#my instinct is to keep detailing and tightening and detailing and tightening

[brunchable]

The Marriage Bet - Part Two

Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant f!Reader

Themes/Warnings: Y/N in labor. Childbirth but NOT detailed, more focused on Bucky's presence and what he's doing.

Summary: How has a small bet lead to this? Y/N goes into labor and Bucky does everything he can to be as supportive as he could.

A/N: For those who asked for Part Two, this is for you ^_^ I hope it lived up to the expectations. . . I took inspiration from my own experience so yeah.

taggies: @rcarbo1 @ozwriterchick @mrsnikstan @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss

You roll your eyes as Bucky keeps a skeptical gaze on you, watching you step up and down on the curb for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Doll, you’ve been at this for days. I’m starting to think this kid’s staging a sit-in,” he teases, leaning against the lamppost, arms crossed.

“Well, she’s not paying rent, so she doesn’t get to stay. Curb walking is happening whether she likes it or not,” you snap back, determination lacing your tone as you continue stepping. But deep down, you’re tired, exhausted from trying to nudge your body into labor.

Bucky grins, but he still offers you a hand as you make your way back toward the house. “I’m just saying, if I see you out here tomorrow morning, I’m calling the National Guard.”

You elbow him lightly. “Very funny, Buck. This baby’s coming today. I can feel it.”

When you both step inside the house, Alpine is on you immediately, practically glued to your legs, rubbing her soft, fluffy body against your ankles more persistently than usual. You frown, looking down at her.

“What’s with you today, girl?” you ask, gently shooing her away with your foot. But instead of backing off like she normally does, Alpine meows loudly and circles you again, her tail brushing against your legs.

“Hey, come on. What’s going on with you?” you murmur, reaching down to pet her. But Alpine’s not interested in affection—at least, not her usual kind. She rubs harder against you, weaving in and out between your legs, forcing you to shuffle to avoid tripping.

“Bucky, I think Alpine’s lost it,” you call out, trying to step away from her. But she follows, her constant meowing beginning to sound like scolding. You can’t help but feel like she’s trying to tell you something.

Bucky, in the kitchen, is half-hidden in the fridge, rummaging around for something. ��Maybe she’s just mad you’re about to replace her as the center of attention,” he quips, not looking up from his snack hunt.

“Yeah, well, she can wait her turn,” you mutter, trying to step around Alpine. But the cat is relentless. She rubs against your legs even harder, circling you tighter, her meows getting louder. You try to move, but she darts in front of you, making you stumble.

“Seriously, Alpine, what is going on?” you huff, trying to sidestep her again, but it’s no use. She’s practically glued to you, brushing her entire body against you, her eyes wide and focused as she continues her odd dance around your feet. You glance at Bucky, now distracted by Alpine’s odd behavior.

Bucky looks up, finally noticing how insistent the cat is. “You think she knows something we don’t?” he asks, his tone shifting from playful to curious. “Animals have instincts about this kind of stuff, right?”

Before you can respond, Alpine meows again, louder this time, and you feel a sudden, sharp tightening in your belly. You stop in your tracks, your hands immediately going to your abdomen as the pain intensifies.

“Ooo, ow!” you gasp, bending over slightly as the contraction tightens your entire stomach. “Bucky!”

Bucky’s head shoots up from the fridge like a missile, his eyes wide. “What?! What happened? Are you okay?!” he blurts, slamming the fridge door shut. He’s by your side in seconds, almost slipping in his haste. “Is it time? It’s time, isn’t it?! Oh god, okay, okay, breathe. Just breathe.”

You clutch the edge of the counter, nodding through the pain. “I think… I think it’s happening.”

Alpine, still rubbing against you, lets out another loud meow, as if confirming your suspicion. You glance down at her, and for a moment, it’s as if the cat knows exactly what’s going on. She gives a final rub against your legs before darting out of the way, clearing the space for Bucky to swoop in.

Bucky’s eyes go even wider. 

“Okay, okay, uh—hospital. We need to call the hospital.” He pulls out his phone, hands trembling slightly as he fumbles with the screen. He stabs at the screen with his thumb, almost dropping it in the process. “Where’s the number? Why don’t I have the number saved?!” he mutters to himself, glancing at you for reassurance as the line finally connects.

He paces as he talks to the hospital, his free hand anxiously running through his hair. “Yeah, hi, it’s… Y/N? Y/N Barnes? um, it’s happening. She’s in labor. What do we—what do I do? No, we’re at home, but we’re coming in—should we come in now? Or…? Okay. Okay, got it, yeah, we’ll head there in… five minutes? Yeah, five. Thanks.”

He hangs up, looking like he’s just run a marathon. “They said we can wait a bit until it gets stronger, but we can go now if you want. What do you wanna do?”

Before you can answer, another wave of pain washes over you, and you double over again, gripping the counter tighter. Alpine meows and brushes against your legs again as if trying to comfort you, her tail swishing with determination.

Bucky glances at Alpine, then back at you. 

“Okay, bath! I’ll run you a warm bath. That’s what they said, right? Warm bath to relax? Just—stay right here, doll. I’ll handle this.” He bolts off toward the bathroom, slipping slightly but catching himself at the last second.

You hear him turning on the water, his voice slightly frantic. “Warm bath, warm bath. I can do this. Where are the towels? Of course, we have towels. Focus, Bucky. Towels, water, perfect.”

You chuckle softly, despite the growing discomfort, glancing down at Alpine, who is now sitting by your feet, watching you intently with those big, bright eyes. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” you mutter, reaching down to scratch behind her ears. She purrs loudly, as if proud of herself.

A moment later, Bucky’s back, nearly tripping over Alpine as he rushes to your side. “Okay, bath’s ready. Nice and warm. Let’s get you in there before another one hits,” he says, gently taking your arm and guiding you toward the bathroom.

Alpine follows behind, meowing in approval as Bucky helps you into the tub. The warm water does wonders to ease the tension, but the contractions are still coming, and you know it won’t be long.

Bucky kneels beside the tub, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and panic. “You okay? Should I call someone? Maybe I should recheck the bags. Oh, and snacks—I need to grab snacks.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You and your snacks, Bucky. We’ll be fine.”

Alpine, still close by, gives one final approving meow before curling up on the bathroom mat, keeping a watchful eye on both of you.

× × × × 

The car ride to the hospital was a blur—Bucky, in full mission mode, had one hand on the wheel and the other gripping yours as you breathed through each contraction. Every time you winced, his brow furrowed deeper, a mix of panic and determination on his face. Even as you swatted him away, insisting you didn’t need him hovering, he stayed glued to your side.

By the time you arrived at the hospital, Bucky had already called ahead, barking orders like he was leading a rescue mission. He parked the car, rushed around to your side, and had you in his arms before you could argue. 

“No hero moves, Buck, I can walk,” you huffed, trying to push through another contraction, but Bucky wasn’t hearing any of it.

“Not a chance. Just let me handle this, doll. I got you,” he said softly, the tenderness in his voice cutting through the pain.

Inside the hospital, Bucky was glued to you—holding your hand, rubbing your back, scratching your head soothingly, offering water. Every contraction, every wince, he was there, wide-eyed, on alert. He spoke to the doctors, double-checked every word they said, like he was memorising their instructions for later. He wouldn’t even blink unless he was sure you were okay.

“Bucky, I’m fine. You need to relax,” you grumbled between deep breaths, squeezing his hand through another wave of pain.

“I’m relaxed! This is me, relaxed!” he responded, his voice a little too high to be convincing. He had one hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles as if he could somehow ease the pain just by being there.

When another particularly strong contraction hit, making you groan in agony, Bucky’s face crumpled. He looked like he was ready to jump in and fight the pain for you only if he could. 

"You're sure you don't want the epidural?" he asked, glancing at you as another contraction hit, his face creased with concern. You could see the tension in his jaw, his helplessness in not being able to take the pain from you. “I just… I hate seeing you like this.”

“No. I am doing this my way, okay?!” You shook your head, gripping his hand as the pain intensified, your voice coming out in a growl. 

He let out a shaky laugh. "Okay, no epidural. Got it. But if you change your mind, I can threaten someone. I can be very convincing."

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but smile through gritted teeth. “Pretty sure the nurses don’t need to see the Winter Soldier just because I’m in labor.”

Bucky chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “Oh, come on. It’d make for a great story. I could throw my arm around, scare a few people… you know, just your typical Tuesday.”

Hours passed, and Bucky hadn’t moved from your side. He wouldn’t sit, wouldn’t close his eyes, despite you insisting—between contractions—that he at least take a nap. 

“You’re gonna fall over if you don’t get some rest,” you grumbled, squeezing his hand through another wave.

“Fall over? Pfft, I don’t need sleep. I’m like a machine.” He smiled, though his eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. But every time you winced, his whole body tensed, as if he could feel the pain with you. “You, on the other hand, are doing amazing. I mean, you’re practically doing this like a walk in the park. The park of… childbirth.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan, resting your head back against the pillow. “That was terrible, Buck.”

He smiled wider. 

“Was it? C’mon, don’t lie to me. You were laughing inside.” He leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against your temple. “I’m not leaving you.”

He looks at you with such fierce determination that you know there’s no convincing him otherwise. 

“Besides, I couldn’t sleep if I tried. What if you need something? Or what if you crack and ask for that epidural?” He smirks, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes at him, wincing as another contraction comes. Bucky’s immediately there, squeezing your hand, pressing his forehead to yours as you breathe together.

“I’m serious,” you mutter when the pain subsides, “you need sleep.”

Bucky grins, though his eyes are soft with affection. “Sleep? Who needs sleep? I’m living on love right now, doll. And adrenaline.” He winks at you, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Who’s gonna be here to remind you how much of a badass you are?”

Despite the pain, you can’t help but laugh a little, which makes him smile even wider. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. 

“You know, this is probably a good time to tell you that you’re way stronger than me. I’d probably be begging for the epidural by now. And ice cream. Definitely ice cream.”

You snort, trying not to laugh too hard as another contraction builds. “Yeah, and I’d let you have the epidural just to shut you up.”

Bucky chuckles, but his smile fades as he watches you breathe through the pain again, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then softly whispers, “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You look up at him through heavy breaths, your heart swelling at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only person in the world. His thumb traces lazy circles on your hand, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You’re doing so good, doll. I’m so proud of you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

When the contraction finally passed, you slumped back, exhausted. Bucky’s fingers brushed a stray piece of hair from your forehead, his touch light as a feather. 

“You want some ice chips? You want me to grab the doc again? Steal you another pillow? You name it, babe, and I’ll make it happen.”

Another contraction hit, and you groaned in pain, squeezing his hand hard enough to make him wince. But instead of complaining, he leaned down close, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. 

“You know,” he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial, “you’ve got the strength of ten supersoldiers right now. You could probably take me down with just one hand. Kinda sexy, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but snort through the pain, the corners of your mouth lifting despite the overwhelming sensation. “That’s… your idea of sexy?” you panted, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“Hey, I’ve always had a thing for strong women,” he teased, winking at you in that playful Bucky way, trying to distract you from the pain. “And you, sweetheart, are the strongest woman I know.”

Even though the pain was still there, the tension in your shoulders eased just a little.

“See, that’s what I’m here for,” he said softly, his thumb brushing the back of your hand as another contraction started building. “You focus on bringing our kid into the world, and I’ll keep trying to distract you with terrible jokes and my rugged good looks.”

“You’re lucky… I love you…” you muttered through the next wave of pain.

By the time the contractions were coming faster and more intense, Bucky was still right there, leaning close, murmuring encouragements. His fingers intertwined with yours, his other hand brushing through your hair as you worked through the pain. 

“You’re doing amazing, doll. We’re almost there. I’m right here.”

He didn’t sleep, didn’t sit, not even when you begged him to rest. His only focus was you, and every time your face twisted in pain, his own features mirrored it. But somehow, even in the toughest moments, he kept trying to make you smile, whispering about baby names, promising to make up for every second of pain with the biggest, most elaborate breakfast you could dream of. 

“We’ll get pancakes. Or waffles. Or pancakes and waffles. With ice cream. I’ll even eat kale if it’ll make you happy.”

When the doctor told you it was time, Bucky’s grip on your hand tightened, and for a moment, you expected to see that familiar flicker of panic in his eyes. But it never came. Somehow, in the face of what was about to happen, Bucky remained steady, his expression calm and resolute. He didn’t waver. His focus was entirely on you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, soothing strokes as you gathered the last of your strength.

The room bustled around you—nurses preparing, the doctor giving instructions—but it all seemed distant. The only thing grounding you was Bucky. His eyes never left yours, a silent strength radiating from him, as though he were willing to carry you through the final stretch. Every time the pressure built, every time the exhaustion weighed on you, Bucky was there, his presence unfazed, holding you steady as the moment grew closer.

Even as the intensity of labor reached its peak, he didn’t flinch. Not once. His grip remained firm but gentle, anchoring you in the chaos, his face composed, his breathing in sync with yours. He was there, unwavering, a rock against the storm. The room could’ve been crumbling around you, and Bucky wouldn’t have noticed.

His whole world was you.

Then, when the cry filled the room—the unmistakable sound of your baby’s first breath—it hit him like a tidal wave.

They placed her on your chest, and for a second, Bucky was still. He was looking at her—his daughter—for the very first time. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw his eyes widen in awe. His tough exterior began to crack, the strong front he had maintained throughout crumbling under the sheer weight of the moment.

Suddenly, Bucky turned away, almost abruptly, his shoulders shaking. He was crying. Ugly crying. His hand left yours for the first time as he tried to rub the tears away, his back to you as he choked on his emotions. But he wasn’t fooling anyone. You could hear the soft sniffles as he struggled to pull himself together.

It only lasted a moment before he spun back around, tears still streaming down his face, though he tried—so hard—to stop them. The sight of him, attempting to be tough through the tears, was endearing and, in its own way, a little bit funny. His face was red, his eyes puffy, and there was no mistaking the way his breath hitched as he looked at the baby resting on your chest.

He tried to smile through the sobs, wiping his face with the back of his hand, but every time he looked at her—tiny, perfect, and so much a part of both of you—the tears came again, harder this time. He was completely undone, staring at his daughter with a mixture of awe, joy, and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that she was here, real, and his.

And though Bucky was crying harder than ever, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his tears mingling with yours, both of you laughing at the raw, overwhelming sweetness of the moment.

He was a mess, but a happy mess—ugly crying through the most beautiful moment of your lives. And, despite it all, he never let go of your hand.

× × × × 

When you and Bucky finally stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your place welcomed you back. It was strange being home with Julianna now, like the world had shifted but stayed the same. You glanced at Bucky, who was carrying the capsule carefully, his expression softer than usual.

Alpine was the first to greet you. As soon as the door opened, she trotted over, her tail swishing with curiosity. She stopped at your feet, looking up at both of you expectantly, as if asking, “So, what did you bring back?”

Bucky set the capsule down gently on the floor, his movements slow and careful.

“Look who’s here, Alpine,” he said, glancing down at the cat with a smile tugging at his lips. “We brought someone new.”

Alpine inched closer, her nose twitching as she inspected the carrier with cautious curiosity. Bucky crouched beside the capsule, lifting the cover slightly so the cat could get a closer look. Julianna stirred inside, her tiny face peaceful, nestled in blankets.

Alpine took a few tentative steps forward, her nose brushing against the edge of the blanket. She sniffed softly, clearly curious but cautious, still unsure about what exactly this new little human was.

Bucky smiled, watching Alpine for a moment before reaching down and gently lifting Julianna out of the capsule. He cradled her carefully in his arms, glancing at you for reassurance before holding her closer to Alpine.

“Come on, girl, get a good sniff. She’s your new sister.”

Alpine paused, her eyes wide as she leaned in to sniff Julianna’s soft, downy head. The cat's whiskers twitched, her nose brushing against the baby’s tiny forehead as she took in the new scent. Julianna stirred slightly, but her eyes stayed closed, her peaceful expression unchanged.

After a long, curious sniff, Alpine let out a soft, sweet meow as if giving her approval. Then, to your surprise, she rubbed herself affectionately against Bucky’s legs, purring gently, as if acknowledging that her place in the family was safe.

You watched the whole interaction, a warmth spreading through your chest. There was something sweetly funny about seeing this big, tough Bucky Barnes gingerly presenting his newborn daughter to a cat, as if it were some kind of sacred introduction.

Bucky chuckled, glancing down at Alpine as she rubbed against him again, her purring growing louder. “Looks like she approves of you too, kid,” he murmured to Julianna.

Satisfied with her inspection, Alpine backed up a few steps, her tail swishing lazily. She sat down nearby, watching with half-lidded eyes as if content that all was well in her world.

Bucky stood up carefully, cradling Julianna in his arms and grinning at you. “Looks like she passed the test,” he said, his voice soft, but with that usual Bucky charm. He glanced down at the baby, his eyes softening even more.

“Welcome home, Jules.”

× × × ×

Bonus scene: Flashback - A few months earlier…

You were lounging on the couch, feet propped up on Bucky’s lap as he absentmindedly massaged your ankles. A notebook was open on the coffee table in front of you, filled with scribbles of baby names. None of them felt right so far, and you were both at your wits’ end.

“Alright,” Bucky said, tapping his fingers on your leg, “we gotta figure this out. This kid’s gonna be here soon, and we can’t just call them ‘Hey, you.’” He gave you a crooked smile, but you could tell he was dead serious about the baby name situation.

You sighed, flipping through the pages of the notebook. “I know, but nothing seems to fit. We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Bucky looked up thoughtfully, then suddenly grinned. “How about... Buck Jr.?”

You stared at him for a solid second, deadpan. “Buck Jr.? Really? What if it’s a girl?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Then... Buckletta.”

You burst out laughing, nearly kicking him in the stomach with the way your feet jerked. “Buckletta? Are you serious?”

Bucky shrugged with a smug grin. “Hey, it’s versatile. Buck Jr. for a boy, Buckletta for a girl. Easy.”

“I am not naming our child Buckletta!” you gasped, wiping tears from your eyes from laughing so hard. “That sounds like a medieval torture device.”

Bucky smirked, leaning back on the couch. “Fine, fine. What about something... strong? Like, you know, a name that’s got some weight to it.”

“Okay, hit me with it,” you said, folding your arms across your chest.

“Rock,” he said with confidence.

“Rock?” You blinked, wondering if he was messing with you, "Already with the Dad jokes?"

“Yeah! Think about it. No one’s gonna mess with a kid named Rock Barnes,” Bucky explained, grinning as if he had just come up with the best name in history. “It’s tough. It’s solid.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “We are not naming our baby after an inanimate object!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Really? But you like Ruby.”

“Ruby’s a gemstone, Bucky. It’s different,” you argued, trying to hold back a laugh.

He finally laughed along with you, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright! I'll stop. But we still need a real one, so...” He grabbed his phone back from you, scrolling through the list with a suspiciously mischievous look on his face. “Okay, let’s see... Princess Consuela Bananahammock?”

You smacked his arm, laughing again. “Are you picking names from Friends now?”

Shaking your head, you leaned over and grabbed the notebook, flipping to a clean page. “Okay, how about something more traditional? Like... Hazel for a girl?”

Bucky paused, his teasing smirk fading into something softer. “Hazel? I like that. It’s... nice.” He nodded thoughtfully, clearly warming to the idea.

“Yeah?” you smiled, glad that you’d finally stumbled onto something that wasn’t completely ridiculous.

“Yeah, Hazel’s good. But what about a boy’s name?” Bucky asked, shifting to a more serious tone.

You thought for a moment.

“What about James?” you suggested, giving him a knowing look.

He immediately shook his head. “No way. Too many bad memories tied to that name.”

You frowned, understanding. “Alright, then something classic but strong... like Julian?”

Bucky tilted his head, considering it. “Julian’s not bad. Strong, but not too over the top. I could see that.”

“And it works for a girl, too. Julianna,” you added with a smile.

Bucky’s face lit up. “Julianna Hazel Barnes.” He let the name roll off his tongue, testing it out. “That actually sounds really nice.”

You grinned, feeling like you were getting somewhere. “Right? It’s got a good flow.”

He nodded, then leaned back against the couch, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But seriously, you’re sure we’re ruling out Buckletta?”

You threw a pillow at his head, laughing. “Absolutely. 100% no to Buckletta.”

Bucky caught the pillow and chuckled. “Okay, okay, no Buckletta. But just so you know, if we ever get another cat, I’m naming her Buckletta.”

[kiwriteswords]

Hey, may I request a Hotch x Reader age gap story, where she's in her late 20s and not a BAU member. I think it would be a nice little twist into their dynamic, also he's such a daddy. Much appreciated and thanks in advance.

The Girl Next Door

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I had a dream about Hotch being my neighbor the other day that sort-of inspired this one! Thanks for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: Age Gap, Romantic Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Insecurities, Mentions of Canon-Typical Plot Themes

Sypnosis: When you move into your new apartment, the last thing Aaron Hotchner expects is for his quiet, orderly life to be disrupted by his intriguing new neighbor. At first glance, you seem like a contradiction—poised, accomplished, and wise beyond your years, yet far younger than anyone else in the building. As a profiler, Aaron prides himself on his ability to read people, but you defy easy categorization, stirring something in him he hasn’t felt in years.

The day you moved into your new apartment, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual polite introduction. A quick hello in the hallway, a nod of acknowledgment over packages left at the concierge desk. But when the door across from his opened, and you stood there with a warm smile and an extended hand, it was as if something jolted awake in him.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” you said, your voice confident yet gentle, the kind that demanded attention without trying. “I hope I’m not intruding. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

He shook your hand, taking note of the firm grip. His profiler’s instincts, so finely tuned, began to buzz. Your demeanor was composed, polished. You carried yourself as someone well-accustomed to holding their own in rooms filled with people twice your age. Yet, as he looked at you, he couldn’t reconcile your apparent youth with the sophisticated way you spoke or the fact that you could afford an apartment in a building like this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

Your smile widened. “Aaron. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

He would have guessed you were in your early to late twenties if not for the depth in your gaze and the way you seemed to study him, as though cataloging details in the same way he was. But still, you couldn’t be older than thirty, could you? How could someone that young afford this building? Hotch, ever practical, knew he overpaid, even with his federal paycheck. And he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because he couldn’t peg you, and as a profiler, that was frustrating.

Weeks passed, and though your paths crossed occasionally—quick hellos in the elevator or casual small talk in the lobby—Hotch found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. You were intriguing, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten when you smiled, and far too mature for him to simply brush off as someone fresh into the adult world. But he told himself it was nothing. Jack, now a teenager, occupied most of his thoughts, and the idea of pursuing a neighbor felt inappropriate. Unprofessional, even.

Still, after a grueling case that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of mortality pressing heavy on his shoulders, Hotch let Rossi convince him to grab a drink at the bar near the BAU.

It was a dimly lit, intimate place that felt quieter than most bars in the city. Rossi nursed a scotch while Hotch stared at his whiskey, his mind elsewhere. He thought of the case, the current emptiness that filled his personal life with Jack beginning to pull away into his own world, and then that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. The soft overhead light highlighted your features, and for a moment, Hotch forgot how to breathe. You seemed so at ease, lost in your book, unaware of the buzz of conversations around you.

“You’re staring,” Rossi said, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hotch blinked, dragging his gaze back to his drink. “I wasn’t staring.” He almost mumbled it under his breath, feeling like a kid caught red-handed. 

Rossi scoffed. “Sure you weren’t. Who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Hotch admitted reluctantly. “She just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, your neighbor has good taste in wine and literature,” Rossi remarked, glancing in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

Hotch shook his head, grimacing at the idea of making a move like that.. “She’s too young.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “How young are we talking?”

Hotch hesitated. “Late twenties, maybe. She looks young, but she doesn’t act it. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it would be inappropriate.”

“Why? Because she’s younger? Aaron, come on. She’s not a child.”

“I could be her father,” Hotch countered, his tone sharper than he intended; the words felt like poison on his lips. “What would she want with someone like me?”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. “You know, the younger ones have a way of keeping you young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Dave.”

Before Rossi could retort, you looked up from your book, your eyes landing on Hotch. Recognition lit up your face, and you smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. Hotch froze. The way you looked at him like you were genuinely happy to see him, made something in his chest ache.

“She’s smiling at you,” Rossi pointed out with a grin. “Now’s your chance.”

Hotch hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. What would he even say? But then you beckoned him over with a tilt of your head, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to take a leap.

Hotch lingered for a moment too long, his feet rooted to the floor as he debated whether to stay put or heed Rossi’s unsolicited advice. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, pride, or something else entirely keeping him from standing up. The thought of your smile, though—warm and inviting as it was—made the decision harder.

Rossi, ever perceptive, patted him on the back with a grin. “Go on, Aaron. I’m heading out anyway. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. Let me put it this way—don’t think about it too much. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.”

And with that, Rossi tossed back the rest of his scotch, clapped Hotch on the shoulder one more time, and left Hotch standing alone with his swirling thoughts.

He exhaled, trying to quiet the insecurities gnawing at him. What could he possibly offer someone like you? Yet the way you had smiled at him just moments ago—so genuine, so effortless—spoke to something deeper. Maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw himself: older, wearier, with too many ghosts lingering in the corners of his mind. Maybe you just saw…him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hotch pushed back from the barstool, his steps steady but deliberate as he approached you. You glanced up as he neared, your smile widening. That warmth in your eyes—it was enough to melt some of the tension in his chest.

“Hey, Aaron,” you said, your voice carrying the kind of excitement that made it seem like you’d been hoping he’d show up. You patted the empty seat next to you. “Join me?”

He hesitated briefly before sitting down, your proximity somehow calming and unnerving at once. The soft scent of your perfume wrapped around him, and he caught himself lingering too long on the way your lips curved upward when you smiled.

“Nice choice,” you said, gesturing to the glass he’d brought with him. “I’d guess it’s a single malt whiskey. Neat.”

Hotch tilted his head, impressed. “That’s right.”

You chuckled, holding your own glass of wine. “You don’t strike me as anything less.”

His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re precise,” you said easily, leaning slightly toward him. “Thoughtful, composed. Someone like you wouldn’t order anything overly sweet or complicated. You keep things simple, but you expect quality.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how accurately you had read him. It wasn’t often someone did that, not even outside his work at the BAU. Yet here you were, confidently pulling back the layers he thought he kept well hidden.

It also caught him off guard because here he was, someone who was taught to keep himself a mystery while reading others, but it was now the other way around. You read him like a book while he could not put his finger on what it was about you. 

“You’re observant,” he remarked, lifting his glass. “Not many people would pick up on that.”

You shrugged, your smile modest but pleased. “I like to notice things. It’s useful.”

“You could’ve been a profiler,” he said without thinking, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting a career change.”

You laughed softly, and the sound settled in his chest like warmth on a cold night. “I think I’ll stick to what I do for now.”

“And what is it you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Despite your shared moments in the hallway and now this unexpected meeting, he realized he knew so little about you beyond the fact that you were maddeningly intriguing.

“I’m in finance,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Nothing too exciting, but it’s steady, and I’m good at it.”

That explained some things—your confidence, poise, and ability to afford an apartment in his building. Still, he found himself wondering how someone your age could have such a solid footing in life.

“You’re impressive,” he said honestly, surprising himself with the admission.

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give out compliments lightly.”

He laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, covering everything from favorite books to why this particular bar was a hidden gem. You were strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was your confidence and the way you carried yourself that held his attention. Yet, as much as he enjoyed your company, that familiar self-doubt crept in whenever the age gap came to mind.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” you said, interrupting his spiral.

“Just wondering,” he began carefully, “how someone so young ended up being so…accomplished.”

Your brow lifted slightly, and then you smiled, a touch of mischief in your expression. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

Hotch cleared his throat, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “I wouldn’t ask directly.”

“Well, for the record,” you said, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken, “I’m twenty-seven. And yes, I know I look younger. But I’ve worked hard to get here, and I don’t take it for granted.”

He nodded, letting your words sink in. Twenty-seven. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the brilliance of those younger than him, he’d worked side-by-side with Reid, more years than he could count, but the gap still gave him pause. There was no denying the respect he felt for you, nor the pull that kept him rooted to your side.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful smile. “Did I pass whatever test you were giving me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You weren’t being tested.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased before lifting your glass. “To new neighbors, then?”

Hotch clinked his glass against yours, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “To new neighbors.”

As you both sipped your drinks, Hotch couldn’t help but feel that maybe Rossi was right. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy something—or someone—good for a change.

As the bartender passed by, you reached for your wallet, signaling for the check. Hotch, noticing, set his own glass down and spoke before you could finish.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

You looked up, slightly surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” he replied, already sliding his card across the counter to the bartender. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in your expression, but eventually, you smiled. “Well, thank you, Aaron. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as the bartender returned his card. It wasn’t just about paying—it was the subtle act of taking care of you. Even though he’d only known you for a short while, the protective instinct that came naturally to him was already stirring. His line of work had shown him too much about the world, and the idea of you walking alone at night didn’t sit well.

As you both stood to leave, Hotch glanced at you. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” you said, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “I take public transportation to work. I was just going to grab a cab home.”

Hotch frowned slightly. The thought of you waiting for a cab at this hour didn’t sit right with him. “That’s not necessary. We’re going to the same place anyway—I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, but there was a softness in your tone like you were touched by the offer.

“I insist,” he repeated, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

For a moment, you studied him, then gave a small, amused shake of your head. “All right, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

The two of you walked out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Hotch instinctively slowed his pace to match yours, his hand twitching briefly at his side as though tempted to offer it. When you reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you teased lightly as you slid into the seat.

Hotch smirked faintly as he closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side. “Not entirely.”

The ride started quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but after a moment, you turned to him.

“So,” you began, “do you always offer rides to your neighbors, or am I just special?”

Hotch’s lips curved in a faint smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But...I’ve seen too much in my work to feel comfortable letting you take a cab alone.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“I work for the FBI,” he said simply, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, clearly intrigued. “So you’re a profiler?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We study behavior to catch criminals. Serial offenders, mostly.”

“That explains why you’re so observant,” you said with a small smile. “And why you seem so serious all the time.”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well,” you said, your tone thoughtful, “I think it’s a good thing. That you care enough to notice things, I mean.”

He glanced at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. When Hotch pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, he turned off the engine and looked at you.

“Thank you again,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “For the ride. And the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You lingered for a moment, your hand on the door handle, before turning to him with a small smile. “You’re a good neighbor, Aaron.”

Hotch sat for a moment longer, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he watched you head toward the elevator. Something in the way you said his name lingered in his mind, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of the car. By the time he caught up to you at the elevator, you were already pressing the button for your floor.

“Thought you were going to stay in the car all night,” you teased lightly, glancing over at him as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just taking my time,” he replied, his voice steady but faintly amused as he stepped in beside you.

The elevator ride was quiet at first, the kind of comfortable silence that seemed to follow your conversations. Hotch leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while you stood with your arms crossed lightly over your chest. He caught himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the relaxed way you carried yourself despite the late hour.

When the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you both stepped out and walked down the hall side by side. The muffled hum of the building at night—the soft whir of air vents and the occasional creak of floorboards—felt strangely intimate.

“I still can’t believe we live right across the hall from each other,” you said, breaking the silence as you reached your doors. You turned to face him, your expression playful. “Guess I’ll have to start baking cookies or something neighborly like that.”

He smirked faintly, a rare softness crossing his features. “I’m not sure I’d have time to return the favor.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide,” you said with a mock sigh, your grin widening.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob to your apartment. “Thank you again, Aaron. For everything tonight.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. “It really wasn’t any trouble.”

As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you glanced back at him one last time. “Goodnight, neighbor.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, he stood there in the hallway, staring at your door. That same warmth from earlier crept through him, something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he turned and entered his own apartment, already wondering when he’d see you again.

The night you shared a ride home lingered in Aaron Hotchner’s mind longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was nothing—just neighborly kindness—but the warmth in your voice when you said his name and the way you looked at him as if he weren’t just another face in the crowd were impossible to forget. There was something about you, something that stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years.

But life moved on. Cases came and went, the BAU’s relentless pace leaving little room for personal indulgences. Still, when he’d return home to the quiet comfort of his apartment, he often found himself glancing at your door across the hall, wondering what you might be doing, who you might be with. He chided himself for the thoughts—he was too old, too busy, and too set in his ways to be thinking of you like this.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon off when he found himself in the building’s mailroom with Jack. The teenager was practically vibrating with anticipation, tearing through envelopes in search of one in particular.

“Anything?” Hotch asked, glancing up from his own stack of bills and promotional flyers.

“Not yet,” Jack muttered, his brow furrowed as he sorted through the last few pieces of mail. “Do you think maybe it got lost?”

Hotch shook his head with a small smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and when he looked up, there you were, a cheerful smile lighting up your face as you entered the mailroom.

“Hey, neighbor,” you greeted, your eyes flicking between him and Jack. “And who’s this?”

“This is my son, Jack,” Hotch said, stepping aside slightly so you could get a better look. “Jack, this is our neighbor, [Your Name].”

Jack looked up from his stack of envelopes, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” you said warmly. “You’re the spitting image of your dad, you know.”

Jack wrinkled his nose playfully, glancing at Hotch. “I hope not too much.”

You laughed, the sound drawing a small chuckle from Hotch as well. “What’s got you so focused on the mail today?” you asked Jack, noting his eager expression.

“I’m waiting to hear back about a summer art program I applied to,” Jack said, his tone hopeful but tinged with nervousness.

“Art? That’s fantastic!” you said, genuinely impressed. “What kind of art are you into?”

“Mostly sketching,” Jack replied, his shyness melting under your encouragement. “But I’ve been getting into painting too.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” you said sincerely. “I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled, visibly more relaxed in your presence. Hotch observed the interaction quietly, noting how effortlessly you connected with his son. It tugged at something deep in his chest, that mix of admiration and longing he was becoming all too familiar with around you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you said, turning to Hotch. “I’m throwing a little cocktail party at my place next Friday night to celebrate settling into the apartment. Nothing fancy, just a few friends and some good drinks. You and Jack should come.”

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing. A cocktail party? With your friends? He imagined himself standing awkwardly in a room full of people your age, wondering if he belonged there at all. But before he could respond, you added with a playful smile, “I really hope you’ll come. It won’t be the same without my favorite neighbor.”

The glimmer of hope in your tone, the sincerity in your smile—it made his chest tighten. Still, the self-conscious voice in his head whispered doubts. Would your friends think he was too old? Would you regret inviting him once he showed up?

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, his voice steady but uncertain. “With my schedule, it can be hard to plan ahead.”

“Well,” you said, your tone light but insistent, “I’m holding out hope. And Jack, you’re more than welcome too. I’ll make sure we have something non-alcoholic that’s party-worthy.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

Your laughter was warm, and it stayed with Hotch long after you left the mailroom, waving goodbye with a cheerful promise to see him soon. As you disappeared down the hallway, he felt that familiar tug again—part curiosity, part hope, and part fear.

Did he imagine the glimmer in your eyes the other night? The way your words seemed to linger just for him? Or was it possible—just possible—that there was something real here? Something worth risking the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself to explore.

As Jack tugged his sleeve, reminding him they still had to sort the rest of the mail, Hotch shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Whatever the answer, he couldn’t deny the pull you had on him. Maybe he’d find out next weekend.

Friday night found Aaron Hotchner in his office, the quiet hum of the BAU’s bullpen far below offering no distraction from the thoughts circling his mind. The stack of case files on his desk was unusually light for a change, and the rare lull in their schedule had granted him a night off. Yet, instead of heading home or unwinding with a book, he sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the invitation you’d extended days earlier.

Jack was spending the night at a teammate’s house for a soccer sleepover, leaving Hotch without the comfortable excuse of parenting duties. But the thought of showing up at your party, surrounded by people your age, feeling out of place—it made him hesitate.

He was still mulling it over when a knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, he found Emily Prentiss leaning against the frame, a file folder in hand.

“Final report from the Clarke case,” she said, stepping inside and placing the folder on his desk. “You’re officially done for the night.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his tone clipped but polite.

Emily tilted her head, studying him with the kind of perceptiveness he usually reserved for himself. “You look…pensive. Something on your mind?”

For a moment, Hotch considered brushing her off, offering some vague comment about work or letting the conversation drop entirely. But then he remembered how much he valued openness among his team, a quality he wished they were better about embracing. Perhaps it was time to practice what he preached.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight. My neighbor’s hosting it.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on her lips. “A cocktail party? Sounds fancy. What’s the dilemma?”

“It’s not about the party itself,” he admitted. “It’s…her.”

Her curiosity sharpened, and she took a seat across from him. “Okay, now you have my attention. Tell me more about ‘her.’”

“She’s my neighbor,” he began, his voice even but hesitant. “She’s in her late twenties, successful, confident. We’ve talked a few times, and she’s…invited me tonight.”

Emily’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral enough not to tease. “And you’re debating whether or not to go because…?”

“Because I’m twice her age,” Hotch said bluntly. “Because I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. And because I’m not sure if the interest I think I’m seeing from her is even real or if I’ve imagined it.”

Emily let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Hotch, you’re overthinking this. And so what? Age is just a number. What matters is the connection.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple. She’s…young, full of life. I’m a widower with a teenage son and a career that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“All the more reason to go,” Emily countered. “Look, you’ve spent years putting everyone else first—your son, your team, your cases. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Took a chance?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in front of him. Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

“Hotch, you’re allowed to let yourself be happy. And from the way you’re talking about her, it sounds like she could be someone worth getting to know better.”

He glanced up at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “What if it’s inappropriate?”

“Now, you’re definitely over thinking this,” Emily snorted, “You’ll handle it like you handle everything else—with class and integrity,” she said with a shrug. “But you won’t know unless you try. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s just a party, or maybe it’s the start of something more. Either way, you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Hotch let her words sink in, the weight of his own self-doubt pressing against the hope he’d buried deep. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on his lips.

“You’re relentless,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“It’s part of my charm,” Emily replied, standing and smoothing out her blazer. “Now go home, get dressed, and show up. And Hotch?”

He looked up at her, his brows lifting slightly.

“Make a move,” she added with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

As she left his office, Hotch sat for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out, the decision finally made. Tonight, he would go to your party. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out if the glimmer of hope he thought he saw in your eyes was real.

Hotch stood outside your apartment door, adjusting his tie as he willed himself to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly, but something close—a self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years. The faint sound of laughter and soft music spilled out from your apartment, and for a moment, he considered turning around.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him, the hope in your voice when you’d said you really wanted him to come. That was enough to steel his resolve. He took a breath and knocked.

When you opened the door, Hotch’s breath hitched. You stood there, radiant, wearing an outfit that was the perfect balance of elegance and allure. It hugged your figure just enough to make his pulse quicken, yet the overall effect was sophisticated and tasteful. The soft light from your apartment cast a warm glow over you, highlighting every curve and detail.

“Aaron,” you said, your face lighting up with a smile that felt like it was just for him. Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, catching him completely off guard.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice steady despite the way your touch had sent a jolt of something warm through him.

“I’m so glad you made it,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting briefly on his arms. “I’ve been wondering all night if you’d show.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m glad I did.”

You beamed at that, stepping aside to let him in. As Hotch entered, he took in the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the careful details of your apartment. It was stunning—every corner thoughtfully arranged, every piece of furniture and decor intentional. The warm, inviting tones of the room mirrored his own taste, but where his home was functional, yours was artfully executed.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with titles that made him want to linger and browse. His eyes caught on a few photographs interspersed among the shelves—travel shots, candid moments, and one of you laughing with someone who looked like an older family member. The charm of it all struck him immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“You’ve done an amazing job with this place,” he said, his tone genuine.

“Thank you,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you like it. I put a lot of thought into it—wanted it to feel like home.”

“It does,” he said, glancing around again. “It suits you.”

You smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Where’s Jack?”

“He had teenage obligations,” Hotch replied, a hint of humor in his tone. “A soccer sleepover.”

You laughed softly. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you could come. I know your schedule’s crazy, so it means a lot.”

He was about to respond when you gently touched his arm, guiding him further inside. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect as you led him toward the small group gathered in your living room. But as you began introducing him, your words caught him off guard.

“This is Aaron, my favorite neighbor and new friend,” you said warmly, gesturing to him with a smile.

Favorite neighbor. New friend. The way you said it was so easy, so unselfconscious, that it disarmed him entirely.

The group—five or six people, all older than he’d expected, not just a group of twenty-something-year-olds partying like he imagined—greeted him with nods and polite smiles. It was immediately clear that you surrounded yourself with maturity and wisdom, which made sense. You were wise beyond your years, someone who fit seamlessly into this crowd despite being the youngest by far.

Hotch felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you moved gracefully between your guests, checking on everyone while still managing to include him in the conversation. It wasn’t just your decorating style that impressed him—it was the way you carried yourself, the natural elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from you.

As the evening settled into a warm rhythm, Hotch found himself standing near one of your bookshelves, thumbing through the spine of a title that caught his eye. The sound of your laughter drifted from across the room, and he couldn’t help but glance in your direction. You were chatting animatedly with one of your coworkers, your smile radiant, your presence magnetic. He marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the room, making every guest feel like they were the most important person there.

A moment later, you appeared at his side, a delicate martini glass in your hand, the liquid inside a rich, dark brown.

“For you,” you said, holding it out with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking the glass cautiously. “And what exactly is this?”

“An espresso martini,” you replied, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “My specialty. I make a mean one, and I’m certain you’ll like it.”

He regarded the drink with a playfully suspicious look, tilting the glass slightly to inspect it. 

“I know,” you said easily, gesturing toward the glass. “But I see you leaving in the mornings with your coffee cup. Think of it as adult coffee in a martini glass.”

He chuckled softly at that, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “Though, if this doesn’t suit your taste, I did pick up a whiskey I think you’ll like. It’s over by the bar.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, your smile warm. “I wanted to. Besides, I hope this isn’t the last time we spend time together, so I’m sure we’ll enjoy that whiskey at some point—even if it’s not tonight.”

Something about the way you said it—the quiet confidence, the way you looked at him like he mattered—made his chest tighten.

“Well,” he said, lifting the glass slightly, “I suppose I can’t turn down a signature drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Try it. I promise it’s good.”

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The rich, velvety flavor hit him immediately—the perfect balance of espresso, a hint of sweetness, and the warmth of vodka mingling with the coffee liqueur. He lowered the glass, nodding slightly as a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s…better than I expected,” he admitted.

“Better than expected?” you repeated, laughing softly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good. Really.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you said confidently, your eyes sparkling. “It’s got just enough sophistication to suit you.”

He chuckled again, a rare sound that felt more natural in your presence than it had in a long time. As you stood beside him, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background.

For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt like more than just a profiler, more than just a father or a leader. He felt seen. And, for once, he didn’t mind indulging in the moment.

As the evening wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Guests slowly trickled out, offering you hugs and handshakes on their way to the door. Each one left with a warm smile, a testament to your natural charm as a host. Hotch lingered, sipping the espresso martini you’d made him, more out of a desire to stay close than a need to finish the drink.

You returned from the door after bidding goodbye to the last pair of guests, finding him still standing near the bookshelf where the two of you had shared most of your conversation that night. His shoulders looked more relaxed now, the edges of his stoic demeanor softened in the warm glow of your apartment.

“Well,” you said with a soft laugh, glancing around at the aftermath of the party—empty glasses, plates, and the faint echo of laughter still hanging in the air. “That’s it. A successful cocktail party in the books.”

“You made it look effortless,” Hotch said, his voice warm. “But I know it’s anything but.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge as you started gathering a few glasses from the table.

He stepped forward, setting his now-empty glass down and reaching for a plate. “Let me help.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you said, waving him off. “You’re a guest. Go relax.”

“Consider it repayment for the drink,” he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head but relenting as he began stacking dishes with practiced ease. The two of you moved through the space in comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the night. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you both reached for something and each time, he felt a quiet thrill that he was certain he shouldn’t.

When the room was mostly back to its pristine state, you turned to him, holding a dish towel and looking a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know. But thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his tone soft but sincere. “I’m not much of a sit-back-and-relax type anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer to him.

The quiet that settled between you felt heavy in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t sure what it was about you—the way you seemed to see right through him, the way you made him feel like he could finally let his guard down—but it made him want to say something, to do something, even if it was just a small step forward.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but…it was nice.”

“I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “I was hoping you would.”

The sincerity in your voice struck him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make his heart race.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his face. “Aaron?”

“I…enjoy spending time with you,” he said, his tone careful but honest. “More than I expected to.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and you stepped just a fraction closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, his voice steady now.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft light of your apartment casting gentle shadows across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but when you placed a hand lightly on his arm, your touch warm and grounding, he felt the last of his reservations slip away.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice low. “I should probably head back.”

You nodded, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. And for everything tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

As he walked back across the hall to his apartment, he felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic moment, but it was something—a step forward. And for now, that was enough.

In the day that followed, Hotch pulled his go-bag over his shoulder when he noticed something out of place under his apartment door. A small, cream-colored card peeked out from beneath the frame. He bent down, retrieving it with a curious furrow in his brow.

It was a card, handwritten in neat, elegant script.

Aaron,

Thank you for coming last night. It was wonderful having you there—it made the evening that much more special.

If you ever feel like sharing that whiskey, or even just enjoying each other’s company (with or without alcohol involved, haha), give me a call. I’d like that.

Hotch stood there for a moment, the weight of his bag forgotten. He read the note twice, his eyes lingering on the small smiley face you’d drawn next to your name. It was a simple gesture, but it left him feeling both surprised and oddly warm.

He slipped the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, shaking his head with the faintest smile. The timing couldn’t have been worse—he had a flight to catch and a case that demanded his full attention—but for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave. 

Duty called, and as the jet soared through the sky, Hotch pulled the card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the textured surface. He wasn’t a man who took chances lightly, and his initial instinct was to keep the card tucked away to avoid what could become a complication in his carefully constructed life.

But then he thought of you—the way your smile had lit up the room last night, the effortless warmth in your voice, and the quiet confidence in the note you’d left. You weren’t pushing; you were simply opening a door, one he realized he wanted to step through.

He stared at the number on the card, debating. Finally, he reached for his phone, texting you something simple but deliberate.

Aaron: Thank you for the note. I’m currently out of state on a case, but when I’m back, I’d like to meet for coffee.

He stared at the message for a moment, wondering if it felt too casual or too formal. But then he thought of you—your easy smile, your genuine warmth—and decided that simplicity was best. He pressed send before he could overthink it.

For the rest of the flight, his mind kept circling back to the text. He wasn’t sure if you’d respond right away, or at all, but the act of reaching out was enough to stir something unfamiliar in him. A quiet kind of hope.

You: Coffee sounds perfect. Just let me know when you're back, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear. Be safe out there, Aaron.

When he read your reply, a small smile tugged at his lips. He slid the phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his seat. The case ahead loomed large in his mind, but for the first time in a while, there was something waiting for him on the other side of it. And for now, that was enough.

The case continued far too long, but Hotch finally stepped off the BAU jet just as the first rays of morning light broke over the tarmac. The case had been grueling—long nights, dead ends, and the weight of too many lives disrupted. But they’d managed to close it, and now all he could think about was the coffee date waiting for him. 

The team moved silently, exhaustion etched into their faces as they grabbed their bags and headed for the SUVs waiting nearby. Emily caught his eye as they walked toward the cars.

“Plans for the morning, Hotch?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Just coffee,” he replied simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Emily’s brow quirked, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. She knew it wasn’t like Hotch to not go settle back into the constraints of his desk, post-case. She had hoped he’d taken her advice when it came to you. 

“Coffee, huh? Well, enjoy.”

Hotch gave her a faint smirk in response but said nothing more. He loaded his bag into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV, his mind already shifting to you.

He hadn’t told you the details of the case, of course, but he’d sent you a text two nights ago letting you know he’d be back this morning and suggesting the café. 

He arrived at the café with minutes to spare, parking his SUV and grabbing a quick look in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—there was no denying that—but he decided against going home to change first. Something about coming straight here felt more honest, like he wasn’t trying to put on a front. Besides, he doubted you’d mind.

When he stepped inside the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, chasing away some of the lingering fatigue. He chose a table near the back, where the noise of the bustling morning crowd was muted. As he sat down, he checked his phone, confirming the time.

You’d be here any minute.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself anticipating something outside of work. And as he waited, he allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something he hadn’t dared to imagine for years.

The sun cast a warm glow over the café, soft light filtering through the wide windows. Hotch had chosen a quiet table near the back, away from the bustling chatter of patrons. He arrived a little early, a habit born of years of precision and punctuality, and ordered a simple black coffee while he waited.

His gaze drifted toward the door as he wondered what to say to you. He’d thought about this meeting—about you—more than he cared to admit during the case. And now, with the moment so close, he wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions that came with it.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and there you were, stepping inside with an easy smile. You spotted him quickly and made your way over, looking effortlessly put together in a way that still felt warm and approachable.

“Hi,” you said, your smile widening as you reached the table.

“Hi,” Hotch replied, standing instinctively to greet you.

You set your bag down, glancing at his coffee. “Already ahead of me, I see. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Just black,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Classic,” you said approvingly. “Let me grab something, and I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped away to order, Hotch took a steadying breath. It was strange how easily you disarmed him with just your presence. When you returned with a latte, he stood again, waiting until you were seated before sitting himself.

“So,” you began, wrapping your hands around your cup. “How was the case?”

“Challenging,” he admitted. “But we managed to resolve it.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I imagine they’re all challenging in their own ways. I don’t know how you do it.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what I’m trained for. Though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take its toll.”

“I can imagine,” you said softly. “It’s why I was surprised you even had the energy to come to my party last week.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It was a good distraction. I’m glad I went.”

Your smile softened. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the two of you sipped your drinks in companionable silence. The warm atmosphere of the café seemed to cocoon you from the outside world, giving Hotch a rare sense of ease. But the weight of unspoken words pressed against him, and he knew he couldn’t leave without saying something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You looked up, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh?”

“More than I probably should,” he admitted, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I try not to let my personal life interfere with my work—or vice versa—but…you’ve been on my mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss for words. “Aaron…”

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued, his tone careful but sincere. “I don’t know where this is going or what it means, but I do know that I enjoy spending time with you. More than I expected to.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

That admission caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He felt a quiet relief, a sense of validation for the risk he’d taken in being honest.

“Well,” you said, leaning slightly forward, your tone playful yet soft. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t sure where this is going. But I think I’d like to find out.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “So would I.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily as it always seemed to. For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more—and for once, he wasn’t afraid of what that might mean.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[grapejuicenharry]

Hello, how is your day going? I don't know if you are actually receiving requests, if not feel free to ignore this. What about you and Harry fighting in the car, maybe you're coming from a date and Harry was really late, the walk home is difficult with him and you start a fight, so she decides to get out of the car and walk home alone.

(English is not my first language so I apologize for any spelling errors that may have been made)

a/n: hello! My day is going well, thank u for asking. And yes, I do receive requests. No need to apologize—your english is great!

warnings: angst with a happy ending (sorry I couldn’t leave them like this!)

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙��� . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

It was 9 p.m., and you had been sitting at this restaurant for the past hour, waiting for Harry. Tonight was supposed to be your date night—something planned since last week. You'd even reminded him this morning, but here you were, alone.

It had been Harry's idea to take you out, to spend time together, to simply enjoy each other's company after weeks of him being swamped with studio work.

When he'd suggested it, you were over the moon, practically giddy at the thought of a night just for the two of you. Just boyfriend and girlfriend. 

You'd dressed up for him in the sheer black dress he loves so much, paired with your black stilettos that accentuated your legs. Minimal make up, save for the bold red lips that added a sensual edge to your look. You’d spent over two hours getting ready, perfecting every detail for tonight. But once again, you sat... disappointed. 

He was late. not just ten or fifteen minutes, but a whole one hour. 

Tears started to gather up in your waterline as the waiter approached your table for the third time, politely asking if you were ready to order. You forced a tight smile, declining him once again, murmuring that you were waiting for your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but feel like the staff was probably laughing behind your back—this poor woman, sitting alone, waiting like a fool. 

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t an emergency or unavoidable crisis keeping Harry away. He’d used the same excuse too many times: Got busy at the studio, forgot to check my phone. Honestly, you were tired at this point of always coming second, but you know your pathetic heart will forgive him the second he starts blubbering out apologizes because you loved him—and you know he loved you, too. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

You discretely wiped a stray tear that has rolled down your cheeks as the sound of commotion at the door caught your attention. Your eyes glanced to the entrance, and there he was—Harry, rushing inside, his eyes searching for her. 

The second he spotted you, he knew he’d fucked up. 

Harry strode over to your table, looking down at you with guilt written all over his face. His shoulders sagged as he spoke. 

“Y/N—fuck, I’m sorr—“ 

You stood up immediately, not wanting to hear a word from him. Grabbing your purse from the table, you turned around and walked away. Ignoring him.

Outside, the cold air hit you like a slap, your hair whipping against your face as tears spilled freely down your cold cheeks. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, desperate to hold it together. 

“Y/N, please—listen to me.” Harry pleads from behind her, his voice begging. He reached out to touch your arm, but you instinctively stepped back, putting more space between you. 

"Don't,” you muttered, wiping your tears. 

Harry froze, his hand hanging in the air for a second before dropping back. 

His heart breaks looking at your state, your mascara slightly smudged, your nose red because of crying, and your cheeks red with biting cold. You looked so vulnerable, and yet you wouldn’t let him near you. The realization crumbles him from inside. 

“I don’t want to hear anything; I want to go home. Just take me home or I’ll book a cab.” 

You whisper, sniffling, your voice hoarse and shaky. 

Harry’s throat tightened, but he nodded, silently stepping forward to open the car door for you. Without a word, you slid into the passenger seat. You fumbled with your seatbelt and stared outside the window. not glancing a look over him as he starts driving. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The drive home is suffocatingly silent. The air inside felt heavy with tension and unspoken words. The only sounds were the low murmur of the radio and the faint hum of the engine in the background. 

Harry's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The tension was evident as his other hand rested idling on his thigh, occasionally rubbing at his jaw in frustration. He wanted so badly to reach for your hand, to rest his palm on your thigh as he'd done countless times before. But he didn't. He couldn't.

It must have been forty minutes or an hour of driving in silence when you spoke, not able to sit in the tension atmosphere anymore. “Are we not going to talk about this?” You snaps.

Harry exhales sharply through his nose, trying to gauge a response: “What do you want me to say, love?" I said I was sorry.” 

Y/N scoffs at his words, her frustration bubbling over. “That’s the problem, Harry. You think an apology fixes everything. It’s not about saying sorry—it’s about not doing it in the first place. You knew how important tonight was for me.” 

Harry’s knuckles turn white on the wheel. “I didn’t get time to check my phone. I was so caught up in the studio—“

“Right, the studio.” Y/N interrupts bitterly, “Always the studio. Always something important than me.” 

The words hang heavy in the air; Harry’s shoulders stiffen. His lips press into a thin line as he pulls the car over the side of the door, and tires crunching against the gravel.

“What are you doing?” You ask, heart pounding.

Harry throws his car into the park and turns to you, his green eyes stormy and dark. “I don’t know what you want from me; I’m doing the best I can.” His voice was low but sharp. 

Your throat tightening at his words, shaking head, “Well, maybe your best isn’t good enough.” You whispers, trying to keep your tears at bay.

His eyes flicker, a flash of vulnerability breaking through his frustration, but you can’t take it back now. The tension feels unbearable. Before you could think, You unbuckles your seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asks.

“Home.” Y/N bites out, stepping out of the car. The crisp air waves through your hair, goosebumps rising in your body. “I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters back before opening the side of his door and stepping outside. 

“Ridiculous?” You whirl around, glaring at him. “What’s ridiculous is me sitting there, pretending that I’m not hurt. Whats ridiculous is you acting like this doesn’t matter” 

Harry’s chest heaves as he looks at you, searching for the right thing to say, but it doesn’t come fast enough; you turn around and start walking, your heels clicking against the pavement. 

You hear Harry calling your name, but you don’t turn around, knowing there is nothing for him to say that would make you feel better—nothing. The chill of air whooshes past you as you hug yourself tighter, wrapping your arms around you, and quicken your steps. 

The sound of his boots crunching against the ground, crisp leaves crushing beneath him as he follows you, the sound growing closer and closer, then you hear him say softly. 

“Y/N, please..stop."

Against your better judgement, you stop. You stop in your tracks at his words and turn around. Harry jogs and comes closer to you; this time you let him... wanting to feel him close. His face morphs into something more painful than that clenched jaw like earlier. The lines of frustration are replaced by something softer, something that aches your chest. 

“I get it,” his voice low, laced with hurt. “You’re hurt. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have been late, and I shouldn’t have brushed it off like it didn’t matter. It did; you matter to me.” 

The sincerity in his words cracks your heart walls, the river of tears that you’ve been holding threatening to spill over.

"Harry, it's not just about tonight," you say, your voice trembling. "It's about feeling like I'm always coming second to everything else in your life."

His shoulders drop, and he steps closer, his green eyes fixed on yours. "You're not second, love," he says; the words sound like a plea. "You're the only thing that keeps me going half the time. And I know I've been worse at showing that, but I'll do better. I promise you, I will."

You blink at him, trying to brush away the tears. "You say that, but—"

Before you can finish, his hand gently takes yours. "Look at me," he says softly, and when you do, there's nothing but sincerity written all over his face.

"I'll prove it," he says. "Not just tonight, not just tomorrow—every day. I'll make time. For you. For us. You're the most important thing to me, Y/N. I swear it."

His words sink in, warming the cold that's settled deep in your chest. For a moment, neither of you speaks. 

Then, his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and you realize how much you missed the warmth of his touch; he gently touches them and kisses each of your fingers softly.

"Can I take you home now?" he asks tentatively, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before nodding, the fight in you ebbing away.

"Okay," you whispered.

He lets out a relieved sigh and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "Thank you," he murmurs into your hair. "I'll make it up to you, love. I promise."

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 29

CHARACTER: Jake "Hangman" Seresin

KINK: Costumes / Dress Up

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. Lingerie, Implied smut.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

Jake’s footsteps echoed through the entryway as he stepped inside, calling out, “Honey, I’m home.” His tone was half-joking, the lilt of his voice suggesting he’d had a good day, probably full of his usual swagger.

Then he stopped short, his eyes landing on you at the top of the stairs. You wore a snug, sharp-looking flight attendant’s uniform, complete with a little cap and red lipstick that caught the light as you smiled.

“Well, well… what have we here?” His grin spread, slow and wicked, as he let the door close behind him, arms folding as he took in the sight. “Looks like someone was waiting on me to get home.”

“Just a little surprise for my favorite pilot,” you replied, descending the stairs with a sway in your step, letting him see every detail of your outfit.

He chuckled, eyes glinting as he watched you come closer. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed. You really went all out for this,” he murmured, the cocky drawl unmistakable in his tone. “You here to serve me, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I’m here to do a lot more than that.” You closed the distance between you two, placing your hands on his chest as you leaned in. “But I think I might be running a tighter ship than you’re used to.”

Jake’s eyebrows raised, but his smirk stayed firm. 

“Is that so?” He leaned down, voice dropping to a murmur against your ear. “You think you can handle me?”

“Care to find out?” You teased, feeling your pulse quicken as his arms wrapped around your waist.

Jake tilted his head, guiding you backward toward the stairs, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he murmured, “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart. Let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

With that, he led you toward the bedroom, his grip on you firm yet gentle as he continued to throw cocky remarks your way, each one stoking the playful tension that had the air between you sparking.

Jake barely had time to adjust before you nudged him backward onto the bed, his eyes widening just slightly as he landed on the mattress with a soft thud. For once, he seemed momentarily off-balance, but that signature smirk returned almost instantly as he watched you climb over him, one knee resting on either side of his hips.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises tonight,” he murmured, hands instinctively moving to your waist as you leaned down, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath.

“Guess you’re not the only one who can take charge,” you teased, letting your fingers trail along his chest before starting to undo the buttons on your uniform, one slow, deliberate motion at a time.

Jake’s eyes darkened, his cocky grin softening as he watched each button come undone, revealing flashes of scarlet lace beneath. 

“That’s the set you wore for my birthday,” he murmured, his gaze tracing the vibrant red lace peeking from beneath the fabric. “You remember what happened the last time you wore that, right?”

“Oh, I remember,” you replied, sliding the jacket off your shoulders and tossing it aside before leaning down to brush your lips over his jaw, savoring the way his breath caught.

Jake’s hands tightened on your waist as he let out a low chuckle, clearly feeling the shift in control, though he was still enjoying every second of it. “You’re playing dirty, sweetheart,” he drawled, a glint of pride and admiration in his eyes.

You grinned, leaning in close until your lips were just a whisper away from his. “Good. I’d hate to make it too easy for you.”

With that, you pressed him back against the pillows, letting him feel the heat of your intentions as you traced your hands over his shoulders, taking your time with every move. 

For once, Jake Seresin was speechless, completely at your mercy as you continued your slow, teasing reveal.

As you leaned over him, your movements became slower, more intentional. Jake’s hands rested at your waist, his touch no longer playful but warm and steady, grounding you both in the moment. His gaze softened, the earlier mischief replaced by something more genuine as he took in every inch of you, almost as though seeing you for the first time.

You let the last piece of your “uniform” fall to the floor, revealing the red lace set in full. Jake’s breath hitched as he reached up, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your arm. 

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere, no trace of the usual cockiness. “Can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“Maybe I wanted to remind you how much you mean to me,” you whispered, letting your fingers trail along his jawline, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

Jake’s hands slipped up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked up at you, his green eyes softer than you’d ever seen. 

“Trust me, I don’t need a reminder,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But I think I’m gonna remember this for a long, long time.”

You leaned down, your lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss that melted away the last of the teasing tension, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair.

Breaking away just enough to catch your breath, you looked down at him, feeling the intensity of his gaze as he took you in, as if savoring every second. 

“So… not too much for you, then?” you teased softly, brushing a hand over his shoulder.

Jake chuckled, pulling you back down to him. “Not even close,” he murmured, his voice roughened by the warmth between you. “Just means I’ll have to make it up to you. And trust me—I intend to.”

Jake’s fingers traced the delicate lace of your lingerie, his touch slow and reverent as he took his time, savoring every inch of you. His gaze roamed over you appreciatively, lingering on the vibrant red lace, before he slipped his hands to the straps on your shoulders, carefully sliding them down.

As the lace fell away, his eyes met yours, filled with warmth and intensity that left your heart racing. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his hands steady as they guided you closer.

You leaned into him, feeling the strength in his arms as he wrapped them around you, pulling you flush against him. He placed a gentle kiss on your collarbone, then another just below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, with a familiar glint in his eye, he murmured against your skin, “Hope you’re prepared, sweetheart. This flight might get a little… turbulent.” He chuckled softly, his voice thick with affection as his hands found your hips, positioning you carefully until you were perfectly aligned above him.

[hyuckiefluff]

drunk in you pt.2 | mark lee

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader genre: friends to lovers word count: 3.1k a/n: i meant to post this sooner but a whole week ended up going by without me realizing lol thank u for liking part 1 thoo content: semi-public sex (they’re in the living room of a shared apartment so), dry humping, usage of pet names like doll and baby, mark also calls reader a slut (this was self-indulgent hehe), oral (fem receiving), creampie, a fair amount of ass grabbing/slapping cuz mark is an ass guy in my head :))!! edit: it’s not even in my head anymore go watch his mommae challenge and tell me im not right

part 1

Life is funny in sick ways, because just a few minutes ago you were thinking about how badly you wanted to ride your best friend’s thighs but now that you were actually in a position to do so you couldn’t move. You were just straddling him, not even sure where to put your arms and shifting minimally scared that any movement against him could reveal how pathetically wet you were right now. I mean he had barely spoken a few words to you and you were putty in his hands, ready to give him anything that he asked for. So, why isn't he asking? Why isn't he doing something? He's the one who-...

Your train of thought came to an abrupt halt when his hands slid under your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass. A surprised yelp escaped your lips, almost sounding like a moan, and he seemed to like your reaction as he pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. Then he experimentally thrusted upwards, his hands keeping a firm grip on your ass, leaving no space between your clothed cores.

He took in your fucked out expression after every thrust as an invitation to keep doing it "M-mark…" you moaned, your nails practically carving into his shoulders.

Your head hung low, your hair acting like a curtain, blocking Mark's view from your flushed face. And he was not having it. He wanted to see you, he wanted to remember every little detail of you like this. So he grabbed a handful of your hair and gave it a gentle pull, making you lift your head. That put your neck in his line of sight, like a blank canvas he was ready to mark with his lips, leaving purples and reds behind.

He immediately latched his mouth on the space between your neck and clavicle, each kiss, bite and suck coaxing delicious moans from your throat, “F-fuck, keep…keep doing that” you managed to breathe out, your hands finding their way to his head. You attempted to grip his hair, but his haircut left you with little to grab onto. But that didn't stop you from trying, and he seemed to like it because as soon as you tugged, he groaned against your neck and sucked harder on a particular spot that sent tremors through your legs.

You were so focused on how good his mouth felt all over your skin that you completely missed the way his hand slid inside your panties. The sudden feeling of his fingers touching your folds making your brain short-circuit. So much so that you almost missed the words he whispered into your ear, “You’re already this wet just from a little teasing,” he tutted. 

His finger emerged from your panties, glistening with your arousal. That was a sight that would have embarrassed you under different circumstances but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that, not when he brought his finger to his lips and licked every drop of your essence off it all while making eye contact. A whimper got caught in your throat as you watched, captivated by the way he tasted you.

"How will it feel when I fuck you for real then, hm?" 

Your thighs instinctively tightened against his after those words left his mouth. A reaction that wasn't lost on him. His flushed face sported an even cockier smirk now, "You'd like that huh?" he quipped, extending the finger he'd just licked toward your mouth. Without hesitation, you took it in, not caring about the mingling of his saliva with yours.

"But here's the thing," he continued, "You've gotta ask for it."

You were having a hard time paying attention to what he was saying. Your brain being more focused on his finger abusing your mouth and the subtle but persistent thrust of his hips against yours. His words seemed like distant echoes, drowned out by the sensations wrapping around you. That is, until a sudden slap against your bare ass jolted you back to reality. His voice was low and commanding, "Ask me to fuck you, doll."

His gaze bore into you, intense and almost predatory, "Please… fuck me, Mark," the plea slipped from your lips easily and before you could fully process your own words, he was lifting you up.  You expected him to take you to his room upstairs, but instead, he started walking right up to the big couch in front. 

Certainly he wasn’t planning to fuck you in the middle of the living room, where any of the boys could just walk in on the scene, right? Your hazy brain couldn't even remember if Jaemin had gone back to his room. The last you knew, he had been somewhere near the kitchen, possibly passed out. But if he were to walk in here and…

Your thoughts were once again interrupted by Mark lowering you onto the couch and immediately discarding your soaked panties. He spread your legs a little bit more and made eye contact with you right before his head was disappearing between your legs. Things were moving so fast but you couldn't bring yourself to think about the consequences of doing this right now when it felt so damn good.

The heat pulling in your lower stomach intensified as he used his nose to nudge against your entrance and with one swift move of his tongue against your core he had you losing your mind.

“Oh.. god-.. Mark… fuck…that feels so-” you tried to voice the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you but your words broke into fragmented moans and gasps.

Your fingers clenched in a tight grip on his short hair, urging him further against your core. You were so desperate and it was embarrassingly obvious. But you felt his chuckles resonate against your core, so he clearly found it amusing. His tongue danced and explored every sweet spot slowly, making you see sounds and hear colors. But, it wasn't enough. The ache inside you demanded more.

Your need for him to fuck you into tomorrow was almost unbearable.

"Mark…" you called out to him, but it seemed he was too focused on eating you out to hear you. His own desperation was also palpable, clear by the way his hips rutted against the couch. His fingers joined his tongue sliding inside you one by one. The simultaneous ministrations threatened to push you over the edge. If he kept up this pace, you would definitely cum all over his face.

His gaze locked onto yours immediately as he pulled away from your core. The sight of his swollen lips glistening with your arousal, and his hair sticking to his forehead leaving you with an image that would replay in your head for many nights to come.

"Are you close, doll?" his focus on your reactions intensified as he coaxed you, "Aw, look at your pretty fucked out face, cum for me, okay baby?"

His words and the relentless pumping of his fingers were enough to bring you over the edge of an explosive orgasm “Oh my go-," you moaned, your voice a chorus of curses mingled with his name.

This was the first time in your life you’d actually orgasmed after being asked to. His tongue wasn’t just good at eating your pussy, he was also good with words. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. But before you could fully recover, Mark grabbed your legs and quickly flipped you onto your stomach. Your dress was hiked up, baring your ass to him. Another firm slap echoed through the room, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the hunger in his eyes as he looked over your curves, a satisfied smile tugged at your lips as you confirmed that Mark was very much an ass guy– Haechan owes you $10.

“Can’t believe my best friend is about to blow my back out," you muttered with an amused grin, the words directed more to yourself. However, Mark's snort indicated that he heard you loud and clear. "This is quite the bonding experience, don’t you think?," he said playfully and the boyish smile on his face didn’t quite match his actions. He pulled his dick out in one swift move and you felt almost embarrassed at how your mouth watered upon seeing his length and girth. You’re so glad he prepped you with his fingers before, otherwise you don’t think you could take all of him.

“What’s wrong? Never seen one this big?” you rolled your eyes. This was a side of Mark you hadn't seen before – this level of cockiness – but given what he was packing, you guess he had every right to flaunt it.

“How about you shut up and fuck me?” 

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he seized your hips and gave them a teasing squeeze as he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Wait, shit"  he cursed under his breath, and you turned on time to see him run a hand frustratedly across his face "I don't have a condom,"

You grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward you. "I'll take the morning-after pill, just please, fuck me already.” the man didn’t need much convincing because before you knew it, he was gradually pushing himself inside you. 

The room echoed with his grunts and muffled moans as he pushed deeper inside. You struggled to stifle your own cries, but his generous stretch brought tears to your eyes, and your lip was surely going to bruise from the excessive biting.

"Shit... doll... you're... you're squeezing me so hard," he grunted, his fingers digging into your waist with a grip that promised to leave marks. Once he bottomed out, his hold on you relaxed. After the initial discomfort passed, you found yourself moaning at the intoxicating sensation of being filled completely. He gave you a brief moment to adapt to his size, peppering your backside with kisses before seeking your consent to move. And only after a strained "Please" escaped your lips, he started moving.

Though he started slow, his thrusts were anything but soft. The explicit sounds of your sticky bodies colliding filled the air, almost scandalously loud, and you couldn't help but wonder if the other guys could hear it from their rooms. It was almost as if Mark could read your mind, because he took hold of your jaw and drew you flush against his body. The change in position momentarily stifled your moans. “If you keep being this loud, the guys will surely hear how good I’m fucking you right now…” he bit your lower lip, drawing a weak whimper from you.

“But maybe that's what you want, huh? You like the idea of them hearing?… hmm.. Look how nicely you're clenching around me after I put that thought in your pretty, twisted mind.” He thrusted hard against you, this new position putting extra pressure on your muscles and you felt like you might collapse any second, but Mark was so in tune with your body language that he noticed this and swiftly flipped you over again. 

Now face to face, you had an unobstructed view of Mark Lee thrusting into you. A faint furrow adorned his forehead, and his flushed complexion extended from his neck to his cheeks. It also struck you that he had taken off his shirt somewhere along the way, exposing the expanse of his soft skin. Seizing the opportunity, your hands roamed freely across his torso, fingers tracing the contours you'd always secretly admired. You wanted to kiss it and bite it, and what was stopping you? You pulled Mark closer to you by his necklace and this sudden closeness seemed to have caught him off guard because his pace faltered a bit, you took this chance to start leaving a trail of kisses on his chest and collarbones. The soft moans he emitted as your lips grazed his skin were almost enough to send you over the edge once more. Your erratic pace was matching his unhurried thrusts as your hips met in the middle. In response, he snatched one of your legs, hoisting it onto his shoulder to penetrate even deeper.

“Shi–... you feel so, so fucking good, doll.” Mark groaned against your ear. Your eyes met as you tried to pull him impossibly closer by the hips, and at that moment you wished that eyes could talk because he was looking at you in a way he never had before. Good sex did funny things to people, you were probably his favorite person right now, if the way he was smiling like an idiot was any indication. 

“Wha..what?” you asked, trying to match his smile but the way he kept hitting that specific spot had your expressions morphing in pleasure. “Be honest… how-..fuck... how long have you wanted me to fuck you?” he said, his eyes shifting from yours to the point where your bodies joined, the sight of his dick pumping in and out of you enough to make him want to go crazy.

"T-this isn’t the time for that," you managed to say, your head lolling back until it met the plush surface of the couch behind you.

“You know…you could’ve just told me earlier… cause now I regret not fucking you before,” he confessed, his words punctuated by the exertion in his voice. Without waiting for your response, he bunched up your dress, exposing your chest. His eyes lit up as they fell upon your naked breasts, and a satisfied "Knew it" slipped from his lips. 

"Wearing that flimsy dress and no bra… did you really think I wouldn't notice?" he tutted while cupping your breast. The cool touch against your warm skin made you release an involuntary moan "You think the boys didn’t notice?" he chuckled bitterly and took one of your nipples between his forefingers, his gaze unflinching as he watched your mouth fall open in response. 

"But this was for me, wasn't it? All that innocent act in front of them, while secretly wanting me to fuck you so bad.” you whimpered in response, unable to respond or deny what he was saying because it was in part true.

“You were practically drooling at the thought of me touching you like this," he grunted and suddenly took that same nipple into his mouth, alternating between nibbling and sucking. “M-Mark, oh my go–...” The words were cut short when he began to thrust into you harder, his hips meeting yours more desperately now.

He pulled away from your breast slightly to whisper a stream of dirty nothings against your skin. You only caught the words little slut and the surprise of such a term rolling off his tongue only served to turn you on even more. Your walls instinctively tightened around him, a reaction that had him sucking your nipple even harder. 

“Shit… If you-…if you keep squeezing me so hard… I’m gonna-“ he could barely speak, his words being lost between every thrust and the feeling of your pussy taking him so well.

Mark was pretty damn sure he'd never been this pussy drunk before. He was even fighting to hold off his own orgasm just so he could bask a bit longer on how your walls were deliciously clenching around him. And oh, the view. You sprawled beneath him, disheveled yet so beautiful. Your flushed cheeks and lips, slightly swollen from your own nibbling. Bangs pushed back from your face revealing those pretty eyes that struggled to stay fixed on his. They rolled with pleasure every time he found that sweet spot. And he couldn't ignore how your tongue darted out every now and then to moisten your lips, tempting him to bridge the gap between your mouths.

“Mark.. I—I’m c…I’m cumming,” you said, grabbing onto his neck for support.

 "Me too, ah... wh-where do you want it?" he managed to ask between ragged breaths, his wide eyes strangely innocent amid the frenetic rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside,” you said, and a glint of something flashed through his eyes. 

All of a sudden he closed the gap between your faces, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that matched the intensity of his thrusts. It stole your breath quicker than you'd care to admit. His tongue asserted itself without hesitation, as if it already knew the contours of your mouth intimately. You nipped at his lower lip juts like he did to you earlier, catching him off guard. To this, he let out a guttural whimper that would definitely linger in your mind for days to come. Mark's moans had a mix of whininess and a deep resonance that struck you at your core and you wanted to hear more of it so you kept kissing him hard. His moans became your own as your kiss deepened.

Your orgasm came first, your cries muffled by Mark's mouth. He followed suit not long after, his thrusts growing sloppier. Then, he stopped completely and you felt him filling you to a brim. You both looked down at the same time to see the messy evidence of both of your releases mixing. You immediately regretted doing this on the couch when he pulled out from you and the sticky mess spilled out of you. 

But you decided that would be a problem for your sober self to deal with later.

~~

Sober you wasn't exactly managing the situation well.

Waking up after having drunk sex with your best friend in the living room of the dorm he shared with your 6 other best friends didn’t turn out to be the chill moment you thought it would be. 

And the way his hand was casually resting on your ass, coupled with the feeling that you'd been run over by a truck about twenty seven times, certainly didn't contribute to improving your state.

You reach over to his side and grab the cushions under his head. Then, you give his body a careful nudge, turning him around slightly which oddly enough doesn’t even make him stir a little. You climb on top of him, pressing the cushion down on his face just enough to jolt him awake, without actually cutting off his air supply. His arms flail in confusion for a solid five seconds before you lift the cushion, revealing a bewildered yet still half-asleep Mark.

"What the…" was his initial reaction, though it took him a moment more to fully register the scene– you sitting on top of him, only a cushion covering your nakedness. “…fuck”

"Yeah, exactly, what the fuck," you gesture between the two of you, highlighting the rather interesting scenario.

A few seconds of just silently staring at each other went by while you could see in his eyes that he was trying to come up with what to say now.

"Uh… wanna go again?" he joked, and you respond with a playful pillow thwack, prompting a chuckle from him.

"Just kidding!"

a/n: after editing this i realized how many times i wrote the word ass and i feel ashamed lol... also the ending is kinda bleh cuz i genuinely dunno how to end my fics but i hope yall liked this! let me know in the comments how it was! xx

part 1

© hyuckiefluff

[fallinallincurls]

pancakes for two, i will always love you

this is my (late) entry for demi's lowkey lovefest 2k24! thank you so much for hosting this fun little challenge @wyattjohnston!

this fic is also a belated birthday gift to the amazing @desiredposion!! inspiration struck and i had to make the most of it so i hope you love this! this was also my first time writing for nico which was so much fun.

prompt used: "don't ever stop looking at me like that."

heavily inspired by the lyrics "maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two, hash brown, egg yolk, i will always love you" from keep driving by harry styles

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 1.3k+

~~~~~

Dating a professional hockey player means that slow mornings are a rarity. Usually, Nico is up and out the door for morning skate before your eyes even open. But today, you’re lucky enough to get the extra time in bed with the man you love for the first time in what feels like forever.

As sunlights bathes the room in a subtle, but beautiful golden glow, you snuggle in closer to Nico in an effort to absorb the heat radiating from his body. His strong arms tighten around you instinctively and even though his eyes remain closed, he presses a kiss to your forehead before dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

“Morning, Neeks.”

“Mm,” He hums contently, making you giggle and you relish in the rough feeling of his scruff against your skin. You card a hand through his tousled hair, earning a soft moan in response.

“Come on, schatzi.” He murmurs, dragging out the syllables of each word as a slight smirk appears on his lips. “You know how much I like it when you play with my hair.”

“Oh trust me, I know.” You chuckle, moving your hand to his cheek just as Nico lifts his head and his gorgeous brown eyes meet yours. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, the playfulness that was evident just seconds ago fading even though the identical tender smiles on your faces continue to grow.

“We don’t get to do this enough.” Nico whispers, gaze never leaving yours as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. You rest a hand on his bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart and try to commit every detail about this moment to memory. Nothing but pure adoration rushes through your veins as you admire the beautiful man next to you.

“That’s okay. It makes these rare mornings that much more special.”

“I’m going to tell the team we can’t ever have practice until after 10 at the earliest.” Nico grins, his dimples appearing as he laughs at his own little joke.

“You have that power as captain?” You tease, pressing a kiss to his nose, his cheek, and finally his lips. Nico smiles into the kiss before deepening it for a few seconds, bringing out that familiar need for him.

“I don’t really know, but I deserve some more time with my girl so I’ll make it a rule. I don’t care what anyone says.” He mumbles against your lips, voice low and still full of sleep.

Your heart swells as you drink in the sight of your boyfriend. Nico’s eyes are sparkling with love and his sweet smile is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. His hair is a mess but somehow still looks perfect and you absentmindedly trace shapes on his shoulder, feeling the well toned muscles there. 

He is a dream. And despite all odds, you’re the lucky one who gets to love him every single day. That’s something you’ll never take for granted because you never thought you’d find someone as kind, caring and amazing as Nico.

Yet, here you are. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Nico presses another tender kiss to your cheek before pulling away like he’s going to get up.

“Hey, hey! Where do you think you’re going?” You tease him, grabbing onto his forearm in an effort to keep him in bed.

“To make breakfast?” Nico replies, more as a question than a statement. His brows knit together in confusion and the cutest look crosses over his facial features.

“Right now? We can’t stay and cuddle for five more minutes?” Nico can’t help but chuckle at the adorable pout you’re putting on display, but doesn’t give into your antics. Instead, he leans down to give you one last kiss before heading towards the bedroom door.

“Yes, right now. By the time you’re done with your morning routine, everything will be ready. I promise. We have all day to be cozy and do absolutely nothing.” He reassures you, that cheeky smile of his blossoming across his lips and bringing out his dimples again.

“Not fair, Neeks!” You call after him, that giddy feeling of happiness rushing through you when you hear his laughter floating down the hallway. After soaking in the warmth for a few more seconds, you reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to shower and get your morning routine done. 

And true to his word, when you enter the kitchen dressed in sweats and one of Nico’s shirts ready for a lazy day in with your boyfriend, you find the counter covered in a full breakfast spread. A mug of coffee made just the way you like it, pancakes for two, maple syrup, hash browns and eggs are all plated and ready to be enjoyed.

“Nico,” You breathe out, shock and awe evident in your voice. Nico is always doing something sweet for you, no matter how big or small, but you weren’t expecting this at all. “What is this for?”

“Just because.” Nico shrugs, a bashful look on his face. His cheeks are pink with blush and those gorgeous brown eyes are twinkling with excitement. “We don’t get many mornings together like this. I wanted to spoil you. Made all your favorites.” He admits before stealing a kiss from you and passing you a full plate he somehow put together without you noticing. 

“I love you.” There’s nothing else you can say. After all the time together, these little gestures still warm your heart and are the kindest reminders of Nico’s love for you.

“I love you too, schatzi. Now come on, let’s eat. We’ve got a whole lot of nothing to do today.” Nico teases, sitting down next to you at the table. 

As you enjoy breakfast together, the two of you talk about everything and anything. Nico tells you some funny stories from practice yesterday and catches you up on all the drama about how Jack likes a girl, but won’t make a move. You fill him in on your latest project at work and how you scheduled a girls day with your best friend for later that week. 

“We’re going to check out that new bookstore in Hoboken! The one right by the restaurant we really like on the waterfront. I’m looking for the next book in the series I’m reading so hopefully they have it.”

Noticing Nico has been quiet the whole time you’ve been talking, your rambling trails off. But before you can ask what’s wrong, your breath is stolen away. Because when you take in the sight of your boyfriend, you see the fondest look on his face. One that you recognize of pure love and adoration. It’s the look of someone who has found exactly where they should be. The look of someone who has found happiness in the simplicity of spending their life with another person. 

“Please don’t ever stop looking at me like that.” You murmur, the words slipping past your lips before you even realize what you’re saying. Nico’s gentle smile just grows, his hand reaching for yours. 

“Like what?” He teases, that familiar playfulness evident through his question. 

“Like nothing else in the world matters but the love that we have. Like you’re the happiest right here with me.”

“I am the happiest with you. Always will be.” Nico whispers before pulling you in for a deep kiss. He says everything with that kiss, words aren’t necessary and wouldn’t do justice to how he feels about you. You melt into his gentle touch, smiling against his lips as everything else falls away for just a moment.

“And you’re right,” He starts when the kiss breaks, his big brown eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing else even compares to the way I love you.” 

And right then, over pancakes and coffee that Nico made you, you know he’s going to be the man you marry. The one you spend the rest of your days with. Because this kind of love is once-in-a-lifetime and you don’t want to go through life without him by your side.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Not too smutty but--

Shimmer!Kane is definitely the type to keep your bed "messy" by average standards but insists the blankets are arranged specifically to be a "nest".

Every time you remake the bed, twenty minutes later you come back and it's a mess again; blankets piled and arranged almost perfectly in the middle, pillows strategically placed for the most comfort...

You ask him why but he can't really tell you (instincts, duh!). But it's perfect to snuggle in! (And y'know nice and cosy to pound your brains out later if you want)

I am screaming over this!! (Also I'm so sorry this took me so long!)

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

A/N: My brain is just like is this a one shot? Is there a part two? What am I doing? Also I have to tag @ominoose just because all of their amazing Kane fics and head canons have just shaped my brain.

Warnings: pining, dry humping, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 811

“Kane, what the fuck?” You sigh, no real heat in your words. 

He looks up at you from where he’s crouched over the bed, the faintest hint of a quizzical expression on his features. 

“What are you doing?” 

He shakes his head a minute, obviously not understanding. 

“I just made the bed, and now you’ve,” you gesture half-heartedly, “done whatever this is.” 

The pillows were piled seemingly haphazardly in the middle, the duet cover bundled up. As you looked you realised that he had also brought the bedding from his own bed onto yours. 

“It’s fine when it’s just your bed, but can you not come in here and mess with mine?”

You’d been assigned to ‘monitor’ him, try to help him adjust back into everyday life after… whatever happened. You weren’t privileged with the details, or even the vague notion.

He continues to look at you with that quiet stare he had, like he was trying to read the dictionary definition for every single word you said. 

You sigh again, moving towards the bed and beginning to put your pillows back at the top of the bed. 

Kane stood quickly, putting his hand softly on your forearm to stop you. You stare at him, a small frown of confusion on your face. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a moment you move to continue your task, but his grip tightens. 

“Stop.” He whispers, his voice barely audible. 

Your frown deepens. “What? Why?” 

You swallow as he stares intently at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils dilated. It’s only now that you realise how close he’s standing to you. 

“Kane?” You whisper, your heart thudding in your throat. 

He was handsome, of course he was. But looks weren’t everything. 

He was kind, considerate. He listened when you talked, did little things to be helpful, affectionate. He made you drinks without even asking, usually bringing them to you a second after you realised you were thirsty. When the temperature dropped close to freezing a few weeks ago, he’d warm blankets in the tumble dryer and bring them to you, offer you hot water bottles and put your slippers by the radiator when you weren’t wearing them. 

He liked to be in the garden, around plants and animals and taking care of things. The apple tree hadn’t stopped blossoming, despite its leaves coming in since he’d been here. The forget-me-knots hadn’t been hampered by the late frost. Bumble bees and butterflies gathered around the honeysuckle that had bloomed exceptionally early, its sudden growth spurt meaning it was now covering most of the back wall it leant against. 

You liked him being here. 

You liked him. 

Kane carefully placed his hands on your shoulders and gently guided you with your back to the bed before he slowly moved you, urging you to sit  and then lay in the middle of the pillows and blankets. 

You stared up at him, a little bewildered as he climbed in next to you. 

“Comfortable?” He asked in that soft voice of his, but you weren’t sure if it was really a question or just an affirmation. You nod your head anyway. 

He pressed his lips together, deep in thought for a moment on your reaction, before he moves to lay on top of you, pressing his thighs between yours and settling his hips against yours. 

You freeze out of surprise. He’s never done something so bold before. You look up at him, his nose barely an inch from yours. 

Your mouth goes dry, anxiety building under his heavy gaze, like a scientist looking at a specsamin in a jar. 

“Kane,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Are you uncomfortable?” 

You shake your head without thinking and there’s a little flicker of emotion that crosses his face. Satisfaction, you think. 

“Why, erm,” your mind is short circuiting with him this close, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sweet, almost floral smell that permanently surrounds him fills your lungs. The way the hard outline of his cock presses against your core. “Why did you bring your blankets in here?” You blurt out. 

“Making a nest,” he says simply, like that was all the information you would need. “Wanted it to smell like us.” 

He dips his head lower, nuzzling against the side of your neck and breathing deeply. 

“A nest?” You gasp as he rocks his hips against yours, leaning closer so that your chests are flush. 

“Hmm.” He continues to run his lips and cheeks over your neck, feeling your skin and sighing contently. All the while he rolls his hips languidly, dragging his cock against your heat. 

You can’t hold back the shudder and whine as his fly presses deliciously against your clit. 

While it doesn’t hamper his movements, the sound obviously amuses him and he focuses his actions solely on making you repeat it.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[estellan0vella]

Really Bad Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

The room is dark, bathed in the soft, ambient glow from the streetlight outside. You’re nestled comfortably in bed beside Sukuna, his arm draped protectively over your waist. The night is serene, a peaceful lull after a busy day at the parlour.

Suddenly, your body tenses, jerking violently. Sukuna stirs, instantly alert, his instincts kicking in. "Baby?" he whispers, concern etching into his features as he feels the tremors wrack your body. "Babe, can you hear me?"

Your eyes are wide open but unseeing, and guttural, pained noises escape through your gritted teeth. Sukuna’s heart pounds as he quickly turns on the bedside lamp, the light revealing the severity of your seizure.

“Fuck,” he mutters, urgency gripping him. He grabs his phone, fingers trembling as he dials the emergency services, rattling off the necessary details. "My girlfriend's having a seizure. It's not stopping. Yes, she's epileptic. Please, hurry."

As he ends the call, the door creaks open. Yuji stands there, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his small face scrunched in worry. "Suku, what's happening to Y/N/N?"

"Yuji, stay calm," Sukuna says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Y/N's having a seizure. The ambulance is on its way."

"But she’s making those scary noises," Yuji whimpers, inching closer to the bed.

Sukuna scoops him up with his free arm, holding him tightly. "I know, buddy. It’s gonna be okay. We just need to wait for the ambulance."

The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Your seizure shows no signs of stopping. Sukuna places you on your side, ensuring you’re safe, while holding Yuji close, murmuring reassurances.

Finally, the sound of sirens pierces the night. Sukuna carries Yuji as he rushes to open the door for the paramedics. "In here," he directs, voice tight with urgency.

The paramedics move swiftly, administering the first dose of diazepam. Sukuna watches, anxiety clawing at him as your body continues to convulse. After three doses, your seizure finally begins to subside, but your breathing is shallow and erratic.

"She's stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital," one of the paramedics says. Sukuna nods, his grip on Yuji tightening.

In the ambulance, Sukuna calls Gojo, his fingers slick with sweat. "It’s Y/N. She had a bad seizure. We’re on our way to the hospital."

Gojo's voice is immediately filled with concern. "We’ll meet you there. Hang in there, Sukuna."

The ride to the hospital feels like an eternity. Yuji clings to Sukuna, wide-eyed and frightened. "Is Y/N/N gonna be okay?" he asks, voice trembling.

"She will be," Sukuna assures him, though worry gnaws at him.

At the hospital, the medics rush you inside, and Yuji’s fear morphs into panic. "Y/N/N! No!" he screams, trying to break free from Sukuna’s hold. "I want to be with her!"

"Yuji, you have to stay here," Sukuna says, his voice strained as he struggles to keep a grip on the frantic boy. "Let the doctors help her."

Yuji fights against him, kicking and scratching, a particularly vicious bite drawing blood from Sukuna's arm. "Let me go! I want Y/N/N!"

“Yuji, stop!” Sukuna shouts, pain lacing his voice. "You’re hurting me. I promise she’ll be okay."

Yuji's struggles weaken, his cries turning to sobs as he clings to Sukuna. "I want Y/N/N," he whimpers, the heartbreak in his voice tearing at Sukuna's heart.

Gojo and Geto arrive as Yuji cries into Sukuna's t-shirt, wiping snot and tears all over the fabric. "We’ll take Yuji to get something to eat, Sukuna. Stay with her," Geto says gently, prying Yuji from Sukuna's arms.

"Y/N will be okay," Gojo assures Yuji as they head towards the cafeteria. "Let’s give her some time to rest."

Sukuna watches them go, his heart heavy but grateful for his friends' support. Once you’re stable and moved to a room, he finally allows himself a moment to breathe. He sits by your bed, holding your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Gojo and Geto return with Yuji, who immediately climbs into the bed next to you, curling up at your side. “Y/N/N?” he whispers, his voice shaky. "It's me, Yuji. You're gonna be okay."

The room is quiet, filled only with the sound of your breathing and the steady beeping of the monitors. Time seems to stretch on forever, until finally, you stir, eyes fluttering open. Confusion clouds your gaze as you take in the hospital room, your mind struggling to piece together what happened.

“Yuji?” you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

Yuji’s face lights up with relief, and he squeezes your hand. “You had a seizure, Y/N/N. It was really bad, but you're okay now. Suku and I are here.”

Sukuna leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re here, babe. Just rest. We’ve got you.”

Gojo and Geto stand nearby, their presence a comforting reassurance. “Take it easy,” Gojo says softly. “You’re safe now.”

You close your eyes, exhaustion pulling you back under, but the fear and confusion are lessened by the love and support surrounding you. As you drift back to sleep, Sukuna and Yuji remain by your side, a steadfast reminder that no matter what, they will always be there to protect you.

taglist - @sad-darksoul @thejujvtsupost

[astralnymphh]

ellie nude hcs yes please. don’t forget to mention them abs and muscles 😩

ellie nude hcs

⋆' aestras footnotes x.

⋆' a/n; decided to write them. right then and there. lmk your ideas below!! enjoy!! MDNI.

masterlist

⋆' ellie, who sleeps half-nude, always ravages her hoodies in the process of taking them off. gets that excited to feel your skin through and through, big spooning you in bed with her perky nipples grazing the grooves of your back. I think most of the time, her boxers will remain untouched when you're just sleeping. but, feeling horny? now they're chucked to some lifeless corner of the room, and the sticky plush of her pussy is dragging against your butt, one leg hooked over your thighs. humping like a dog, as usual. "hahh– fuck, couldn't wait– mmh, can'i touch you?"

⋆' with her toned abdomen, built from the patrol routes that had her climbing, hauling and lifting, she's fucking eye candy. indirectly flaunting her beautiful abs when you straddle her. you always feel the creases and grooves of her robust muscles contracting and tightening whenever you're feeling her up, gulping firmly and staring you down with those emerald eyes. always has to fondle you back, hands reaching instinctively to your hips, giggling into a kiss.

⋆' a girl who loves having her scars caressed by the pad of your thumbs. kiss them, and she's holding you close, pleating her boxers down to her ankles while keeping steady contact, hot breath choppy in her invigorated state. in particular, the scar on her thigh. brush your lips over it, and she'll nearly start riding your face right away.

⋆' the freckles most viable of seeing them that dot her face, trickle down and strike her skin like a cinnamon constellation. shoulders are the next most freckled area of her body. that's why you love kissing her there, she's gone so sensitive for those nibbles, whimpering little "mmhs–" and "babe, fuck–" when you latch there. her pussy is angrily throbbing at that point.

⋆' happy trail. that's it. never shaves it. perfectly horizontal and framed by a beautifully mild v-line down her hips. thank aphrodite this girl wears low rise to show that auburn trail off.

⋆' speaking of hair, yeah, she's unshaved. pretty little bush under those jeans. spokes out on the top leading to her happy trail. a duller auburn, maybe? she doesn't care enough to get rid of it, it's just hair. just bobby pin it to the back if you got work to do!! (blatant referencing) short length pussy prbly. thats so random but that's what my foresight tells me 🥱 who would even go into details like that? outie.

⋆' has the nicest back to ever grace your eyes. toned to just the right amount, celestial looking in golden light, finely broad shoulders, and always needs a massage. predictably tense. more the type to sit criss-cross with you behind, molding your fingertips into the ductile muscles of her neck, laxing her head back with an "ohhhh, fuck." enlongated groan and husky toned as ever as the tension releases with every grip. don't forget the coral red scratches you marked, scraping up her shoulder blades when she hits that g–spot like lightwork.

⋆' i think she opts out of wearing a bra a lot. so, with that idea grounded, perky nipples. sososooo sensitive. which is bad, cause she hates wearing bras, so any loose clothing has to be worn with a tank underneath. won't admit it, but loves when you suckle on the light pink buds. can't you just imagine, scissoring, you on top, ticklish mouth latched to her nipple, digging your hips into hers, and she's all mouth gaping, limbs twitching at every tongue flick, nearly tearing up when you tug it, blowing pushy air through puffed rosy cheeks, callighraphizing her nails indent into your scalp, pussy getting glossy as hell and pounding her hips back up in quick paced rolls, the delicious tightening of her clit numbing up every cell in her body. the next morning, her chest and legs would ache, reminiscence of last nights actions notched in her bones. also her tits would be so pretty. small, but cute. nipples hardening and poking through the fabric when you touch her. ♡

⋆' as much as ellie loves your ass, getting hers nudged and groped when she's pounding her hips into in missionary stuns her reason more than it should, skin pounding harder together, clenching up at your touch, eyelids faltering shut and mouth clumsily flobbing over curses and praises. "fufufufuhckk, purr–fect puss– mhh, s'good baby I can– shit– uhhuh, hold.. on–!" i wanna eat her ass btw. dc if looks small or flat. have you seen the curve of her back during the nighttime farm scene? argue with the clicker idk.

⋆' knees are probably roughed up from how much she's on top, chafing on the cotton fabric, abrasions and discoloration. doesn't help when she's kneeling for you either though 🤣.

⋆' calloused hands. of course. a touch so soft can feel a bit tough and bumpy, but, they probably feel soo good on your clit. added texture when she palms you with three fingers in deep. and the way her taut fingers peel your legs open, gripping the callouses deep into the plush fat of your thigh, letting go and flattening her palm on the inside of them to keep you open. so hot. probably can't even feel them when she slaps your ass though.

⋆' her tattoo.. bro.. gets so aroused watching her tatted arm flex and twine when she fingers you. she's hovering above you, bicep tucked close to her chest, extending towards your cunt and dipping three fingers in those slobbed folds and thumbing your clit. she drones little whimpers and splits her lips only to mock your variably louder moans, "'oohh, ellie', yeah? that' good? who's fingers in you right now? mhm– ellie's fuckin' fingers."

[onegayastronaut]

Loyalty and Justice Part 1 (JJ X Reader)

Requested by anon, wanted a longer fic. This is going to be a multi part series because the description was long and I wanted to break it out into parts lol

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, you surveyed the bustling city below, taking note of everything that took place. Your eyes narrowed, focusing on a nondescript sedan parked across the street. The target had arrived.

You touched your earpiece, speaking in a low, controlled voice. "JJ, I have eyes on the subject. Moving to intercept."

"Copy that," came JJ's steady reply. "Be careful, this one's dangerous."

A ghost of a smile played on your lips. "Aren't I always?"

With practiced ease, you scaled down the side of the building, years of training evident in every precise movement. As your feet hit the pavement, your demeanor shifted. Gone was the warmth in your eyes, replaced by a cold, professional detachment.

As you approached the sedan, your hand instinctively rested on the concealed weapon at your hip. As you drew closer, the driver's window rolled down, revealing a face you hadn't seen in years, a face you never thought you’d see again. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Hello, (Y/N)," said the woman behind the wheel, her voice a mixture of warmth and wariness. "It's been a while."

You fought to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced. It was Elena, your former fiancée, the woman who had left you to rot in prison. "Elena," she replied, her tone carefully measured. "This is... unexpected."

Elena's eyes, once so familiar, now seemed foreign. "I need your help, (Y/N). I know I have no right to ask, but—"

"You're right," you cut her off, her voice sharp. "You don't."

But even as the words left your mouth, you felt the old pull. The years of training and discipline warred with the memories of love and betrayal.

"Please, just hear me out," Elena pleaded, her eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror. "I'm in trouble, real trouble. And you're the only one who can help me."

Your hand tightened on your weapon, mind racing through possible scenarios. Was this a trap? A ploy to lure you in? Or was Elena genuinely in danger?

"You have one minute," you eventually answered, your eyes scanning the street for any signs of a threat. "Make it count."

Elena took a shaky breath. "It's about my father's old associates. They think I have something they want, and they're willing to kill to get it. I've been running for weeks, but they're closing in. I didn't know where else to turn."

Your eyes narrowed. "And what exactly do they think you have?"

Elena hesitated, then reached into her jacket pocket. You tensed, ready to draw your weapon, but Elena slowly pulled out a small flash drive. "This. It contains details of all their operations, their contacts, everything. My father left it to me before he died. I didn't even know what it was until they came after me."

You eyed the drive warily before finally taking it. If Elena was telling the truth, that tiny piece of technology could bring down one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country. But trusting Elena again could be suicide.

"Why come to me?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "After everything that happened?"

Elena's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. "Because I know you, (Y/N). Despite everything, I know you'll do the right thing. And... because I never stopped loving you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history. You could only imagine what JJ was thinking, as memories of your past threatening to cloud your judgment. She took a deep breath, centering herself.

"Love isn't always enough, Elena," you said, your voice low and controlled. "You taught me that."

Before Elena could respond, your earpiece crackled to life. "(Y/N), we've got movement. Three SUVs approaching your position, fast."

Your training kicked in instantly. "Time to go," you said, reaching for the car door. "Move over."

Elena's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly complied, sliding into the passenger seat as you slipped behind the wheel. With practiced precision, you pulled out into traffic, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.

"Who was that?" Elena asked, her voice tense.

"My team," you replied curtly, taking a sharp turn down a side street. "And right now, they're the only reason you're not in handcuffs."

The SUVs appeared in the mirror, gaining ground rapidly. Your mind raced, formulating and discarding plans in seconds. You needed to lose their tail, but you also needed answers.

"Start talking," you demanded, swerving to avoid a delivery truck. "Everything you know about who's after you, what's on that drive, all of it. And Elena," you added, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "if I find out you're lying to me again, it'll be the last mistake you ever make."

Elena nodded, her face pale. "It's the Moretti family. They were my father's biggest rivals, always trying to muscle in on his territory. That drive contains evidence of all their illegal operations - money laundering, human trafficking, assassinations. Everything needed to take down their entire organization."

You processed this as you wove through traffic, the pursuing SUVs still visible in your mirrors. "And how did you end up with it?"

"My father gave it to me right before... before the FBI raid," Elena said, her voice catching. "He told me to keep it safe, that it was insurance. I didn't understand at the time. I hid it away and forgot about it until the Morettis started coming after me a few weeks ago."

Your jaw clenched at the mention of the raid - the day everything had fallen apart. You pushed the memories aside, focusing on the present. "Why now?" you asked, taking another sharp turn. "Why are they coming after you years later?"

Elena hesitated. "Because... because I started looking into what happened to my father. And to you."

Your hands tightened on the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"I never believed you betrayed us, Lex," Elena said softly. "It took me too long to realize it, but I know you would never have turned on us. On me. I started digging, trying to find out what really happened. I must have tripped some alarms, because suddenly the Morettis were after me."

Alexis's mind raced. If Elena was telling the truth, it could change everything. But years of betrayal and hurt had taught her to be wary.

"JJ, if I’m taking her to the location that we agreed on if anything were to happen." You waited for a response, but none came. “JJ?” You pressed on your device again, but received nothing in return. It seemed as if you were on your own again, only this time, you had your ex with you.

[moonselune]

Would you ever consider doing an Astarion/f!reader/Gale love triangle Drabble or one shot? (Astarion endgame maybe oop?) if not dw!!!!✨

This is tooth rottingly sweet, I was a bit unsure about this one because my immediate instinct when there's a love triangle is to just let them all kiss lmao

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion x f!reader x Gale

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The camp was a place of tension, not just because of the ever-present threats lurking in the shadows, but also because of the complicated dynamics between its members. Amidst the flickering campfires and whispered conversations, a love triangle had quietly taken root, drawing you, Astarion, and Gale into its tangled web.

Gale had always been the romantic, the one to sweep you off your feet with his eloquence and charm. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he approached you with a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling with the promise of magic and wonder.

“May I have a moment of your time?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk.

You nodded, curiosity piqued. Gale led you to a secluded spot by the river, where he conjured a shimmering illusion of stars and galaxies swirling above you. The sight was breathtaking, each twinkling light reflecting in his eyes as he recited a poem he had written just for you.

His words were like honey, sweet and mesmerizing. You felt yourself being drawn into the enchantment of the moment, the magic he wielded wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Gale’s ability to captivate and awe was unparalleled, and for a time, you were lost in the beauty of his world.

Astarion watched from a distance, his keen eyes taking in every detail. He had to admit, Gale was a formidable rival. The way he could charm with his words and dazzle with his magic was impressive. But Astarion knew that sweet words and illusions would not be enough to win your heart; he needed to show you something raw, something real. And it wasn't just because he had already played that card with you - definitely not.

The next day, as the group ventured out to face a band of marauding gnolls, Astarion saw his opportunity. The battle was fierce, with gnashing teeth and snarling beasts lunging at every turn. But Astarion was relentless, his movements swift and precise as he cut through the enemies with lethal grace.

He fought with a ferocity that took even the gnolls by surprise, his eyes never straying far from you. With each foe he felled, he moved closer, his intention clear. When the last of the gnolls lay defeated, their bodies formed an unintentional pattern on the ground—a shape that, with a bit of imagination, resembled a heart.

Breathing heavily, Astarion approached you, his expression softening as he took your hand. He pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks to you.”

Astarion’s lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were serious. “I’d fight a thousand battles if it meant keeping you safe.”

As he led you back to camp, his hand never leaving yours, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words. There was something undeniably real about the way he cared for you, something that went beyond mere words and magic.

Back at the camp, Gale watched your return with a resigned smile. He approached the two of you, his demeanor calm and gracious. “Astarion,” he began, his tone respectful, “I have to give credit where it’s due. Your bravery and skill today were remarkable.”

Astarion inclined his head, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Thank you, Gale.”

Gale turned to you, his expression gentle but resolute. “I can see where your heart lies, and I respect your choice. It seems Astarion is the one who truly holds your affections.”

You looked between the two men, feeling a swell of gratitude and affection for both. “Gale, you’ve been wonderful,” you said softly. “Your kindness and your magic have touched me deeply, I will never forget it.”

Gale smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’m glad I could share those moments with you. But I think it’s clear who your heart belongs to.”

With that, he stepped back, conceding with grace. Astarion pulled you closer, his eyes shining with a mix of triumph and tenderness. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re mine, and I intend to cherish you every day.”

And in that moment, you knew that despite the complexities and the rivalries, you had found something genuine and profound in Astarion’s love—a love that would stand the test of time and adversity.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Poor Gale, maybe he should have mentioned his practiced tongue a bit more, hope you liked it! - Seluney

[pandorasfavorite]

Hii your my favorite writer!! Can you do where at Raw after the R has a match and Dom gets hard and he jerks off in the dressing room and the R catches him and dirty talks him and is sweet in a way but helps him get off then he gets really touchy after with the R and the R keeps telling him to wait till they get to the hotel and it’s just smut smut smut smut after they get back to the hotel

Switch, then switch again

AN: This may be the longest smut I've ever written. Also pls comment I love to hear y'all's feed back. THIS IS FILTHY AND YALL WANTED IT.

You turned Dominik on so easily. Truly it was like a fucking curse. Nearly every time he saw you in that skimpy outfit you wore on Monday night raw, he could barely keep it in his pants. In fact, the problem got so bad he had to stop going ringside with you for weeks, at least until he could get himself under control. Today was one of those days where he had to swallow down the curses threatening to spew from his mouth the moment he saw you.

You went off to your match and Dominik excused himself. He strode off to the dressing room and he locked the door behind him. Dominik slouched against the back of the door in attempt to relax and calm himself down. Beads of sweat began to roll down his face and he hastily wiped them off. The memory of you just moments prior was killing him. Dominik couldn't take it anymore, he kicked off his shoes and pants; moving to the bench in the center of the room. He sits down and shoves his hand down his hands, his head tilted back just barely with relief. Dominik stroked his cock till he was fully hard; not that it took long to do. Then he closed his eyes and pictured everything about you down to the detail of the underwear you slipped on this morning.

His thumb brushed over the tip of his cock and he teased himself to the thought of you bent over moaning and taking his cock like a slut. He tightens his hand and quickens his pace; he is tired of not feeling the relief he desperately needs. Dominik was lost in a horny haze that only you could break him out. He was feeling so dirty and deprived of you that his fist was just barely enough to tip him over the edge. Regardless he gasps and groans your name like a symphony, till he is cut off by the rattle of the door. You push the door open and Dominik is scrambling to reach for his pants that he threw off without care originally.

You let the door click shut behind you; the lock gets clicked in place also. Dominik looks up completely and his look of embarrassment fades just a bit at the sight of you. He huffs a sigh of relief, "Thank god it's just you baby". You walk over to Dominik; moving to stand behind him. Your hands roam the expanse of his chest and down his stomach, just inches from his rock-hard cock. The closer you got the heavier Dominik's breathing got. "Mhm, just me", you lean down and whisper into his ear; you kiss the side of his neck. Dominik tilts his head to give you more room out of instinct. "Want some help?", you ask him even though the answer was twitching throbbing against his leg. "Yea - yes", he nods and reaches to touch your hand that was moving against him so slowly.

You smack his hand lightly, "No touching" An immediate whine slips from his lips. Dominik fucking hated when he was denied the privilege of putting his hands on you. "How about this? I'll tell you all the things I want you to do to me. And you sit and listen", you suck a mark onto his mark and you could practically feel the heat radiating off of Dominik. He swallows before nodding; he is clearly trying not to let you take complete control. Now you move to kneel in front of him, your face just inches from his cock. There was a wet spot of precum staining his grey boxers that had your mouth watering. "I want to ride you until my legs get tired", you run a hand down his leg before grabbing his hand and putting it onto his cock. Dominik sucks in a sharp breath and the good feeling it brings.

You smile at him deviously, watching the way he is stroking his cock and just barely biting his lip in an attempt to stop his filthy moans. "Then I want to taste myself on your cock", Dominik groans and his hips jolt up, his cock sliding in and out of his fist. "I want you to sit still and moan while you suck my tits", you say while leaning forward to press a kiss to his knuckles. Dominik's breaths hitches at the proximity your mouth is to his cock, he felt like he could explode any minute now. You could tell he was close by the way his lips parted and his other hand gripping the side of the chair so harshly. And you knew exactly what to say. "I need you to be my good boy~ can you do that baby?", you smile at him so sweetly he barely registered the streams of cum spilling from his cock and onto his boxers.

You kissed his spent cock from where it lay limp against his lips. Dominik's head snapped down from you and he jolted at the overstimulating feeling, "haah fuck - fuck don't". That was your favorite thing to see and hear. Your boyfriend was all fucked out and begging you to be nice to him all while he looked strong enough to flip you over and take over any minute, the uncertainty was amazing.

You tap Dominik's leg to get his attention completely, "Stand up so we can get you cleaned up". "Alright", his voice comes back to that familiar cocky tone you love so dearly. You handed Dominik a rag to wipe up the sticky cum that was against his skin, his cheeks were flushing red as you watched him clean up. Afterwards he pulled up his pants and threw the rag away, yet he wasted no time moving towards you. One hand lays flush against your back while the other is on the back of your neck, pulling your body right against his. Dominik dips you down and kisses your neck hungrily, his tongue sticking out to run along your skin.

Dominik was so good with his tongue and kissing that you didn't want to pull away from the feeling. In fact, it was so good, that gasps were already tumbling from your mouth at his attempt to work you up. At your gasp, Dominik groans into the crook of your neck, and his hands only get more feverish. He moves his hands to cup your ass, squeezing and flushing your skin. He tightened his hands around you; pulling you against him as his mouth worked against your body so naturally. A raspy groan slipped from his lips as your body felt like heat gracing his hands.

You were so distracted by the way his hands moved against your body so sensually and perfectly. Dominik was used to every inch of your body yet every time he touched you he felt like he discovered a new treasure. You fought the prodding idea of letting Dominik fuck you in the dressing room, your mind flickered to the idea of a more intimate setting in the hotel. You push Dominik back a bit and he immediately backs up with a deprived look, "You need to wait until we get to the hotel" you chaste at him. Dominik raises an eyebrow and gives you a dirty smirk that means he wasn't planning on listening. In his mind, your body was calling to him and just the sight of you made his cock stir again. He moves to touch you again but you give him a mean look that Dominik knew better than to cross.

He towers over you and his eyes continuously dart down to your lips that he would do anything to kiss. "I need you so bad right now Hermosa", he says with an intense look that is laced with tension. Dominik's aura was like no other and it captivated your body in unexplainable ways, you had to get to the hotel before you really did fuck him right then and there.

The car ride there and walk to the hotel room was quiet but suspenseful. The whole time you felt Dominik's gaze burning into you and you could hear his steps following you just as quickly. You swipe the key card and open the hotel room, only to be hoisted up off the ground and pushed against the wall by the door. You gasp and throw your arms around Dominik's neck to keep yourself steady. "I just want to make you happy", he huffs in that deep voice that has goosebumps rising on your body. You start to push his clothes off his body and your hands slide under his shirt, your fingertips gliding over his smooth skin. You pull the shirt off of him and you are met with your favorite aspect of his body, his heavily tattooed arms that are flexed.

You then tug down his pants as far as you can, and just enough to slide your hands down to his cock. He rolls his hips against your hands at the feeling of your soft hands stroking his cock, and his mouth falls open just a bit at the sensation. You giggle and kiss the side of your mouth, "One touch and you're already moaning like a bitch", you taunt him. Dominik's eyes flicker with a look of challenge, he steps out of his pants and grips you tightly. So much so the imprints of his fingers tint your skin. He spins around and drops you on the bed, practically ripping off every piece of clothing he touches. He grinds down against you, his lips turning up in a grin when you moan. The cloth of his boxers slides against your pussy, and you feel the heat pooling in your core.

If you felt good you know that Dominik felt more than good. Despite his smirk and the teasing tone of voice, mentally he was fighting the idea of drilling into you the moment you said 'please'. He rolls his hips directly against you again and this time he groaned at the tremble in your moan and the way you moved up against him. "You make me feel amazing baby", he just barely whispered by your ear. One of his hands was grasping the thick of your thigh while the other was placed on your face; this thumb moving across your bottom lip. Your chest was moving up and down quickly, he was taking too long.

With all your strength you put your hands on his broad shoulders and you flipped him over on his back. You straddled Dominik completely, your legs spread widely in order to be comfortable. Dominik huffed as he hit the pillows and his eyes shined with desire, he knew you'd make this quick. You considered just barely sinking down onto his cock, and letting him work you open just barely. But he looked so good and in that moment you quickly decided to sit down against his thigh.

You moved up just enough for your thigh to barely graze his cock, Dominik was reeling at the feeling of your wet pussy sliding against his leg. You held onto him by putting your hands down on his stomach and your stomach clenched at the notion his tensed thigh did to you. His head was thrown back and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down as many groans as he could manage. Yet each time your thigh bumped against his cock his mouth fell open with a flow of praises, "Do that again - shit right there princess, s' so good". Dominik holds himself up with one hand and he watches the way you are desperately rocking against his thigh.

Dominik notices the way you slow down and the whine that tumbles from your lips without meaning to. He has a splitting grin when he sits up completely and takes you by the hips. Your body is glistening with sweat that accentuates your every curve just the way Dominik likes it. He pushes you completely onto his thigh and he guides your body to continue using his thigh for pleasure. In a flash of realization, you lightly smack Dominik's hands away and you try and finish the job yourself. Dominik now adheres to a cocky expression that makes you gush. "Oh, you want to be in control mami? Do it then", he taunts you and smacks your ass before laying down with his hands behind his head.

You grit your teeth and glare at him from your spot on his thigh. He wants to be cocky? Easy. You grab his cock from the base and you move over him, slipping his cock inside of you to the hilt. You clench around him and Dominik instinctly groans loudly, moving to sit up again. You push him back down and grind down on his cock as hard as you can. Both of your bodies are together and moving in a fluid motion. Dominik wasn't ready for you to be sitting on his cock and toying with him. "Don't fucking stop, baby", he grits and stares at the way your tits are bouncing with every movement.

The more you move against him the closer you get, your fingers drop down to your clit and Dominik's eyes widen at the filthy sight you gave him so willingly. He wishes he was the one touching you in that way, but he knew you would punish him and deprive him of what was so close. As the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot inside of you, you moaned and collapsed, your hips just barely riding out the orgasm. Dominik was panting, feeling just as close considering the newfound tightness of your orgasm. Just as his thrusts were getting sloppy and he was on the brink of spilling inside of you... you rolled off of him and lay beside him with a shit-eating grin.

You turned your head to look at Dominik's betrayed face. "That's what you get", you stick your tongue out at him. Dominik huffs out a laugh but that was quickly forgotten when he is on top of you. He is down on his knees in front of you but you are laid back with your thighs clenched tightly. "Spread your legs", he tells you and taps your knee as a sign to do what he says. You shake your head no and you smile like a brat. "Spread your legs or I'll fuck your thighs like a slut, mami".

You couldn't find it in you to disobey. You spread your legs just enough for Dominik to slide between them, he spits on your clit and sucks on it. His tongue is moving against your clit, overstimulating you instantly. You moan so loudly, the feeling of heat reoccurring in your stomach. Dominik pulls away and slides his cock inside of you without hesitation. "Can't help it can you? You love when I'm desperate for you, stroking my cock to the thought of you", he pounds into you so hard your body is jumping with every thrust. "That's my good girl".

[small-z24]

One-Shot: A Dance in the Shadows

Summary:

At a Night Court ball, Y/N, forced to attend by Rhysand, reluctantly dances with Azriel, the shadowsinger she doesn't trust. Despite her resistance, Azriel's protective nature begins to break through her defenses, revealing a deeper connection between them as the night unfolds.

Word Count: 677

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I took this from @creativepromptsforwriting body guard prompt list "I will keep you safe. If you like it or not." Thanks for reading, would love some feedback! 

The grand ballroom of the Night Court glittered with ethereal beauty. Twinkling lights floated like stars above, casting a soft, shimmering glow over the elegantly dressed guests. The air buzzed with laughter and music, a symphony of strings and flutes weaving a melody that was both enchanting and haunting.

Y/N stood by the edge of the dance floor, feeling distinctly out of place amidst the glittering fae. Her dress, a deep midnight blue that matched the hues of the starry night, clung to her form gracefully. She admired the intricate details of the room, trying to distract herself from the fluttering nerves in her stomach.

She didn’t like events like these. She preferred the solitude of her own company, away from the probing eyes and the murmurs that always seemed to follow. But Rhysand had insisted—no, demanded—her presence tonight. And defying the High Lord of the Night Court wasn’t an option.

Azriel, the shadowsinger, had been a constant presence since they arrived, his silent strength offering an unspoken reassurance that she neither wanted nor appreciated. His shadows danced around him, a protective veil that kept the curious gazes at bay. He was a vision of lethal elegance in his tailored black attire, every inch the deadly warrior she had come to distrust.

Their eyes met across the room, and Azriel’s gaze softened. With a slight nod, he excused himself from a conversation with Rhysand and Feyre and made his way towards her. The crowd seemed to part instinctively, sensing the power that radiated from him.

As he reached her, he offered his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice a low, velvety rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. “Do I have a choice?” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel led her to the center of the dance floor, where other couples swayed gracefully to the music. He pulled her close, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other holding her hand securely. As they began to move, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like they were the only two people in the room.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Azriel murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Just follow my lead.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Azriel. I can handle myself.”

Azriel’s grip tightened slightly, his shadows swirling more protectively around them. “I know you can,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto hers. “But you’re with me tonight, and I will keep you safe. If you like it or not.”

His words, spoken with such conviction and a hint of threat, sent a wave of anger through her. She looked up into his hazel eyes, seeing the promise of protection and something more—something deeper. A connection that went beyond words.

“I don’t need your protection,” she snapped, trying to pull away. “I’m not some fragile flower.”

Azriel’s gaze hardened, and he pulled her even closer. “I’m not protecting you because you’re fragile. I’m protecting you because you matter.”

The music swelled around them, and for a moment, it felt like they were dancing in their own world, untouched by the prying eyes of others. Azriel’s presence was a comforting anchor, grounding her amidst the swirling chaos.

As the dance came to an end, he led her off the floor, keeping her close by his side. “Thank you,” she said softly, her heart full of conflicting emotions.

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart skip a beat. “Anytime, Y/N,” he replied. “Always.”

With Azriel by her side, she knew she could face anything. And as they mingled with the other guests, his hand never left hers, a constant reminder of his promise.

In the grand ballroom of the Night Court, surrounded by the beauty and intrigue of the fae world, Y/N found her strength in the shadowsinger’s unwavering support. And in that moment, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 32

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

You walked over to the edge of the balcony, bracing your hands on the cool stone railing. Your dress fluttered gently in the breeze, the chill of early fall whispering up your skin and raising goosebumps beneath the fabric. You took a few deep, uneven breaths, your eyes squeezing shut as you fought to regain control.

Behind you, you heard Azriel’s footsteps, the soft, measured tread growing nearer until he was beside you. His presence was a comforting shadow in the moonlight. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, gentle but probing. You didn’t turn to face him, keeping your eyes closed as you tried to still the trembling in your hands.

“What happened out there?” he asked softly.

The question hung in the air, mingling with the distant sounds of laughter and music filtering through the glass doors. You rocked back and forth on your heels, the rough stone biting slightly into your palms as you gripped the railing tighter. Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to take another deep breath, though it felt like a gasp torn from your chest. “He just—” you began, but the words choked off in your throat. You took another ragged breath, trying to speak past the lump of fear and anger lodged there.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Azriel’s expression tighten, a mix of concern and restrained fury. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flickered with an intensity that mirrored the storm brewing inside you.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, leaning over the railing as if the cold air might wash away the memory of Philip’s touch. Your lips parted in a silent gasp, the night air filling your lungs in sharp, uneven bursts.

Azriel’s hand found its way to your back, resting gently between your shoulder blades. The contact was meant to be soothing, but you flinched away, hissing softly at the touch. This time, the instinct to pull away was stronger than the comfort his touch usually brought. You stepped back hastily, your heel catching on the train of your dress. You stumbled slightly, a breathless gasp escaping you as you fought to keep your balance.

“Whore.” The voice of your mate hissed into your mind, as sharp and venomous as a snakebite. You had fought so hard to keep that wall intact, the barrier between his toxic influence and your fragile sense of self. You had felt his constant scratching, the insidious attempts to claw his way back into your consciousness, but your resolve had held firm—until now.

As you heard the malevolent whisper, you gasped, hands flying to your temples. Your eyes shot open, wild and panicked, scanning the surroundings without truly seeing anything. Azriel's voice reached out to you, but his words were lost in the maelstrom.

“You’re moving on quickly,” Caelum's voice purred, dripping with cruel amusement.

“Stop it, Caelum! Get the fuck out of my head!” you screamed, your voice echoing against the stone walls of the balcony.

“Seems like I shouldn’t feel too bad about how quickly you moved on from me to that little boy. You’re doing pretty well even after he bled out.” His words were a caustic taunt, a knife twisting deeper into your wound.

“Get out!” The scream tore from your throat, raw and desperate.

“Have you already let this one fuck you?” His sneer was almost tangible, a cold hand gripping your heart and squeezing.

A whimper escaped your lips as you slid down to your knees, the fabric of your dress pooling around you like a wilted flower. The cold stone pressed against your shins.

“Just leave me alone,” you whispered through a sob.

“It seems like you’ve already made your mind up about this one. You just better hope he’s stronger than the last one.” The derision in his tone was palpable, each syllable a taunt meant to tear you apart.

“Shut up!” you screeched, your voice breaking under the strain. It echoed into the night, a fractured plea.

“You’re so quick to open your legs, my love. And yet it seems like I had to force you to fuck me every time.” His voice was a poisonous whisper, corrosive and relentless.

Tears burned hot trails down your cheeks, your vision blurring as you shook your head violently, trying to dislodge the venomous words. Your hands gripped at your hair, desperate to build that wall back up, to block him out.

Strong hands cupped your face, trying to lift you, to connect with you, but you felt pinned, suffocated under the weight of Caelum’s voice.

“Glad to know you’re so like your mother. Apparently, you even look enough like her that someone would think you’re willing to sell your body.”

Azriel's hands grew more urgent, his thumbs rubbing tenderly against your cheeks, a muted voice calling out to you, trying to break through the fog of insults and mental knives.

“She’d be so proud of you. To know you’re fucking your way up the social ladder.”

“Why do you hate me?!” you screamed, your voice a ragged wail, and the hands around your face dropped in stunned silence.

“I am your mate.”

“You fucking hate me!” Your throat felt like it was being shredded from the inside out, each word a raw, hoarse accusation.

“I cannot hate my mate. But I can say you disgust me right now. You are a filthy whore. A slut.”

Sobs wracked your body, each one a violent convulsion of pain and despair. The hands that had tried to cup your face now slid around you, lifting you up with a firm but gentle grip. Your face found a resting place against something solid and warm—a refuge amidst the storm.

“No one will ever love you as much as I did. You don’t even know everything I did for you. All the sacrifices. I left my family for you. I gave up everything for you.”

The warmth against you shifted, and you realized it was Azriel. His arms enveloped you, rocking you back and forth slowly, a soothing rhythm amidst the chaos. His hand ran down the length of your hair, a tender gesture that contrasted starkly with the venomous voice still echoing in your mind.

“And all for you to go and throw it away. You think anyone will give up anything for you? You think you deserve that? You’ve killed someone because you’re being a fool. Do you think this one will be any different? Do you really believe he can protect you from everything? How long until he realizes you're nothing but trouble? Does he know how quickly you let me into your bed? How you begged for my touch? Or have you conveniently forgotten those nights?”

“Stop,” you whimpered, voice barely audible, each word a plea for respite that you knew wouldn’t come.

Azriel's arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your hair as he murmured something unintelligible to you.

But Caelum’s voice sneered in your mind, a shadowy specter of contempt. “He’ll get tired of you. He’ll see through your fragile facade, see the broken, worthless creature underneath. You’re not worth saving, Y/N.”

“No,” you gasped, shaking your head against Azriel’s chest, tears streaming down your face. “No, that’s not true.”

“It is true,” Caelum spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “You couldn’t even protect your last lover. He bled out because of you, because you’re weak and pathetic. What makes you think you deserve anything more?”

In a brief moment, one of Azriel’s murmurs broke through the onslaught, “You’re stronger than this. Just keep fighting it.” 

Caelum's laughter echoed, a dark, twisted sound that felt like it was wrapping around your very soul. “Stronger? You think this pampered warrior knows you? You’re nothing but a burden, dragging him down. He’ll leave you, just like you deserve.”

“Shut up!” you cried, your voice breaking, each sob a shudder through your frame. “Just shut up!”

“You’re terrified of being alone, of facing your own inadequacies. You cling to anyone who shows you kindness because you can’t stand on your own.”

Each word was a whip across your already raw psyche. “He’ll see the real you soon enough. The damaged, worthless shell that you are. And he’ll leave, just like everyone else. Just like your mother”

“No,” you whispered, but the conviction in your voice wavered, your belief in yourself crumbling under the weight of Caelum’s relentless assault.

“You don’t deserve love, Y/N. You never did. You’re a curse, a plague on anyone foolish enough to care about you.”

But Caelum’s voice was relentless, a dark current pulling you under. “You’ll never be free of me. I am your mate, and you are bound to me, no matter how far you run. You can’t escape what you are, what you’ve done. I am your punishment. I am your retribution from the Mother for abandoning the natural way of things.”

You felt the despair tightening its grip, each word a stone dragging you deeper into the abyss. Azriel’s hand slid from your hair to your back, his touch a desperate anchor. “Focus on my voice,” he murmured. “Focus on me.”

But Caelum’s voice echoed with finality, a death knell to your hopes. “You will always be mine, Y/N. You will always be my pathetic little mate, no matter what you do. No one will ever love you like I did, no one will ever want you like I did. You’re tainted, broken beyond repair.”

You clung to Azriel, your body shaking with sobs, each one a wrenching plea for release from the nightmare that Caelum’s voice had dragged you back into.

But even as Azriel spoke, the poison of Caelum’s words lingered, a corrosive echo in your mind. “You’ll see, my love. You’ll see how quickly he’ll tire of you, how easily he’ll discard you when he realizes what you truly are.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Make it fucking stop!” You screamed out. 

You felt Azriel’s grip tighten around you, his rocking growing heavier. His words, “I know, I know. Just hold on. Just fight it.” whispered into the crown of your head. 

And then, in a moment of great strength, you slammed the bond shut again. You felt as if you could feel the crush of it as you slumped into Azriel’s arms. Sobbing and wailing. 

Azriel shifted forward, gathering you into his lap as if you were a fragile sheet of glass about to shatter. His arms wrapped around you tightly, a desperate lifeline pulling you into the safety of his embrace. He pressed a trembling kiss to the crown of your head, rocking you back and forth, his breath hitching with each whisper. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I promise,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his fear and sorrow.

Inside you, a void yawned open, a black hole threatening to consume the remnants of your spirit. It was the same abyss that had loomed after Kai's death, a dark, intoxicating pull that whispered surrender. What was the point of all this struggle, of clawing your way back to a semblance of normalcy, only to be dragged down again into the suffocating depths?

“I can’t make this stop,” you whispered, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf in a storm. “I can’t fix this. I can’t—”

Azriel pressed his face into your hair, his lips trembling against your scalp. “I know, Y/N. I know.”

“Azriel, I can’t do this. I can’t keep living with this. I can’t stand it, it’s ripping me apart from the inside out.”

“We can figure this out,” Azriel whispered, but his voice was laced with a desperation that belied his words.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I need it to stop.”

“I know.” His voice was a cracked echo, barely more than a breath against your ear.

“I can’t lose you.” You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back as if holding on for dear life.

Azriel tensed, your words hitting him like a blow. He pulled back slightly, his tear-filled eyes searching yours. “You won’t,” he said, his voice hoarse. His arms tightened around you, as though he could shield you from the darkness creeping in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m going to hurt you,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I won’t let myself hurt you.”

“No, no, Y/N.” Azriel cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears with a tenderness that tore at your heart. “No, you won’t hurt me.”

“I hurt everything,” you gasped, your vision blurring. “Everything I touch burns. I can’t watch you burn.”

Azriel's hands trembled, his voice choked. “No, Y/N, you can’t do this. Don’t go back to that place. Stay here with me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your whole body shaking. The cold night air seemed to seep into your bones.

“Don’t leave me, Y/N. Please.” His plea was raw, a desperate cry that shattered the silence of the balcony. “Don’t go back to that dark place. Don’t let him do that to you. Don’t fade away from me. Please.”

“I don’t know how to live,” you panted, each word a jagged shard of glass in your throat.

“You can live,” Azriel whispered fiercely, shifting onto his knees so he could press his forehead against yours. His breath mingled with yours, a fragile thread connecting you to the world. “We can live with this.”

“I can’t,” you hoarsely whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

“You can,” Azriel pleaded, his voice trembling, a raw whisper of desperation. “Please, don’t... don’t leave me again.” His hands cupped your face, shaking, his tears mingling with yours, falling onto your cheeks in silent agony. His eyes, dark and haunted, locked onto yours, as if sheer willpower could hold you together. “I need you to live, Y/N. I need you to choose to live.”

Azriel’s thumbs traced your tear-streaked cheeks, his breath ragged, each word a struggle. “Every single day after you left, I thought about you. Wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were safe. Every moment, I worried. It haunted me, knowing you were out there, alone. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. You were... everything.”

He choked on his words, his tears flowing freely. “I sent shadows to watch over you. I saw you build that cabin, plant that garden. Saw you make that memorial for Anthea. You kept choosing to live, Y/N. You kept moving forward, even when everything seemed so dark.”

Azriel managed a broken smile through his sobs. “And when you went to that village, when you met Kai, and I saw that smile of yours, it nearly broke me. Seeing you with him... it hurt. But seeing you smile, seeing you live—it rebuilt me every day. Even if he made you smile... I just wanted you to find a reason to keep going.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes wild with desperation. “And then, when he took you, when Kai died, and I found you by that river, you were so lifeless, so... gone. I’ve never felt more rage, more helplessness in my life than seeing you like that, like your very soul had been stolen.”

Azriel took a shuddering breath, his voice cracking. “But even then, you kept waking up. Every damn day, you kept waking up and trying. You pushed forward, even when it felt impossible. You’re extraordinary, Y/N. You’re wonderful, forgiving, compassionate, loving. You’re funny, intelligent, everything... even with all the fucked-up things that have happened to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. Not a single bit of the pain. And yet, you kept living. You kept proving you could live through it.”

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, a tender, grounding touch. “You don’t need to be healed. You don’t need to fix everything. Just... please, live. You have to live. Whether I’m in your life or not, just... keep moving forward. Keep breathing. Keep waking up.”

Azriel's voice trembled with earnest desperation. “Even if all you can do is lie in bed, even if you feel like you can’t move... just keep living. Because I believe in you. I believe that if you keep going, you’ll find your way through this darkness. Your light is too bright to flicker out. You have to live, Y/N. You have to.”

His forehead pressed more firmly against yours, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a depth of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. “You have to live because you deserve to live. You deserve to find peace, to find joy, even if it feels so far away right now. Please, Y/N. Choose to live. For yourself.”

You peered into Azriel’s hazel eyes, which burned raw with emotion and fire as they met yours. Those eyes, brimming with vulnerability and unwavering intensity, seemed to reach deep into your soul, searching, longing. You looked for the parts of him that you might break, the parts that would crumble under your touch. Yet all you saw was the hand reaching out to you, desperate for you to stay, to come back from the edge. The dark void that threatened to pull you in hesitated, as if it too felt the tenderness emanating from him, a hesitant whisper of reluctance in its pull.

Azriel’s thumbs continued their gentle, soothing caress along your cheeks. The chill of the night air was forgotten, eclipsed by the warmth and solace in his eyes. “Please,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper, tremulous with hope and fear. “You have to live.”

“How can it hurt so much?” you asked, your voice breaking.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his mouth a tight line, “Because you’ve been hurt, deeply. And those wounds—they've tried to consume you, to pull you under. But you fight it like hell, Y/N. You defy it every time. And it hates that you won’t let it win.”

“I’m so tired, Azriel,” you murmured.

“I know,” he crooned, pulling you closer, his chest warm and solid against your cheek. The contact sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. “I know, and you don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

A sob shuddered through you, shaking your entire body.

“I won’t let the world force you to face this alone,” he whispered, pressing another tender kiss to your forehead. “I promise. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

You turned your tear-streaked face up to Azriel’s, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Tears glistened on his face as he looked down at you, his expression vast. You reached up, your hand trembling, and touched his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your palm.

His breathing slowed, a gentle, calming rhythm, and you rose onto your knees, bringing your other hand to cup his face. Your faces hovered close, the air between you thick. His eyes remained closed, trusting, vulnerable.

In a shaky breath, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the gentle pressure of his touch. Your breath caught in your throat, your blood rushing with a newfound warmth.

Azriel’s hand cupped your face, his scarred fingers tenderly tracing behind your ear. His other hand found its way to the small of your back, resting gently on your skin. You kissed him again, then again, each kiss a desperate plea for connection, for the simple, unyielding need to feel alive.

Tears continued to fall from your eyes, but they no longer felt like burdens. Instead, they were released. You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to dive into the unknown, but the leap felt free, almost intoxicating.

Your legs grew weak, and you clung to him, every spot where he touched you alight with sensation. His breath was soft, his scent a comforting, familiar balm that you feared to lose. You ran your fingers through the soft curls framing his face, mapping the contours of his cheeks, the light stubble on his jaw, memorizing every detail.

In that moment, there was nothing but Azriel. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a desperate embrace. Your heart, still heavy with despair, beats again with a renewed fervor. 

Only Azriel. Only you. And in his arms, you felt your heart begin to heal, you felt the crack of the world as you chose to live.

Readers, always in my heart: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardust @romantasyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 11

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 7.5k || Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury and lots of killing.

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

****

“How long has Wesley been in Summer?” You ask Raihn as you shift, settling into his side since he was curled up behind you. 

Not long. I’ve been tracking him for the past month—

You whirled, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Month!? He’s been here a whole month?”

Yes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because I wanted to track his movements, his habits before we did anything—before you did anything. Before you did anything reckless.

Crossing your arms, huffing, “Fine. But, tomorrow night I’m going to Summer. With or without you.”

All right, tomorrow night. Raihn agreed, knowing you would leave him behind if you had to. 

Settling further into him, titling your face up at the stars—at the night sky. “Raihn, let’s stay here for the night?”

As you wish, Sunshine. He moved, coiling himself closer around you, keeping you warm—safe. Why don’t you want to go back to the manor?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His body tensed, Who do I have to kill? 

“No one.” You sighed, “me probably.” 

What happened? His voice was calm, demanding, the way it always was before he killed someone. Which he had to do a few times when you were growing up, you’ve been hunted by Amarantha since you were in your mother’s womb. 

You turned to look at him, “It was my fault. I started it, I—“

I don’t care about what you did. What did the other one do? His blue eyes glinted with the promise of violence.

“Raihn, please… let it go. I’ve had a long day and I just want to rest.” 

He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just kept watching you. Fine, he relented. Sleep, you’re safe with me.

“Always am.”

You drifted off not long after, his steady breaths lulling you to sleep. 

**** 

The next morning, you made your trek back to the manor. Content to just listen to the birds and trees singing. It was almost as if in greeting as you walked through the Spring Court. Raihn said that they were happy you were walking among them as the heir of Spring. 

You were close enough to the garden that you heard Feyre’s tins and brushes clatter to the gravel. Close enough for you to scent her fear. 

Without a second thought you ran to her side, Raihn trailing close behind, as she stared at the fountain. 

No, not the fountain, but the head spiked to it. 

A bleeding High Fae male head—spiked atop the fountain statue of a great heron flapping its wings. The stone was soaked in enough blood to suggest that the head had been fresh when someone had impaled it on the heron’s upraised bill.

Instantly, your eyes scanned the area around you, taking in every detail, looking for any signs of movement. Nothing. Even when you tried scenting who had put the head on the fountain, nothing.

“Feyre,” You said softly so as not to startle her, her hand immediately clamped around your arm so tight you thought she’d break her fingers. 

You didn’t need to ask Raihn to check the perimeter—he was already gone as Feyre and you continued to stare at that still-screaming head, the brown eyes bulging, the teeth broken and bloody. No mask—so he wasn’t part of the Spring Court. Anything else about him, you couldn’t discern.

His blood was so bright on the gray stone—his mouth open so vulgarly. You took a step forward and Feyre tried pulling you back, but slammed into something—someone.

She whirled, hands rising out of instinct, but Tamlin’s voice said, “It’s me,” and she stopped cold. Lucien stood beside him, pale and grim.

“Not Autumn Court,” Lucien said. “I don’t recognize him at all.”

Tamlin’s hands clamped on her shoulders as you turned back toward the head. “Neither do I.” A soft, vicious growl laced his words, but no claws pricked her skin as he kept gripping her. His hands tightened, though, while Lucien stepped into the small pool in which the statue stood—striding through the red water until he peered up at the anguished face.

“They branded him behind the ear with a sigil,” Lucien said, swearing. “A mountain with three stars—”

“Night Court,” Tamlin said too quietly. 

You tensed. Fuck. 

“Why. . . why would they do this?” Feyre asked.

Tamlin let go of her shoulder, coming to stand between you as Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“The Night Court does what it wants,” Tamlin said.“They live by their own codes, their own corrupt morals.”

Your hands curled into fists as you fought to keep your temper in check. 

“They’re all sadistic killers,” Lucien added. “They delight in torture of every kind—and would find this sort of stunt to be amusing.”

You dared a step forward, body moving on its own, but Raihn stopped you. Don’t. 

You blew out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Willing yourself to relax.

“Amusing, but not a message?” Feyre asked as she scanned the garden.

“Oh, it’s a message,” Lucien said, and she cringed at the thick, wet sounds of flesh and bone on stone as he yanked the head off. You’d both skinned enough animals, but this. . . Tamlin put another hand on her shoulder. “To get in and out of our defenses, to possibly commit the crime nearby, with the blood this fresh. . . ” A splash as Lucien landed in the water again. “It’s exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing. The bastard.”

Rhysand. Your uncle. 

You gauged the distance between the pool and the house. Sixty, maybe seventy feet. That’s how close they’d come to them. To Feyre. Tamlin brushed a thumb against her shoulder. “You’re still safe here. This was just their idea of a prank.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“This isn’t connected to the blight?” Feyre asked.

“Only in that they know the blight is again awakening—and want us to know they’re circling the Spring Court like vultures, should our wards fall further.” Feyre looked as sick as you all felt, because Tamlin added, “I won’t let that happen.”

You scoffed. 

He pinned you with a glare, “Do you not believe me, Y/n?” 

Turning your body to face him straight on, you pointed at his mask, “The mask on your face makes it fairly clear that you can’t do a fucking thing against the blight.” He stared at you—fighting to keep his temper in check to not upset Feyre more than she already was—you stared right back. Unflinching. Even as his claws slid free. 

Lucien splashed out of the fountain, “They’ll get what’s coming to them soon enough. Hopefully the blight will wreck them, too.” Tamlin growled at Lucien to take care of the head, and the gravel crunched as Lucien departed. 

Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Feyre crouched to pick up her paints and brushes. He knelt next to her, his hands closed around hers, squeezing. “You’re still safe,” he promised to her again. And you rolled your eyes. 

Feyre didn’t say anything, her eyes flicked to you and then back down to her brushes—to her hands that were still shaking. 

“It’s court posturing,” Tamlin explained. “The Night Court is deadly, but this was only their lord’s idea of a joke. Attacking anyone here—attacking you—would cause more trouble than it’s worth for him. If the blight truly does harm these lands, and the Night Court enters our borders, we’ll be ready.”

“No you won’t.” You muttered as you turned to leave, following the way Lucien went. He stopped as he heard you approaching. The gravel crunching beneath your feet, giving you away.

“What?”

Nodding at the head in his hands, “Let me see it again.” 

“Why?”

“Lucien.” He lifted it so you could get a good look at it, he didn’t look familiar, your nostrils flared slightly once. Twice. “He’s from the Winter Court.” You said matter-of-factly.

Lucien’s brows furrowed as he looked at the head closer—examining it. “How do you know?” 

You stared at him, incredulous, “You can’t scent the faint hint of crisp snow on him? It’s barely there but it’s there.”

He sniffed once, twice, then he sighed, shaking his head, “No.” Then he turned his focus on you, his head cocked to the side, sizing you up. “Who-what are you?”

“Nobody important.” Certainly not the “Sun of the Night Court.” Certainly not the heir that was promised to save Prythian—to kill Amarantha. Certainly not Tamlin’s daughter. . . his heir. 

Lucien prowled closer until you were nearly chest to chest. “You are so full of shit,” he spat. “Are you a bloodhound or something?”

“Or something,” You shrugged—feigning nonchalance.

“You’re a bad friend.”

“I know.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant as you withstood his withering gaze. He stared at you for a few moments longer before turning on his heel going to get rid of the head as Tamlin asked. You just stood there, watching his figure disappear into the Western Woods.

Whoever was here is gone now and they covered their tracks. There’s not even a scent. Raihn said from wherever he was on the grounds. I can go out further if you want me to. 

No, I need you to do something else. Go to the Summer Court and watch Wesley. Don’t do anything, just watch him and the others, and I’ll meet you at the border of Spring and Summer after the sun goes down and we’ll go back together. 

All right, don’t do anything stupid till I get back. 

You mentally rolled your eyes at him. 

****

Making your way to the kitchen that was bustling with fae getting lunch ready. They all murmured greetings when they saw you. A fae male with a bird mask asked if you wanted something to eat before lunch was served or if you wanted something in particular for dessert. 

“No, thank you sir. But I’m actually looking for Alis.”

He flushed, bowing his head, “I am no sir, Lady Y/n. I am merely a humble servant—”

Shaking your head, “Doesn’t matter. At least, not to me. You treated me with respect so I did the same, sir.”

“Ben.” He said, a shy smile gracing his lips, “My name is Ben.”

You stuck your hand out, “Y/n—just Y/n. I hate being called Lady.”

Ben laughed but hesitated when he saw your hand, “La— I mean Y/n,” he corrected himself, “my hands are dirty.” And they were in fact covered in blood from a buck he was preparing for lunch.

“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” your hand was still outstretched towards him. Ben’s eyes flickered between your hand and his as if in a silent battle with himself. Then he shook your hand, laughing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, “What?” You asked him.

He shook his head, “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be, Princess.” You stiffened at the title—Princess. You don’t know what he must’ve read on your face because he quickly reassured you, “Don’t worry only Alis and I know. We knew your mother. . . she was always kind to us, as are you.” He whispered. 

You only nodded. 

“Alis is in her room. In the servants quarters in the East Wing of the manor.” 

“Thank you, Ben.” 

****

As you made your way to Alis’s room, more servants greeted you. Some with a nod, others with a smile. Once you got to the East Wing, you realized you didn’t know which room was hers. You stood in the middle of the hall, trying to listen for her voice, trying to scent her, shaking your head in frustration when you couldn’t. 

Then a sentry came out of a room, he had tan skin, tawny eyes and deep rich brown hair. He looked back into the room like he was speaking to someone and a couple seconds later a female’s laugh echoed into the hallway. His face broke out in a grin but when he saw me his brows knitted together and he whispered something too low for you to hear to the female inside the room. 

He shut the door and strode towards you. “Are you lost Lady Y/n? Your rooms are located in the—“ He stood less than a foot away from you now.

You were still looking around or trying to at least since the sentry towered over you and his brawny build seemed somehow bulkier in his armor. “West Wing—I know. Where’s Alis’s room?”

He turned and pointed, “Down the hall, take a left, first door on the right.”

You nodded. “Thank you. . .”

“Emmett.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Emmett.”

He bowed his head, “At your service, my lady.” Then he left. You followed his directions, finally finding Alis’s room and knocking. 

A few seconds later you heard movement behind her door before she swung it open. She blinked in surprise, “Y/n.”

“I need you to do something for me.” She stepped aside letting you in. “I need you to cover for me.” 

Her brows pinched together, her lips pressing into a tight line. “For how long?”

“Just until tonight.” 

“Tonight? What are—where are you going?”

“Out.”

She sighed, tilting her head back looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head, “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do something stupid.” 

“Of course not,” You grinned. 

“Reckless? Dangerous?”

“Well that’s still up for debate.”

“Y/n—“

“Alis, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have another choice.” 

She was looking at you now. “At least tell me you’re not going alone.”

You shook your head, “Raihn’s coming with me.”

She didn’t say anything for a few minutes before sighing again and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “All right, fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.” 

“You never have to thank me, Princ—Y/n. I’ll always help you. . . Now do you need anything else?”

“From you? No. From the armory? Yes.”

She looked up at the ceiling again, “Cauldron, save me.” 

You laughed as you made your way to the door, looking back at her, “Thank you, Alis.” You drawled. “I appreciate you.” She muttered something you chose to ignore. 

****

It didn’t take you long to find the armory. It was located near the training grounds, not far from the manor. 

You just needed to find some fighting leathers, daggers, boots and anything else you might need. Yet, none of it would feel as familiar as the Illyrian fighting leathers or blades you’d been trained with when you were a child. But you’ve done more with less. At least you still had the two ash daggers that your fathers gifted you on the last solstice you all shared. 

There were no other sentries near or in the armory that you could detect except for two High Fae males that were currently sparring on the training grounds. They were too focused on each other to see you slip in through the door. It was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, probably due to a glamour one of the past High Lords placed. 

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you took in the entire armory. The wall directly opposite to the door had a small bench pushed up against it with shelves a couple feet above it. Fully stocked with different sized boots, fighting and training leathers. 

One of the other walls was full of different weapons: swords, daggers, knives, battle axes, bows, arrows and shields. The last wall had floor to ceiling shelves that held different types of armor: breastplates, helmets, gauntlets, belts and other accessories. 

You made quick work of filling an empty crate that was left near the bench with fighting leathers and boots closest to your size. Two leather gauntlets, a bandolier that could hold several daggers and a sword in the back, and a belt that could hold a battle axe. 

Both hands were braced on your hips as you looked at the wall with weapons, trying to pick which ones would be the best. You definitely weren’t going to pick a bow and arrow—it’s not your favorite for close combat. So that left only swords, daggers and battle axes. 

A simple battle axe caught your eye. The hilt was wrapped with black leather, there wasn’t anything special about the blade itself but it seemed to gleam brighter than any of the others. You picked it up, feeling the balance of it and its weight as you swung it. 

The Illyrian part of you so at peace that you hadn’t even realized you closed your eyes. Until you whipped around, throwing it, so close past two sentries heads that were walking in. The same two sentries that you saw sparring. 

They both chuckled and then one in the front spoke.“You missed,” he teased. 

You gave them a wicked smirk that always put others on edge and they visibly tensed. “Did I?” Your eyes flicked to the sides of their faces, closest to the door frame, where the axe was embedded. 

Both sentries reached a hand up to their faces in unison. To the matching slashes on the left sides of their faces—on their cheeks—that was bleeding. Their eyes widening before they let out amused chuckles. “Not bad, Lady Y/n.” The other one said. 

Still smirking, you dipped your chin and made your way towards the door, pulling the axe free before dropping it into the crate. And went right back to picking a few daggers. Some straight bladed ones and some curved all the while feeling the sentries eyes on you. Glancing over your shoulder at them, “Do you two need something?”

“N-no.” They said at the same time. 

“All right then.” You went on trying to find the right sword. They were all simple but finely crafted and well taken care of. Reaching for one when one of the sentries cleared his throat, making you stop. Turning around to face them fully. “Yes?”

The taller one of the two cleared his throat again, “We think we know the perfect sword for you.” 

You tilted your head taking them both in and you realize they both had the same warm brown eyes and gold hair. Cousins? Maybe even brothers. They seemed familiar and not just because you’ve seen them around the manor, but from before. “Why would you two want to give me a sword?” 

“It is yours by right.” The other one said. 

You didn’t respond, brows pinching together as you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. 

Wordlessly the taller one of the two reached down and picked up the crated you had filled and walked toward the door. Only looking back to make sure that the other sentry and you were following him. You followed him back toward the barracks—where all the sentries stayed while on the grounds. Far apart enough that you didn’t look like you were all walking together. 

Once inside the barracks, a few other sentries greeted them, calling them “Bron” and “Hart”. Some simply nodded while others ignored them completely and perked up when they saw you. Walking all the way to the end of the hall and Bron—the taller one—opened the door on the right and you all entered a room. His room. 

He set the crate in his hands down on the bed that was pushed into the corner and got down on his knees, pulling out a trunk from beneath it. Hart went to his side and they both pulled several cloaks from it before finally pulling out a sword—your mother’s sword. 

You let out a shuddered breath as Bron held it with both hands. “Why do you have that?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“We were both there that day. . . we tried to help but we were too late. We looked for you for days to no avail. This”—he looked down at your mother’s sword—“was the only thing we found.” He explained. 

Hart’s voice was tight as he added, “Princess Rhaenyra was kind to us—a friend to us. . . Your fathers too.”

As if in a daze you took a step forward and grabbed her sword. You couldn’t stop the tears that fell down my cheeks as you held it. It was a beautiful sword. Slender and elegant made from Illyrian steel, with a black hilt, a gold cross-guard that was shaped as dragon wings with an amethyst the size of a chicken egg in the pommel. The entire sword had Illyrian runes carved into it for luck and glory. 

You looked at them both with a sad smile, “Thank you. Y-you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

They both nodded their heads and then placed their right hands over their hearts and kneeled. Then at the same time they spoke. “I swear myself to you. To ward you, Princess Y/n. I shall guard your secrets. Obey your commands. Fight at your side and defend your name and honor. With all my strength and give my blood for yours.” 

Confused, you shook your head, “Neither of you have to swear oaths to me. Giving me this sword—my mother’s sword is more than enough.” 

“Princess Y/n, it would be the greatest honor of our lives to serve you. The heir that was promised—the ���Sun of the Night court.” Hart Replied. 

“Please, Princess, allow us this honor.” Bron insisted. 

“All right. But, never forget it is also my honor to have you serve me.” They nodded. “Now rise.” They did. And you gently laid your mother’s—your sword in the crate and went to pick it up but Bron’s voice stopped you.”

“Princess—“

“Please don’t call me Princess. The less people that know who I really am the better.” They both nodded again. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes, Bron?”

“Why do you need all of this?” He asked, gesturing to the crate.

“Because there’s something I need to do in the Summer Court.” 

“Would you like us to accompany you?” asked Hart.”

“No. No, it’s better if you both stay here. This is something I need to do alone.” 

They bowed their heads, “Of course.” 

**** 

By the time you made it back to your bedroom in the Manor it was mid afternoon and you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep. 

Alis woke you up with a tray of cured meats, cheese and bread for you to eat. With a goblet of fresh water. 

“What time is it?” You croaked, your voice still thick with sleep.

 

“Late afternoon. The sun is going to set soon.” She said after glancing at the windows. 

You nodded. Raihn? Even your mental voice sounded thick with sleep. 

Yes, sunshine? He answered instantly. 

I’ll meet you at the border of the Spring and Summer court after the sun sets. 

Be careful. He said. 

You too. 

You ate in silence while watching Alis lay out the fighting leathers and weapons on your bed. She shook her head, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“What?”

“The idea of you going out. What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine, Alis.” You reassured her. “I always am.” 

She grumbled her agreement under her breath making you laugh as she took the empty tray from you. She left, taking the tray back to the kitchen and with a sigh you got up to get dressed. 

Sliding on the supple yet tough fighting leathers, designed to provide flexibility and protection during combat. The boots following after. Next was the gauntlets, bandolier and then the belt. 

Alis came back in after you had already sheathed your sword on your back and the battle axe on your hip. Now you were sheathing your daggers into the bandolier—three curved ones and three straight ones. 

You were going to secure your two ash daggers into your boots when Alis stepped towards you, halting you mid movement.  She held two leather thigh sheaths that could connect to a belt, “I had planned to gift this to you on your birthday but it’s in a few days anyway.” 

You took it from her hands, taking it in. 

There wasn’t anything special about it—except that it was a gift from her—but you could tell it was high quality. 

She fidgeted, “I had it made for you—“ You cut off her rambling with a hug. She let out a surprised laugh before wrapping her arms around you too. 

“Thank you, Alis.” You pulled away, moving to strap them on and secure them to your belt before sheathing an ash dagger to each thigh. 

She tipped her chin and led you to the vanity where she braided your hair back away from your face. When she finished she met your gaze in the mirror and gave you an unsure. “It’s time.” 

And surely enough through the reflection of the mirror you could just barely see the curtain drawn window and see that the sun had set. You turned around in the seat, facing her, “What did you tell Feyre?”

“That you weren’t feeling well and that you were going to sleep through the rest of the evening.” 

“Good. Where’s Tamlin?”

“He was called to the border while you were sleeping. He’ll likely come back early in the morning while it’s still dark.”

You nod. “And Lucien?”

“Patrolling the grounds, he’ll be back in a couple hours,” she answers.

“All right.” You make your way to the balcony doors and open them, Alis follows closely behind but stops in the doorway. Your hands resting on the railing and without you looking back you say, “Don’t wait up for me.” Then without another word you leap from the balcony, slip past the sentries and made your way through the Western Woods. I’m heading to the border now, you tell Raihn mentally.

I’m already here. Be safe, sunshine. He answered. 

You jogged into the woods before stopping in a clearing. Waiting, listening in case anyone was around  or following you. Once you were satisfied you inhaled a deep breath and when you exhaled you shot through the trees. 

Even though the blood spell dulled your senses and blocked your magic, you were still more fae than mortal. In your fae form your senses were sharper—keener than a normal fae’s. More so than a High Lord’s according to your mother. 

Your clothed figure was a black streak through the dark and your blades gleaming like stars when they caught in the moonlight. The ground easy beneath my boots. Your immortal body gracefully leaping over rocks, fallen trees and branches, and dodging trees without even thinking. Without a doubt you let your senses guide you. 

The smell of oak and moss and living things, the open coolness of the mist passing like a path that you followed. Until you finally made it to the border where the courts of Spring and Summer met not even fifteen minutes later. 

Raihn stalked out of the shadows, moving towards you. “Tell me what you know.” A command not a question. 

He held your gaze, blue eyes glowing bright in the dark. They set up camp between Adriata and the border. Six soldiers are on watch a mile out from the camp and six other soldiers are sitting out around the fire in front of the tent. 

You nodded. “And Wesley?”

In the tent. 

“All right.” You only took one step forward before Raihn stopped you, blocking your path with his massive body. “You’re not gonna stop me.” And you went to side step him but he only got in your way again. “What?” You growled. 

There’s something else you need to know.

“What?”

I heard Wesley saying he got word that the “Son of the Night Court” was in spring and he was going to send scouts within the hour. 

Your face paled. “Fuck. They might not find me but if he finds Feyre they’ll take her.” Amarantha’s going to take her. Kill her. You shook your head, your blood now roaring in your ears. “Raihn, get back to Spring. If anything happens to her—“

It’ll have to happen to me. 

Without another word he nuzzled his head into your shoulder and took off back towards Spring. A white blur through the night, through the trees. You took a deep breath willing your head to clear, you needed to focus, Raihn would protect her. It took a couple more deep breaths before your nerves settled and your blood was roaring for different reasons. 

Even though you were only quarter Illyrian it was a dominant part of you. Powerful and intense like a storm gathering within you.  Before a fight everyone always feels a mix of anticipation and adrenaline wash over them—some embrace it and others fight it, either willingly or unwillingly. You always welcomed it. Instead of it clouding your senses it heightened them allowing you to focus in fights. Allowing you to fight with lethal skill and precision, excelling in every fight. 

You let the promise of revenge, bloodshed and death wash over you. Relax you. Letting your parents training take over as you unsheathed two daggers from your bandolier, the feeling of them as familiar as the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. On silent feet you made your way to the camp's perimeter—to the first soldier on watch and faster than anything had the right to be you stuck the dagger into his throat and twisted. 

He died before his body even hit the ground. 

You did the same to the five other soldiers—four females and one male— that were on watch. Their blood dripped from your fingertips as you stalked closer to the camp. Standing on the edge of the tree line, you saw five more soldiers sitting around a fire—two females and three males—talking. They still hadn’t noticed you and you scented the air. Nostrils flaring slightly once, twice and you knew Wesley was inside the tent. 

Reaching behind your back you unsheathed your sword and moved. Prowling towards them, holding your drawn sword behind your back, the point upwards.

Sunshine. Raihn reached out to you, mind to mind. The manor is secure. Feyre was safe. You hummed your agreement mentally and closed off the bond on your side. 

You purposefully let leaves crunch beneath your feet as you neared them and they stopped talking. “Where’s Wesley?” You asked, your voice deathly soft.

One of the Hybern soldiers—a high fae female—tensed. “What do you want with Wes?” She asked as she looked around, no doubt wondering how you got through the soldiers that were supposed to be on watch. 

“Where is he?” You growled.

“What. Do. You. Want. With. Him.” She growled right back. 

“I heard he’s looking for the Sun of the Night court?”

Another Hybern soldier—a high fae male—flanked her, “You know where he is.”

“She is right here. Looking for him.”

Another soldier—male. “You’re not the son of the Night Court. You’re a mortal girl.” He spat, drawing his sword.

You shrugged, lowering your eyes, jaw clenching. “Semantics.”

They subtly shifted, giving another male soldier with deep brown skin that was holding a crossbow a clear shot at you. In one quick movement he raises it and lets the bolt fly. 

You knock aside the bolt with your sword. 

Then another soldier—the other female—rushes towards you and you parry her sword, stabbing her straight through the neck. 

You parry a second soldier's attack and slice his stomach. 

Whirling you stab a third soldier that tried rushing you from behind in the leg. He falls and the second soldier comes at you again, blocking his attack, with the blade of your sword pointed down. Your swords clash and then you twist your wrist and slice his throat. So deep his head is barely attached to his body. 

A fourth soldier charges at you and you block his blow and with your left hand you clamp down on his right forearm and bring your sword down on it. Severing his arm from his body. Grabbing his sword from his right hand before it even hits the ground and stabbing it into the chest of the soldier with the crossbow before he can reload it. 

Another soldier comes at you with his sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He spreads his arms as he raises his left, bringing down his sword in a wide arc and you duck. Then before he can bash you with his shield you spin and switch your grip on your sword so it’s horizontal and stab through the side of his neck. 

You prowl forward, right as the third soldier you had stabbed in the leg charges at you. With his arms raised and you drop to a knee and angle your sword upwards stabbing him through his ribs and into his heart and take his swords. 

The female soldier that you spoke to first snarls at you as your swords clash and you spin before striking another blow. She blocks it but with the other sword you stab her through her chest. Impaling her and pinning her to the ground. You take a step back and twist, decapitating her with one swing. 

You hear, heavy, sure foot falls as Wesley prowls towards you. Too caught up in slaughtering his soldiers to notice him till now.

He points his sword at you as he charges. You dodge two thrusts and then parry several slashes. You exchange several more blows. Then land a punch to his jaw and drive him back, pinning him to a tree with your sword pressed against his neck. His nostrils flaring—he’s scenting you. 

His eyes widened and then narrowed into slits.

“You remember me. Don’t you?” You growl. 

He only growls back and stabs you in the stomach with a dagger you didn’t realize he had. He knocks aside your sword. Then he spins and swipes dodging your blows, then he slashes at your back and you bring your own sword behind your back just in time to block it. 

You knock his sword away and bring your own down on his shoulder. He spins on his knee and slices your thigh with his dagger. You glare at each other. Then you side step him as he charges, dodging a horizontal swipe, he puts the dagger in his sword hand. 

The blades facing in opposite directions. You grab the blade of his dagger as it moves towards your hip and then in one quick motion he pulls it out of your grip. slicing your palm in the process. 

You surge forward raining down blows. Wesley blocks a blow with both blades. You rip the sword from his grasp and aim your own sword at his throat. He stands rigid, staring at you with nothing but hate. You toss his sword behind you and lower your sword. 

He lunges forward with the dagger and you knock it from his grasp with the pommel of your sword. And with your free hand you grab both his hands and in one fell swoop you bring down your sword in a brutal cut—severing both hands at the wrist. His blood, spraying your boots.

His blood curdling screams fill your ears and the forest around as he falls to his knees. Doubling over in pain. You laugh as his body obviously begins going into shock if the telltale sign of his hyperventilating is anything to go by. You circle around him—a predator about to make the killing blow to their prey. 

He whimpers as you force his head up with the blade of your sword under his chin. “Look. At. Me.” You say deathly soft. 

Wesley forces his eyes to meet yours. “W-we killed you. All of you.” His voice quivering from pain. 

You shook your head, a feral grin on your lips as you loomed over him making him flinch. “You slaughtered a mother and two fathers. . . but you didn't slaughter every one of the Blackfyre’s.” His face pale from blood loss seemed to pale further. “No. That was your mistake.” You taunted. “You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one dragon alive and the sheep are never safe.“ 

His body began to shake even more as he took in the murderous look in your eyes. The rage. 

“Do you remember what you said to me all those years ago?” 

He whimpered, shaking his head. 

You gripped his hair, tilting his head back, “I want words,” you snarled. 

“N-no.” He stuttered between sobs. 

“It was after you took a whip to my back. I could barely stand but I still tried slitting your throat and you dislocated my shoulder disarming me.” You let out a cold bitter humorless laugh. “You said,” leaning down to whisper into his ear, “you lack conviction” and then you tied me back onto the post and whipped me some more.” 

“I am so sorry. . . I was just a soldier following orders.” 

“And now you’ll die because you were a soldier just following orders.” 

You lifted your sword up in a high arc and Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring some type of prayer under his breath. Your sword's blade glinted in the moonlight before descending in a swift clean death blow. There was a devastating elegance to the motion but right as it was about land true—

“Y/n!” Lucien called. 

You pulled back the blow, barely a hair's breadth away from Wesley’s neck.  

He appeared from behind the tent, stopping a couple feet away from Wesley and you. He sounded terrified. It took you a moment to realize he was terrified of you. 

“Stop. . .” He pleaded, his voice hoarse. 

You didn’t want to stop. Not until Wesley was dead. Not until all of Amarantha’s lieutenants were dead. Not until Amarantha was dead. 

“Please, Y/n.”

 You looked up and saw his remaining eye was wide, his metal one whirring softly as he looked around. At all the soldiers you slaughter and at Wesley with your sword at his neck. You blinked once and you were in his head, seeing yourself through his eyes. 

Your eyes were clear but filled with feral satisfaction. There was still a hint of a wicked feral grin on your lips. And you were covered in blood from head to toe; some of it yours and most of it theirs. You blinked again now seeing through your own eyes. 

“We can take him back to spring. Let Tamlin deal with him.” Lucien tried reasoning and Wesley face shone with relief—hope—at the chance of mercy.

“No. Not good enough.” You raised your sword again. 

The emissary took a step forward. “This isn’t going to change what happened.” 

“I don’t care. He slaughtered my family.” You half growled—half whispered. 

“Can you forgive your enemies?” He tried reasoning again.

“The gods will forgive. My task is to arrange their meeting.”

And this time when your sword arced through the air, the blade struck true. And Wesley’s head fell to the ground near his severed hands before his body did too. 

You tilted your face up at the night sky—the stars, a small smile on your lips when you felt a soft warm breeze caress your face. Your eyes closed and it was as if your mother was doing it. You could’ve sworn you heard your parent’s voices in the wind. 

Just two more, Sunshine. Your mother said. Only Cahir and Amarantha are left, Sunshine. Your father Declan seemed to say. My brave sweet girl you’re almost done. Your father Callum reassured you. 

Just two more. 

“Two more what?” Lucien asked cautiously. 

You realize you must’ve said it out loud. “Go back to the manor, Lucien.” 

Distantly you heard leaves crunching beneath light footfalls in the trees behind you. You didn’t spare him another glance before silently making your way towards the noise. Scenting the air, you smelled a female. Her scent, a crisp and refreshing winter breeze, with hints of frost and pine needles.

It was familiar but you couldn’t place it, so you pulled your battle axe free. The weight of it was a comfort in your hand as you silently continued further into the woods. 

But it was almost too quiet so you waited for a minute to just listen. You could hear leaves rustling, a distant river, animals and then a heart beating rapidly. Not an animal's heart but fae. And it was all you could to grab the female by her throat with your free hand and slam her into the ground. 

Her hands clawed at the one you wrapped around her neck as she thrashed beneath you. But she stilled when she felt the cool metal of your axe press into her skin. It was dark but the moonlight let you glimpse pale skin, white hair and blue eyes. 

Your brows knitting together. “Viviane?”

“Princess?” 

“Why were you watching me?”

“I wasn’t.” 

Your hand tightened around her throat and you dug your axe deeper drawing a drop of blood. “Bullshit.” 

“I didn’t know it was you.” 

You slammed her head into the ground. 

“I swear I didn’t know,” she grounded out through clenched teeth.

“Liar.” 

“Fine. . . I needed to ask you something.” 

You stared at her for a couple more seconds before slowly letting go of her throat and getting off of her. “You needed to ask me something,” you repeat. 

“Yes.”

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“A high fae male from Winter was found in Spring territory earlier today.” The one spiked to the fountain. 

“What about it?” 

“Did he have a note on his person?”

“No.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t hidden anywhere on his body?”

You suppress a shudder. “Yes.” 

“Y/n did you check? He could have hid—“

“There was no way, no place for him to hide a note. They spiked his head to the fountain.” She visibly flinched. “I don’t know where his body is.” I whispered and she put a hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry, Viviane.” 

She shook her head. “No. No. No.” Then she reached for me, her hands gripping my shoulders, “This is your fault.” 

Your eyes shuttered. “I know.” 

“No you don’t know!” 

You wrenched her hands from your shoulders, spinning and pinning her against a tree with your forearm. “Trust me. . . I know. I lost people too.” You say with lethal softness and she blinked, seeming to remember that was true. 

“I-I’m sorry Princess. . . about your mother and fathers.” 

You waved your hand dismissively, “I don’t need to hear this right now,” you only made it a step back towards the Spring Court before she stopped you. “What?” you spat. 

“Here.” she placed a silver dagger into your hand. It was elegantly made with a bright sapphire in the pommel. “For besting me,” she explained. 

You stared at it and before you could say something she winnowed. 

****

The trek back to the manor was miserable. You were sore, tired, thirsty and hungry. Not to mention covered in blood, it was dry and sticky, and you were still bleeding from Wesley stabbing you in the stomach. Your body was probably littered in bruises and minor cuts. 

Thankfully, none of the sentries said anything as you strode by with your chin held high, slightly limping. 

Bron was by the doors when he saw you and he took a single step before you halted him with a raised hand. Giving him a tight nod as you passed him. And you hoped Feyre was asleep by now.

You barely made it up the steps when you heard her. 

Feyre.

“Y/n!” She tried running to you but Lucien stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure her.

She scanned you from head to toe, her blue-grey eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine”. 

You nodded. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“Please tell me that isn’t your blood.” 

“Not all of it. . . Most of it isn’t anyways.”

You felt him before you heard him—saw him. Raihn. His claws clicked against the marble floors as he made his way to you. Nuzzling his head against you, causing you to let out a hiss of pain from the wound in your stomach. You opened the bond on your side and felt his relief to see you were alive. 

I’m all right. You reassured him. 

He only let out a soft whine. 

You heard a loud, startled gasp from behind you atop the stairs. “Y/n?” 

Alis. 

Heaving a breath. “I’m fine, Alis.”

Her hands hovered over your body, her lips pursing, “You are certainly not fine.” 

You grinned at her. “I need another favor.” 

She placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed into slits, “What?”

“Can you get me something to eat and some water and bring it up to my room please.” 

She huffed. “Fine.” 

“Thank you, Alis.”

“But first let me help you up to your room.” 

No. I’ll take you. Raihn said. 

You waved her off. “Raihn will take me.” 

“Fine but let me draw you a bath first.”

“All right.”

Raihn lowered himself all the way down to the marble floors and you stepped over him so a leg was on each side and then he stood. Earning another hiss of pain out of you. 

“Y/n?” Feyre called again. 

Turning to look at her. “What?”

“What happened?” 

You looked at her before your eyes flicked to Lucien then back to her. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.” 

“Y/n.” 

“Soon, Fey.” You promised. 

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 12

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[patscorner]

CHAPTER TWO: EXPECTED VALUE

pairings: paige x oc

contains: angst

word count: 2,828

a/n: heyyy, another chapter down. feel free to leave your thoughts in my inbox or in the comments, let me know your likes and dislikes. this one was much harder to write (mostly because I kept changing the plot 🤗), but it's done, and I think I love it. Anyway, I have NO idea when the next one will be out, but hopefully soon.

=======================

“You’re not driving my car.” I say, reaching for my keys in CJ’s hand.

I’m tired. I tried to close my eyes and at least get an hour or two, but all calls for sleep were left unanswered. It’s not my fault, though. I’d only been around her for a couple hours, and she’s already consumed my thoughts. Her smell, her body, her smile.

Those fucking lips.

All night long, all I could think about was her. At first, it was her, all the things I love about her. But then it was her, and how I can’t have her. Every thought was about how I almost had her… but the second she started to slip, I ripped my hand away and left her to fend for herself. And to be fair, she only knows half of it. Maybe if she knew everything, then maybe I’d understand why she’d still be mad. But all she knew about was the kiss. And I intend to keep it that way.

It’s not like I didn’t try to get her back. I apologized. I tried. But it’s unfair that I was the only one doing so. Plus, she said didn’t even want to see me yesterday.

Wait.

She wasn’t gonna tell me she was transferring. She was only gonna tell Azzi. I wonder what else she’s told Azzi…

“Dude, you can barely keep your eyes open. I’d like to make it to Texas.” she scoffs, moving them just out of my reach. I rolled my eyes. “I can keep my eyes open just fine, give me the fuckin’ keys.” The words come out just as harsh as I intend them to, but the look in CJ’s eyes tells me that doing so may not have been the best idea.

“No,” she said, her eyes challenging.

I blink. “I- what?”

She leans in a little closer, her feet only inches from mine. “I said-” she licks her lips, and my eyes instinctively flick to them. “No.” I swallow and nod. “You got it.”

CJ laughs, grinning as she backs away from me. “Good!” She twirls the keys on her fingers, the shiny metal glistening in the light. She licks her lips once more before skipping out of the kitchen.

What the fuck?

Why was that-

Bro, what?

How the fuck am I supposed to be in the car with her after that?

“Are you coming?” Azzi calls from the front door. My eyes widen as I scramble to pick up my bag. I have no idea how I’m supposed to function, especially after whatever that was. Azzi gives me a weird look as I pass her in the doorway. “What took you so long?”

I glance at her, but keep walking. “Don’t worry about it.” I mutter, tossing my bag in the trunk.

I ignore CJ’s eyes on me as I slam the passenger door. “Dude?” She raises her eyebrows at me.

I huff and glare at her. “Don’t.” She puts her pretty hands up in mock innocence, but the smirk on her lips gives her away. “I ain’t even do nothing!”

“Yeah, but you were gonna. And I don’t wanna hear it.” She snickers as she buckles up. “Someone’s grumpy in the morning…” she mutters as she turns on the car. I don’t say anything as Azzi gets in the back seat.

“Okay, Azzi, you get to DJ first.” CJ says, handing the cord to Azzi, who connects her phone to the auxiliary cord. I felt a knot in my stomach tighten as the familiar melody filled the car, memories threatening to surface.

This was our song.

I glance over at the brown skinned girl, who was already looking at me as Hotel California by The Eagles plays over the speakers.

A normal choice for Azzi, it’s a great song. But if Azzi knew the history, she’d never have played it. It’s not her fault. CJ and I did a pretty good job not involving her, giving her enough to not feel left out, but always sparing key details. I can see it affects CJ just as much as me as she blinks a couple times and clears her throat before she puts the car in drive.

I have no idea how she recovers so quickly.

“Everybody ready?”

__________

“Y’all want anythin’?” I ask, grabbing my wallet from its temporary home on the floor.

Azzi shakes her head, and CJ nods. “I’ll just take a redbull.” I make a face.

“I forgot you were fucking disgusting.” I mutter, my voice almost as unimpressed as the look on CJ’s face. “You’re so annoying.” She says as she opens her door. I let my eyes linger on her body as she stands. She’s in comfortable clothing, but she’s just as gorgeous. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to look this stunning wearing gray Nike sweatpants and (much to my despair) an orange Texas Longhorn hoodie. Her curly hair was tied back in a bun, except two small strands, dangling down in her face. Her hair is so pretty down, I don’t know why she insists on keeping it up.

I exhale sharply, composing myself as I open my door.

I groan as I step out of the car. We’re about three hours in, and I feel like if Azzi didn’t beg CJ to pull over, we’d still be going. The trip here was nice, filled with normal conversations and smiles with no underlying tension. Just us.

Just like how it used to be.

I wince as the ache in my limbs intensifies, although it doesn’t stop me from walking to the gas station, going straight to the drink section. As I scan over the options, a thought popped into my head.

“I didn’t even want to see you today.”

I’m supposed to be mad at her. She’s probably talked shit behind my back to Azzi. I mean, she wasn’t going to tell me she was transferring, so who knows what else she’s said.

Let’s be realistic for a second. We used to be inseparable. It seemed as though nothing could tear our hearts apart because that’s how close we were. And truly, it was just one. One heart, tied by the strings of each separate organ, makes a bond unlike any other. Something completely new. At one point, it was both of us, or neither. The true package deal.

And now, she hates me. For reasons that are so painfully understandable. I’d picked up the broken pieces of her soul and gave the impression that I’d glue them back together because that’s what I always did. That’s what I was supposed to do. Instead, I’d ripped it up more, leaving her even worse than before.

Selfishly, though, I’m upset. She wasn’t going to tell me she was transferring. She was going to let me find out through the media, and I did, but she also told me in person. But she wasn’t going to.

CJ wasn’t going to tell me.

And maybe I shouldn’t care, considering all I’ve done to her. To us. But just thinking about how fucking loyal Azzi is, and how if CJ told her not to, she wouldn’t have told me either. They’d keep it from me.

It hurts more than it should.

Plus, it’s not like I’m not hurt, too. CJ yelled and screamed at me when she found out. She told me she didn’t want anything to do with me, and then she went and looked at me like that. How am I supposed to feel?

I can feel my face contort, trying to decipher which emotion to pick, and instead of thinking rationally, I choose the easiest one.

Anger.

I grab CJ’s drink, a bag of chips for Azzi, because she’ll probably ask for mine in an hour and a couple of snacks for myself. I lay it all on the counter, and the cashier recognizes me. “Yo, are you Paige?”

Damnit.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, my daughter loves you. Do you mind if I get a picture?”

“Yeah, of course, man.” I quickly pose for a picture and then dig into my wallet for some cash. He stops me.

“No, no, it’s on me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. It’s only a couple bucks.” I insist. I always appreciate the kindness, but I truly don’t search for special treatment. He shakes his head.

“No, for real, it’s on me, trust. Have a good day.” But I’m never one to deny free food so…

I nod. “Thanks, you too.” I say, gather my things, and head for the door.

As I get into the car, I prepare for any comment. “The store is as big as my fucking pinkie toe, what took you so long?”

Well, almost any comment.

I sigh as I reach for the aux cord. Apparently, CJ had the same idea. “Oh hell no, you’re not being dj.” I say, yanking the cord. Azzi gets in the car, but I barely hear her.

“Dude, c’mon, it’s like eight in the morning. If you play SZA, I’ll fall asleep.” she says, yanking the cord back.

“That’s too damn bad. You can’t get everything you want. Thought you’d figure that out by now.” I say harshly, and it’s unfair, I know. But at the moment, it’s fully what I meant. I stare at her in her eyes and can almost visibly see the way my words affect her. She recovers quickly, though.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.” I spit back harshly.

“Paige-” Azzi starts.

“No-No, don’t ‘Paige’ me. You weren’t gonna tell me you were transferring, were you?”

CJ blinks. “Paige, what? I literally told-”

“I know you told me, but you weren’t going to. You said you didn't even plan on seeing me yesterday. You were only gonna tell Azzi. Both of you were going to keep it from me.”

CJ puts her head on the wheel, groaning in frustration. “Do you know how stupid you sound right now? Like you sound fucking delusional. Why would I tell you, Paige? I don’t have any reason to talk to you!”

“After all we’ve been through, you ‘don’t have any reason to talk to me?!’” I shout incredulously. “You deadass right now?!”

“Yes, Paige! Were you thinking about all we’ve been through when you kissed her?!” Her words feel like daggers, because she’s wrong. CJ was all I’d thought about when I’d kissed Devon.

“Oh, my god! You weren’t even dating her! She was single!”

“So that makes it okay!? Paige, do you have any idea what that feels like?!”

“Yeah, you’ve made it pretty fucking clear what it felt like!” I hiss sharply.

“You don’t get to make me feel bad because you can’t keep it in your pants, Bueckers.”

“Bro, what?”

She huffs, seemingly trying to collect herself. “It’s like you were waiting for us to break up. That why you broke up with Holly?”

I laugh dryly. “I broke up with Holly because she was boring. I wasn’t waiting for anyone to break up, I just happened to be drunk, and Devon was there.”

It’s CJ’s turn to laugh. “You may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but you can still be a hoe.”

“At least I was a wanted hoe. She chose me over you.” CJ gets quiet, her lips pressed into a straight line. There are tears in her eyes, waiting to fall over her waterline, but I know she’s not going to let me see her cry.

“CJ-”

She shakes her head slowly, gently putting the cord in my lap. “You can play the music, Paige.” she whispers, her voice uncharacteristically weak. I watch as she swallows and puts her hand on the door. “I-uh. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” She mutters as she quickly scurries out of the car.

Fuck.

Azzi smacks me in the back of the head as CJ slams the car door. “What the actual fuck is your problem?!”

—-------

I mutter a ‘thank you’ to the cashier as I follow his directions to the bathroom. Thank god it was empty.

Tears fall freely from my eyes as I stumble into the bathroom blindly. I lock the door, putting my hands around my mouth to muffle my sobs.

It’s not fair. She doesn’t get to say what she said after she did what she did.

Paige and I were best friends. We did everything together, whether it was sneaking to the kitchen much past our bedtime or giggling as we bothered my brother, instead of doing our homework. It was us against the world.

Paige was my person.

There was a point where all I needed was her. When I fell off of my bike and skinned my knee, she was there. When my parents divorced, she was there. When I got into my first fight, she was there. When I broke my wrist, she was there. When Devon and I broke up, she was there. She was there when I asked if they’d kissed.

And she was there when she said no.

I inhale deeply, wiping my face. I had the right to be upset. Even though it’s been three years, she doesn’t get to tell me when I should be over it.

She doesn’t get to rush the process she started.

My shaky hands reach for the handles of the faucet, turning it on and letting the cold water run over my hands. I sigh as I run my icy palms over my face, hoping the water makes me look a little less of a mess. When I look in the mirror, I see it didn’t help much. I exhale as I dry my face with the paper towels, and a knock echoes through the bathroom. Maybe if I don’t answer, they’ll go away. I check my phone and see that I’ve been here for almost ten minutes.

The knock comes again. I close my eyes. Fuck.

I open the door and am met with brown eyes. Azzi smiles sadly at me. I smile back unconvincingly. “You okay?” she asks, her voice gentle.

I nod. “I will be. Don’t worry about it.” I shrug it off. She raises her eyebrows at me before reaching up and wiping my wet cheeks. “Want me to beat her ass?” she says seriously.

I smile. “If I wanted to beat her ass, I would.”

“I’ll just cook her in 3-point shooting. Blondie and I can go shot-for-shot.” She reaches her hand out for mine.

I laugh as I interlock my fingers with hers, letting her lead me out of the building.

__________

The rest of the ride is tense. At first, I don’t look at her, I can’t bring myself to. After Azzi yelled at me, the reality of my words set in.

“She chose me over you.”

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would I say that to her? I didn’t mean it, but I’d said it anyway. I guess I just knew it’d hurt.

I dry my hair as I walk out of the bathroom of our hotel room. Very few words were exchanged between anyone since the car incident. Azzi and CJ haven’t even said much to each other, and I guess it’s my fault for making it awkward. I step into the room, I see CJ seated next to a sleeping Azzi, picking at her earlobe. I wordlessly sit on the bed across from her. I watch as she huffs and goes to turn around. I should say something.

“CJ-”

“What?” I wince as she snaps at me, her whispered words seemingly harsher under the quiet atmosphere.

I swallow, looking up at her expectant face. “I..” I take a deep breath. Jesus, this is harder than I’d thought it’d be. “I’m sorry.”

CJ raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms. “You’re sorry? For kissing my ex girlfriend three days after we broke up, or for lying about it? Or for letting her choose you over me?”

I furrow my eyebrows. Letting her? How is that my fault?

I shake my head. Pay attention.

“Uhh- all of it?” Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

CJ laughs dryly, rolling her eyes in frustration. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“No-look, I’m serious. I am sorry. For all of it. I was a shit friend, and I never meant to hurt you.” I say, my eyes boring into hers. “I was young, and stupid, and it’s not an excuse, but you have to believe me when I say I am genuinely sorry.”

I watch as CJ’s face softens slightly, but for the most part she keeps her icy guard up. And I can’t blame her, I’m asking her for something I don’t deserve.

She takes a deep breath before reaching for the lamp. “Goodnight Paige.” Then she rolls over.

I sit there for a moment, allowing a single tear to fall, before I wipe it off my face.

“Goodnight, CJ.”

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