 

"Hey, this has been, a lot of fun, but I really need to get going now, alright?" You put your hand on his. 

Moon's faceplate snaps down, hold on you instantly tightening. Not what you wanted in the slightest. "Why? Are they that much more important?"

"I, wait. Moon-man, are you jealous?"

He freezes, then looks away, hold on you slipping as he starts to shrink in on himself. "Yes. No. We both are." His next words are muttered, a mixture of static and, maybe another voice? "It's not fair. We've loved you for so long, but someone else gets to have you instead."

"You, you guys, like me?" You ask in the quiet.

Moon grips the edge of his hat, pulling it down over his eyes. You swear you almost see some of Sun's rays poking out behind his faceplate in the low light. "Not like, love. Too scared to say it until now."

"Even if I told you I cared about you both too?" You twist to face him fully, hands cupping his cheeks. 

He melts into your touch. "Even what?"

You giggle. "Would you still be scared to say it? If I said I loved you too?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." One eye peeks out from the hat. "But, you're taken." And again, that harsh tone comes back, resentment, you realize.

At this you can't take anymore and start to laugh. "No, I'm not. I've been, well not trying super hard, but I've been trying to tell you that since early."

You finally are given the chance to fully explain the situation, including the 'Secret Admirer' part of the whole deal. You watch the tension melt in the bot in front of you, quickly becoming embarrassed and flustered that they'd been jealous over nothing at all. 

Despite that, however, you end up having to text your friends that you can't help out tonight. As you've been told you have a lot of 'making up' to do for your 'awful' behavior. By both attendants, for that matter. 

You're still sitting in their lap, movie long forgotten and lights now raised just slightly. Yellow and blue hands trace patterns into your waist as they hold you tight, seeming afraid to let go despite your whispered assurances. Their rays flutter and faceplate clicks at every sound you make, intentional or not.

As you kiss and are kissed—over and over and over again—there's only one word they murmur back, consistently, without fail. 

"Ours."

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Thank you @juukai for the request! I enjoy making jealous dca a lot hehe, just feels very fitting to me >:)c

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[idrawprettyboys]

Advice for Aspiring Commissions Artists

I recently had someone ask for advice on how to sell art commissions, so I thought it would be nice to compile a list for others aspiring to do so, as well as to remind myself of some important things to keep in mind.

1. Have one tumblr blog strictly for art. People will follow it specifically because they like your art, and it will be easy for them to find your artwork without having to scroll through a jumble of other stuff.

2. Draw and post just about every day! Most people will say to draw every single day, but please let yourself rest. You will end up being miserable if you force yourself to draw when you aren’t feeling well. The more you draw, the more your art will improve, and the more followers you will naturally accumulate over time.

3. Post fan art to bring in fans. You don’t have to strictly draw fan art, of course. But people are more likely to interact if they’re familiar with the character already. A lot of people will follow you for fan art initially, and some of them will grow to love your original art as well.

4. Develop your own unique style. This will occur naturally over time. Learn from artists you love, and over time, your art will evolve into a mix of art styles you like into something uniquely yours!

5. It takes time to find supporters who are willing to spend money on your art. Building an art business is a slow process, and it takes patience and perseverance. Only a small percentage of social media followers will pay for commissions or Patreon support, but those few are precious.

6. Use every platform and website you can to share your art and have links between platforms, so your fans can find you in multiple places. Examples of places to share your art are social media sites like Twitter, Instagram, BlueSky, and Pillowfort, as well as art sites like Cara and Pixiv.

7. Get a Patreon and Ko-Fi account and be sure to provide links to these means of financial support on your art posts (especially the art pieces you’re proud of).

8. Make use of as many means of making money with art as you can. Sell prints on inprnt, sell stickers on Redbubble. Youtube videos can eventually give you ad revenue. If you make comics, Tapas is another option to make a little bit of ad revenue. You can use Etsy to sell originals, prints, or even commissions! Some people may feel more comfortable buying commissions through an official store like Etsy rather than on social media, so it’s good to have that as a back-up in addition to selling through other sites.

9. Use a secure payment method that you’re comfortable with! I recommend using PayPal with invoices, so that you have proof of their purchase in case anything goes wrong. A lot of artists use Ko-Fi as well.

10. Post your commission guidelines on all the sites where you post your art! Don’t be afraid to reblog/repost your commission price list multiple times!

11. Art commissions are not a steady job. You might get nonstop commissions for a couple months and then not get any for a few months. There are some times of year when people are less willing to spend money. I’ve noticed this happening towards the end of the year. At times when you aren’t getting commissions, I recommend doing a limited time sale!

12. Price yourself appropriately for the amount of effort it takes for you to get the work done! Don’t overprice or underprice! Ask your friends for advice on what you should charge. You’ll probably want to start low and slowly increase your prices as your work gets higher demand.

13. Make your commission price list legible! Check out other people’s sheets for guidance!

14. Have patience and perseverance! It may take years after you start posting before you get a commission, but the more you put yourself out there, the more you’ll get noticed!

15. Draw what you enjoy! Maybe cater to your audience once in a while, but your own happiness is important to give yourself the drive to keep on going!

16. Don’t be afraid to reblog your own art at various times of day, for maximum visibility! Not all of your followers will be online at the time that you initially posted it.

@artist-kreating-stuff

[immortalmrwavell]

Gym Tradition

(Original story posted October 8th 2022) Exactly as it was

This story was inspired by a prompt given to me by @tf-lover

I stepped towards the shower with an excitement bubbling in my chest. I could already hear his heavy footsteps behind me. This was always my favourite part. The sound of a towel being tossed to the side was drowned out as I twisted the shower handle. Within seconds warm water was cascading down my body, relaxing me for what was to come.

My body shuddered a little as a pair of large hands slid around my waist from behind. Looking down I grinned. I already had a pretty good idea who he’d taken over for me. There weren't many men at the gym today with such large dark skinned hands and there was one in particular I knew he’d had his eye on.

“Is that Mike?” I muttered just as the man pressed himself against my back, his semi-hard cock already feeling huge as it rubbed against my ass and lower back.

“Mhmm” He replied simply as his hands roamed my body. “I know we’ve used him before but he just looked so damn sexy today. When I saw him getting undressed I just couldn’t help myself.”

My boyfriend Eric and I have had this little tradition for a while now. Whenever the two of us go to the gym together, we’ll always scout out the other men at the gym. Size them up, inspect their bodies from afar, etc. Then once we’re finished, one of us will wait around in the locker room for one of those men to come through looking all hot and sweaty from his workout. And then, when nobody is looking, we’ll steal that guy’s body by jumping inside and possessing him! This time it was Eric’s turn to surprise me and he certainly didn’t disappoint.

“No need to apologise.” I smirked as I turned my head slightly and looked up to see none other than Mike, one of the local hunks that frequented the gym. “You wear his body so fuckin well.” I felt his cock twitch and harden a bit more as I said that while a cocky grin spread across his face.

The two of us shared a short but sweet kiss before he turned me back around and pressed me against the shower wall. “Oh I know. Why do you think I always get us to come to the gym on days that he’s around?” He chuckled but before I could respond he swiftly plunged his thick black cock inside me.

The shower continued to rain down on both of us though it did little to mask the groans. I’m always surprised at how no other men seem to walk in on us when we do this. I suppose they probably know better when they start to hear that lewd slapping noise of heavy balls smacking against an ass. Sometimes those balls were mine like yesterday when I took over another hunk, Dane, and went to town on Eric’s ass. But now it was Eric’s turn and he wasn’t holding anything back!

‘Mike’ slammed his massive rod into me relentlessly, holding onto my hips as he did to make sure he went as deep as possible. His hungry assault didn’t let up even for a second. Only growing more furious by the moment as he slammed against my prostate again and again. I could see why he liked this body so much, it’s stamina was insane! I’d already shot my load from his pounding alone!

Despite that though I was still just as hungry as he was. Hungry for his cock. Hungry for his load. And boy did he deliver. A loud, manly roar echoed through the shower room and probably the locker rooms as well as ‘Mike’ began draining his balls. His fat cock pumping me with load after load of thick cum, filling me up to the brim.

“Fuuuuuck Eric… that was amazing…” I muttered as he wrapped his arms around me again.

“Who’s Eric?” He grinned. “The only one here is Mike” He shifted his cock around inside me causing me to grunt a little. With that he leaned down against my ear and whispered. “Maybe we should find a way to make these possessions a bit more… permanent.”

[snails-and-tangerines]

Those are great points! Details like this, and whether the author takes the time to purposefully make a world make sense, can really make or break a reader's experience with the worldbuilding in a book.

If it's alright to add on to your post, OP, I think that a similar concept could also be applied to education? What gets taught at schools has changed a lot over time and it's different in different places. And, a lot of that depends on what professions people go into. A school that expects its students to grow up and go work on the nearby farms will teach very different things and have different standards than a school that aims for its students to become scientists. This has a ton of implications on characters and what they know.

But also, who even has access to schooling? Is it everyone? If it's everyone, are all children legally required to attend? Until when?

Are there different levels of quality and access to quality?

Who can teach? What requirements are there for the profession, if any? How many children is one teacher responsible for? Do they teach one age group (i.e. just 12 year olds), or is one person teaching all 34 kids in the village at once, from 5 year olds to teenagers?

How valued is education in society? Do you need to have gone to school to get a good job? Which kinds of jobs require it?

What is school culture like? Is it competitive? What are the school rules, and does someone make sure they're followed? How? Are there extracurriculars? Clubs? How are sports and the arts treated? Is there a mix of different types of kids (social status, race, culture, gender) or is it more homogenous? Is the school in a city, suburb, or more rural area? What items are banned, and do students bring them anyways? What items aren't banned that the average modern person would assume is (i.e. pocketknives and guns in a rural historical type of school)?

How much money does the school have to do its job? How well does it allot those funds? Are teachers buying their own supplies? In schools with bands and/or orchestras, are there school instruments or do students have to buy their own?

What do the parents expect out of the school? Is the school doing those things? How well? How does this affect the students?

[Obviously not all of these questions are relevant to every story, or even most, but there are a lot of people out there like me where most-to-all these things are actually necessary to think about for the types of stories they're trying to tell, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to share]

I'm working on and off on a fantasy series, and one of the things I really need to do is completely overhaul my assumptions of (and maybe even completely rewrite) its professional world as well as the education systems.

One thing I don't see show up as a consideration in worldbuilding a lot is what things are professionalized.

By that I mean how (and whether) certain activities or focuses are conducted in an organized, professional manner or treated as a career path or industry (often with set standards or training involved) rather than those that are treated primarily as hobbies or conducted in an ad hoc manner.

Standing armies, for example, are professionalized in a way that temporary armies or militias aren't. Being in the military is a profession that is organized and has specific standards and training and that clearly distinguishes between people who are or are not in the military. If we look at a lot of past wars, though, as well as many militias, being in the military was not a career for most people (especially most enlisted) and the time and effort between deciding to join and being on a battlefield was significantly smaller.

A professionalized military will generally be a stronger, more cohesive, more effective military--but it is also far more expensive to maintain, because as it is a profession the military servicemembers pull their salary from the military on a regular basis, and it takes away hands from other tasks such as manufacturing and farming.

Over the last few hundred years a lot of countries have seen (to varying degrees) professionalization of fields like firefighting, policing, pharmacology, emergency response, and search and rescue. In these cases, it reflects 1) a recognized need for a standing trained force that can respond quickly; 2) a recognized need for standards and credentialing; 3) the ability societally to have individuals who might otherwise be contributing to manufacturing or food production not do that indefinitely; 4) a dedicated ongoing effort to maintain standards, trainings, etc.; and 5) organizations (generally governments) that can pay for these services.

We also see the professionalization of other things, like youth sports--the push to treat youth sports as either primarily a system to develop professional athletes or a career on its own.

When you're doing worldbuilding, consider what roles would be treated in this professionalized manner, rather than those that would be viewed as temporary positions or conducted on an ad hoc basis.

Is there a standing professional military? How does the professionalization differ between officers and enlisted?

Is emergency preparedness, response, or recovery a professionalized field? Is the focus of that profession on planning? On search and rescue, triage, or other immediate response activities or coordination? On rebuilding following disasters? On managing grants, tax relief, or other monetary aspects of rebuilding?

Is pharmacology a regulated industry that requires training or credentialing? Is medicine?

Is firefighting generally conducted by individuals in the neighborhood? By private industry? By unpaid volunteers managed by a governmental or non-governmental organization? By full-time paid staff?

Are these positions generally a full-time job or an ad hoc/as needed job that can be called on? If it is an ad hoc position, what are the credentialing requirements to be put on the roster?