#no one wants a warm unit of energy?

[sunalee]

showtime

about them watching a concert with you.

with: seventeen hip-hop unit

part two

seungcheol is the one who shouts the lyrics as loud as you, jumping and boosting with energy like he's the one performing, and making sure to record videos of you, his star, or both of you, singing together and enjoying the show, just so he can keep these special moments with him.

mingyu likes to hold you from behind and sway you side to side at every romantic song, singing right near your ear in a soothing tone, making sure to dedicate all of those sweet loving words only to you. He takes the chance to leave small kisses on your temple, breathing your scent and sharing his warmth and heart with you.

wonwoo has a habit of glancing at you every few minutes as you sing along the crowd, like he's trying to capture every single feature of you enjoying the moment. And when your eyes meet, he gives you a warm smile, that with all letters means: "I'm happy to be here. I'm happy to be with you."

vernon knows at least half of the setlist songs's lyrics, and loves to simply sing with his heart. But instead of singing for the artist, he likes to sing for you, loving the duet that you both create just like when you're listening to the music indoors. Singing along with you is surely the best moment for him.

a/n: I'm so in love with this. I want to make more.

© sunalee 2024 — all rights reserved.

[kiwriteswords]

more bombshell reader and maybe jealous hotch!!

Something in the Way She Moves

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell Female Reader||Word Count: 20k!!

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, spoilers/mentions of past character's death(s), hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, breakups, forbidden romance, smut, sex without protection, yearning Hotch, Reader is Hotch's Boss, holidays, Reader has hair, cheating if you squint (not on each other; not Reader on/by Hotch), mentions of alcohol at social setting, bombshell reader, possessive Hotch, jealous reader

Sypnosis: As the new section chief of the BAU, you’re determined to lead with professionalism—despite an undeniable connection with Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who understands you like no one else. When your growing romance draws scrutiny from the Bureau and threatens both your careers, breaking things off feels like the only choice. But resisting your feelings is easier said than done, and navigating the fallout proves more complicated—and personal—than either of you anticipated.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in rules. They provided structure, a way to ensure order in the chaos of the world he inhabited daily. He lived by them—until you walked back into his life.

When you first stepped into Erin Strauss’ old office as the new Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron had already known you would get the job. Not because you were an excellent candidate, though that was undeniable, but because he had written the letter of recommendation that tipped the scales. He’d been the one to argue your case, to convince the higher-ups that your tactical mind, people skills, and years of leadership in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit made you the right choice.

He knew he couldn’t take on the job himself. He didn’t want to sacrifice his time in the field or more time away from Jack. Things with Beth had just mutually ended, and he knew now wasn’t time for a big change in his career. His team needed stability, too. He knew where to find it for them. He couldn’t think of a better boss for himself or his team. 

But what Aaron hadn’t expected was how your presence would shift the ground beneath his feet.

From day one, you were everything he remembered—commanding, intelligent, and stunning. But there was a new energy to you now. Your style was impeccable, all sharp lines and elegance, yet undeniably bold. You wore heels that clicked purposefully against the tiled floors, and your perfume lingered just long enough to be distracting. Every room you entered turned its attention to you, though you never seemed to revel in it. You worked hard—harder than anyone—but also knew how to treat yourself. Aaron admired that, envied it even.

And then there was the personal side, the one you didn’t show many. The way you smiled when you spoke about your niece’s upcoming recital. The way your laugh, a warm and genuine sound, filled the briefing room when someone cracked a joke. You were extra, yes—extravagant even—but never entitled. You could be sharp-tongued and exacting, but you were also kind and humble. You never asked anyone for anything you wouldn’t provide for yourself.

You were a paradox, and Aaron found himself drawn to you more every day.

The first time the two of you crossed the line, it had been... unplanned.

It was late, the kind of late where the bullpen was empty except for the faint hum of desk lamps and the rhythmic clicks of Aaron typing. You had come down from your office, a mug of tea in your hand and a softness to your expression he rarely saw as you popped into his opened door.

“You’re still here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, looking up from his laptop as you perched on the edge of his desk.

The conversation started as work but soon meandered. Aaron had always valued your opinion, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to linger over cases. But that night, as the hours stretched on, there was a shift.

“I’ve always admired your dedication,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on him. 

“Thank you,” Aaron replied, his throat tightening.

“And the way you fought for me to get this position... Aaron, it means more than you know.”

There was a vulnerability in your voice, a crack in the armor you so carefully maintained. Aaron wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could second-guess it, his hand covered yours where it rested on his desk.

That simple touch was all it took to change everything.

Weeks passed before either of you acknowledged what was happening. It started innocently enough—a lingering glance across the briefing room, the brush of hands when passing files, the way your voices softened when it was just the two of you. But it didn’t take long for the connection to deepen, slipping past the professional boundaries you had so carefully constructed.

Aaron would find himself texting you late at night, ostensibly to discuss case details, but the conversations often veered into personal territory. It wouldn’t take long until you crossed the boundary, deciding the messages weren’t enough phone calls were needed. He learned that you hated mornings but loved the ritual of your complicated coffee orders, that you missed the simplicity of fieldwork but thrived in your new role because it gave you a broader sense of impact. You learned that he still struggled with guilt over Haley, that he missed spending more time with Jack but refused to let his son see his father falter.

The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. The way you looked at him during meetings lingered too long, your gaze softening when you thought no one else was watching. The way he always stood a little closer to you than necessary, catching your perfume—an elegant mix of jasmine and citrus—that lingered long after you walked away. The stolen moments became something he craved, something he couldn’t ignore.

Aaron knew it was wrong—or, at the very least, complicated. But the way you saw him, truly saw him, made it impossible to stay away. Aaron had met a lot of people in his life, nobody who completely saw him. It was almost as if he spent his whole life searching for it, for it to be looking him in the face all of these years. 

The first time he kissed you, it was in your office.

You were pacing, heels clicking against the polished floor, your tailored suit jacket hanging neatly on the back of your chair. The soft silk blouse you wore glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching his attention more than it should have.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered, gesturing toward the papers on your desk. “A dozen forms to approve before tomorrow, as if I don’t already have enough to do. And the Director wants an update on—”

“Stop,” Aaron interrupted gently, his deep voice cutting through your frustration.

You froze mid-stride, turning to face him. Your expression softened slightly, but your eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes that could read anyone in a heartbeat—searched his face for answers.

“What is it, Aaron?” you asked the edge in your tone melting into something warmer.

He stood from the chair opposite your desk, his broad shoulders and crisp suit making him seem even taller in the small space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering across your features. “Do what?”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

“Pretend that I don’t want more.”

For a moment, the air between you stilled, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with the same intensity you reserved for interrogations.

And then your free hand moved, reaching up to curl into his tie, the silk fabric slipping easily between your fingers. You tugged gently, pulling him toward you, your breath mingling with his.

“Aaron,” you murmured, a faint warning still lingering in your tone.

But he didn’t stop. His hand rose to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so grounding.

The kiss started tentative, almost hesitant, but the moment your lips met, it shattered whatever walls remained between you. You leaned into him, your other hand finding its way to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip, steadying you as you deepened the kiss.

You tasted like mint and something sweet, and Aaron thought he might be losing his mind. The world outside your office door ceased to exist; there was only you, your warmth, your intoxicating presence.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and your breathing uneven. His tie was slightly askew, and your fingers still clutched it loosely as if unsure whether to let go.

“Well,” you said, your voice teasing but laced with something raw, something real. “That’s one way to solve a bureaucratic nightmare.”

Aaron chuckled softly, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t look it. He certainly didn’t feel it. 

“Don’t be,” you replied, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”

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

And he meant it. Whatever came next, whatever complications or consequences arose, Aaron knew one thing for certain: this—you—was worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one to let himself indulge—not in anything that wasn’t for Jack, at least. His life revolved around necessity and function, keeping his head above water while ensuring those around him could do the same. Haley and Beth had been simple…these minor things didn’t appeal to them. But with you, indulgence didn’t feel frivolous. It felt... right.

The kiss had been a turning point. It wasn’t just the line crossed—it was the invitation to something more. After that moment in your office, there was no going back. Within days, the two of you had quietly shifted from colleagues to something undeniably personal. By the end of the first week, Aaron had asked you out, and to his surprise, you’d agreed without hesitation.

Your first date had been dinner at a small but elegant restaurant nestled in the heart of Georgetown. Aaron had chosen the spot carefully—upscale enough to meet your polished tastes but intimate enough to keep prying eyes at bay.

“I have to admit,” you’d said over a glass of sauvignon blanc, “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to keep up with me.”

Aaron had raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep up with you how?”

Your expression had turned playful, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of having... expensive taste.”

Aaron had leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey casually. “You think I don’t know that by now?” he teased. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who insisted on a specific brand of bottled water for office meetings.”

“That’s called maintaining standards,” you countered with mock indignation.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t worry. I might be frugal, but I’m not struggling. And I like to spoil the people I care about.”

The admission had caught you off guard, he could tell. Your confident demeanor had faltered just enough for him to notice, and for a moment, you’d looked down at your glass, your smile softer. “Well,” you’d said finally, meeting his gaze again, “I won’t complain about that.”

By the time you’d gone on a few dates, Aaron found himself more at ease with the idea of what you were becoming. It wasn’t just the shared dinners, the quiet moments in the corners of bars, or the back seats of dimly lit movie theaters. It was the way you fit into his life so seamlessly. Despite your differences—you with your love of extravagance and meticulous planning and him with his pragmatic approach and quiet restraint—you balanced each other.

You worked well together, too. Surprisingly well. If anything, your meticulous attention to detail and unrelenting standards had only strengthened the BAU. Aaron had always considered himself by the book, but compared to you, he realized he could be downright lenient.

“You’re more Type A than I am,” he commented one night after a case briefing, leaning against the doorframe of your office.

You glanced up from your perfectly organized desk, where every file was stacked at precise right angles. “Is that your way of saying I’m bossy?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m saying you’re by-the-book to a fault. It’s impressive, really.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Says the man who color-codes his case files.”

“Touché,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t panic at the thought of bending the rules when necessary.”

Your expression sobered slightly, and Aaron noticed the way your hands stilled over the papers in front of you. “I just... I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question me—or us.”

Ah. There it was.

“You’re worried about telling the Director,” Aaron said, stepping further into the room.

Your silence was answer enough.

Aaron sat on the edge of your desk, his presence grounding. “Things are going well,” he said firmly. “The team respects you. Cases are running smoothly. We work together seamlessly. There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with this—unless we give them one.”

You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “But what if they do? What if they say it’s inappropriate or unprofessional? I could lose this position, Aaron.”

He reached for your hand, covering it with his. The touch was gentle, but his grip steady, reassuring. “You won’t lose it. You’ve earned this. No one can take that from you.”

“But what about you?” you asked quietly. “If this affects your place on the team...”

“I won’t let it,” Aaron said with conviction. “We’ve handled worse than bureaucratic red tape. Besides, I think the Director has bigger problems than two senior members of the BAU in a consensual, functional relationship.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Functional, huh? That’s romantic.”

Aaron smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

You shook your head, your laughter soft but genuine. “I don’t know how you stay so calm about this.”

“Because I’ve spent my life trying to control everything,” he admitted. “And I’ve learned the hard way that some things are worth the risk.”

Your gaze lingered on his, the weight of his words settling between you. And for the first time since this all began, Aaron saw the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “We’ll tell the Director. Together.”

Aaron nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Together.”

In that moment, as the two of you sat in the quiet comfort of your shared understanding, Aaron knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, you were worth it. Every risk, every consequence—you were worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had walked into more high-pressure situations than he could count. Interrogating unsubs. Negotiating with armed suspects. Delivering heartbreaking news to grieving families. But as he sat outside the Director’s office with you beside him, he felt a knot in his stomach that rivaled even the most tense of standoffs.

You sat with your legs crossed, your polished heel bouncing ever so slightly—a nervous tick Aaron had come to recognize. You were dressed impeccably, as always, your tailored blazer sharp enough to cut through steel. But Aaron knew you well enough to see the tension in the way you smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from your skirt or adjusted your necklace.

He reached over, his hand brushing yours lightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.

You turned your head, offering him a small smile, but the doubt in your eyes was unmistakable.

Before he could say more, the assistant opened the door. “The Director will see you now.”

The Director’s office was a testament to order and authority. Every book on the shelves was carefully aligned, the awards and commendations behind the desk displayed with precision. Aaron Hotchner had sat across from this desk many times, but today, the air felt heavier. He wasn’t just representing his team or defending a decision. Today was personal.

The Director greeted them with a curt nod, gesturing for them to sit. Aaron glanced at you as you settled into the chair beside him, your posture immaculate, your gaze steady. He knew the nerves beneath the surface were hidden behind that calm, polished exterior.

“You wanted to discuss something... personal,” the Director said, leaning back slightly, his hands folded on the desk.

Aaron cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Yes, sir. We wanted to inform you about our relationship.”

The Director’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. He waited, prompting Aaron to continue.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time now. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure it doesn’t interfere with our work or the team’s performance. Cases continue to run smoothly, and morale remains high. We believe—”

The Director raised a hand, signaling for Aaron to stop.

Aaron exchanged a brief glance with you. The air seemed to grow heavier.

“I appreciate your honesty,” the Director said, his voice even, almost sympathetic. “But this isn’t acceptable.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone measured but firm. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve maintained professionalism at all times. There has been no impact on the team’s dynamics or efficiency.”

The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but resolute. “This isn’t about professionalism or efficiency, though I trust that both of you believe you’ve kept those intact. It’s about perception. The BAU is already under a microscope. The media, oversight committees, politicians—they’re all waiting for any reason to scrutinize this unit further.”

Aaron shifted in his seat. “Sir, we’ve handled public scrutiny before. We’ve worked under immense pressure and still delivered results. I believe—”

“You believe,” the Director interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “But this is not about what you believe or how well you perform. It’s about how this looks. Two of the highest-ranking members in the same unit, in a romantic relationship? It opens doors for questions about bias, favoritism, and poor judgment.”

You stiffened slightly, and Aaron could feel the tension radiating from you.

“We’ve had to address optics before,” the Director continued, his tone less stern and more weary. “When Erin Strauss was here, we allowed too much to slide—her personal struggles, her decisions that created friction within the team. It put the BAU in a precarious position, one we barely recovered from. And now, with our history, with every move under scrutiny, I can’t let this slide. Not again.”

Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to remain composed. “Sir, neither of us would let this compromise our responsibilities. Our records speak for themselves.”

The Director nodded slowly. “They do, Hotchner. Both of you have impeccable records, and I trust your intentions. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about precedent. If I allow this, what message does it send? That personal relationships among senior staff are acceptable? That the rules don’t apply here?”

You spoke next, your voice calm but resolute. “We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re asking for acknowledgment that this doesn’t interfere with our ability to lead.”

The Director exhaled, his tone softening. “I understand what you’re saying. And if the world operated on logic alone, I might agree. But the reality is perception matters. The BAU is too visible, too scrutinized. I can’t allow this.”

“What are you saying?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’m saying one of you has to transfer, or this relationship ends,” the Director said evenly. “Those are your options. I won’t dictate which path you choose, but this arrangement cannot continue while you’re both in these positions.”

The finality in his tone hit like a cold wind. Aaron’s fists clenched in his lap, though his face remained impassive. Beside him, he could feel you bristling but holding yourself together.

“Is there any room for reconsideration?” you asked, your voice level but tight.

The Director shook his head. “I wish there were. I respect both of you immensely. But this is a line we can’t afford to cross.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“I can draft up some reccomendsations for units to transfer,” he continued, “But I’d warn you, that may put a bigger target on your back with the brass.” 

“Is that all, sir?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you likely intended.

“That’s all,” the Director replied, his tone tinged with something almost regretful.

The Director’s words still echoed in Aaron Hotchner’s ears as you stormed out of the office, your heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Aaron trailed behind you, his thoughts spinning, barely registering the brisk pace you set.

When you reached the bullpen, you didn’t stop. You headed straight for the stairs that led to the upper offices, bypassing your usual elevator ride. Aaron hesitated for a moment before following, his long strides catching up to you as you pushed through the door to your private office and let it slam shut behind you.

For a moment, Aaron stood outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could hear you moving inside—papers rustling, a muffled sigh, the creak of your chair as you sat heavily into it. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared at your desk, your hands resting on its polished surface as if grounding yourself. Your jaw was tight, your expression unreadable, but Aaron had known you long enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“This is ridiculous,” you said finally, your voice low but trembling with barely contained frustration. “We’ve done everything right. Everything. And it still doesn’t matter.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. What could he say that wouldn’t feel hollow? That he agreed? That he hated the situation just as much as you did? None of it would change the reality bearing down on both of you.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, though the words felt inadequate even as he spoke them.

Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing as they met his. “How, Aaron? How do we figure this out? Do I transfer? Do you? Do we just pretend we’re fine with throwing everything away?”

Aaron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He’d been in impossible situations before—ones where no option felt right, but he had to choose anyway. This time, though, the stakes felt different. He wasn’t deciding a case, balancing strategy and risk. He was standing on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed until it was almost too late.

When you finally looked away, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the conversation, Aaron allowed himself a moment to think. To really think.

He imagined what it would mean to leave. Retiring from fieldwork had crossed his mind before—Jack was growing up fast, and Aaron had often wondered if he was missing too much. But the idea of stepping into a more conservative role, away from the pulse of the work, left a hollow ache in his chest.

And then there was you. He thought of you sacrificing your position, giving up this incredible opportunity that you had earned through sheer determination and talent. The thought twisted his stomach.

Aaron couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t let another person give up so much of themselves for his job. He had promised himself, after Haley, that he wouldn’t let his work consume anyone else. That was why he had let Beth go so easily when she wanted more for herself and her career.

But you weren’t Haley or Beth. You were different. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And yet, the guilt and shame of letting you make that kind of sacrifice—for him, for them—was unbearable.

“You shouldn’t have to leave,” Aaron said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss.

You looked at him sharply. “And you think you should?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t ask you to give this up. I won’t.”

Your hands curled into fists on the desk, and Aaron saw the flicker of pain in your eyes before you looked away. “So what? We just... stop?”

Aaron exhaled slowly, his heart aching at the rawness in your voice. “I don’t want to,” he said honestly. “But maybe it’s what’s best.”

Your laugh was bitter, your head shaking. “Best for who? Them? The optics? Certainly not us.”

Aaron stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of your desk. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze. “None of this is. But if we keep fighting this, it could hurt the team. It could hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”

Your eyes glistened, but you blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. “So that’s it? We just... agree to walk away?”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we have to.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating as if the weight of what you were agreeing to was pressing down on both of you at once.

Finally, you stood, your movements slow and deliberate. You rounded the desk, stopping just in front of him.

“Do you really think this is the right thing to do?” you asked, your voice cracking just enough to betray the strength you were trying to hold on to.

“No,” Aaron admitted, his own voice hoarse. “But I think it’s the only thing we can do.”

The words hung in the air like a final verdict, sealing something neither of you wanted to face.

When you stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Aaron’s heart broke a little more. He covered your hand with his, holding it there for a moment as if trying to memorize the feeling.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his one last time. He didn’t miss the tears beginning to well in them. It was instinct to want to look away, it was a sight too painful to unsee, but he found himself still looking through to you.

“So do I,” he replied, his voice raw.

And then, as you stepped back and let your hand fall away, Aaron felt the loss like a physical blow—a kick to the knees. You walked past him, your steps unsteady but resolute.

He didn’t turn to watch you leave. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, alone in your office, knowing that this decision—the right one, the necessary one—was going to haunt him for a long time.

The weeks that followed were some of the hardest Aaron Hotchner had endured, and that was saying something. He had always prided himself on compartmentalizing, on keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. But this—you—made that impossible.

The day after the decision, you had returned to work with the same polished professionalism you always displayed. Your suit was impeccable, your tone measured, and your focus sharp. But Aaron saw the cracks beneath the surface. He saw the way your eyes avoided his during meetings, the way your smiles—rare as they were now—never reached your eyes.

And it wasn’t just you. Aaron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a constant ache in his chest that no amount of distraction could dull. He would catch himself looking at you across the bullpen, remembering how it felt to have you close, to hear you laugh in those unguarded moments. The memories were like splinters—small, sharp reminders of what he’d lost.

He wondered if it were some sort of sick joke. That once again, here he was, Aaron Hotchner choosing the job over what was right in front of him. 

The team picked up on it quickly, though they didn’t understand the cause at first.

“Something’s off,” Morgan said one afternoon, leaning against Aaron’s office door.

Aaron didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “What do you mean?”

Morgan shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the concern in his eyes. “You and her,” he said, nodding toward your office. “I don’t know... You two used to be so in sync. Now it’s like there’s this... distance.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’re fine. Just busy.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Still, Aaron knew the others had noticed it too. Reid’s hesitant glances during meetings, JJ’s subtle attempts to smooth over the tension, and even Garcia’s uncharacteristic silence when she addressed the two of you.

The pain of working together was a constant, gnawing ache. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope, balancing professionalism with the unspoken emotions neither of you could completely hide.

During briefings, Aaron found himself hyper-aware of you. The way you avoided sitting too close. The way your voice would falter, just slightly, when addressing him directly. It was subtle, so subtle that no one outside the team would notice. But Aaron noticed.

You rarely joined the team in the field, but you were more present than Strauss’ constant absence due to her dislike of fieldwork when in your role. Even in the field, the strain was palpable. The easy rhythm you had once shared was gone, replaced by clipped exchanges and a formality that felt wrong coming from you.

“You’re clear on the approach?” Aaron asked during one such mission, his voice firm but hollow.

You nodded, your tone equally curt. “I am.”

It was efficient. Professional. Everything it needed to be. But it wasn’t you. At least not the you he knew.

The worst moments came in the quiet, in the spaces between the chaos. Late nights at the BAU, when the rest of the team had gone home and the building was quiet. Sometimes, Aaron would catch a glimpse of you in your office, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across your face. He wanted to go to you, to break the silence and bridge the gap, but he never did.

One night, as he packed up to leave, he saw you sitting at your desk, your head in your hands. You didn’t notice him watching, and for a brief moment, he considered walking in, saying something—anything. But then you straightened, brushing a hand through your hair, and the moment passed.

Aaron turned away, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each step he took toward the exit.

The team never said anything outright, but Aaron could feel their unease. They didn’t know the details—didn’t know that the two of you had once been something more, or how close you had come to risking everything to stay that way. But they felt the shift.

JJ tried to smooth things over with small acts of kindness—bringing coffee, lightening the mood in meetings. Morgan watched both of you with quiet curiosity, his usual teasing replaced by a patience Aaron hadn’t expected. Even Garcia, ever perceptive, gave him a long, searching look one day before sighing and saying, “You know, you can talk to us, right? About anything.”

Aaron had nodded, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks, Garcia.”

Months passed, and the ache dulled, but it never went away. Aaron learned to live with it, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibilities. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision, but there were moments—late at night, when the silence was deafening—when he let himself imagine what could have been.

And you—he could see it in your eyes, the way you carried the same weight. You were just as professional, just as efficient, but there was a sadness in you now that hadn’t been there before. It mirrored his own, and that was perhaps the hardest part of all.

You were both doing what you thought was best. And it was killing you.

The bullpen was unusually quiet when Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his office. His team was gathered around JJ’s desk, their conversation hushed but animated. The moment his presence registered, they all straightened slightly, trying to appear busy.

Aaron didn’t buy it for a second.

“Morgan. JJ,” he said, his tone even but curious as he descended the steps. “What’s going on?”

JJ exchanged a quick look with Morgan before speaking. “Oh, uh, nothing, Hotch. Just catching up on some... Quantico gossip.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow. Gossip wasn’t something his team typically indulged in—not during work hours, at least. “What kind of gossip?”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flash of discomfort crossing his face. “The kind that probably shouldn’t leave the locker room, but since it’s about someone we all know... it didn’t sit right with me.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few feet from the group. “Who?”

Morgan hesitated, glancing at the others. Emily crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued, while Penelope fidgeted, clearly torn between curiosity and concern.

“Look,” Morgan started, his tone careful, “it’s about…You know—”

Aaron’s stomach sank. He didn’t need Morgan to say your name to know exactly who he meant.

“Go on,” Aaron said, his voice clipped but controlled.

Morgan sighed, leaning against the desk. “JJ and I were at the gym downstairs yesterday. I was in the locker room, and I heard some guy—one of the suits from Finance, I think—talking about her.”

Aaron’s chest tightened as Morgan continued.

“He was bragging about how they’ve been... seeing each other,” Morgan said, his expression darkening. “But the way he was talking—man, it was gross. Like, disrespectful. He was sexualizing her in a way that made my skin crawl.”

JJ chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. “He called her a ‘great ass with brains’—as if that’s all she is. Then he made some comment about how lucky he was to have caught her attention.”

Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I told him to knock it off,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “Told him it wasn’t cool to talk about her like that—especially in a damn locker room, where anyone could hear.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open, her indignation bubbling to the surface. “You’re kidding me. He said that in the locker room? What kind of—ugh! Men are the worst sometimes.”

Emily smirked faintly, her voice dry as she added, “Not all men. Just most.”

Rossi, who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “So she’s seeing this guy? Or is he just running his mouth?”

Morgan shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. But he seemed pretty confident.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel the team’s eyes on him, but he refused to let his expression betray the storm brewing inside.

“Hotch,” JJ said gently, her voice pulling him back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron said curtly. “But I need to remind all of you that gossip—about anyone—isn’t appropriate here. If there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed through the proper channels.”

The team exchanged glances, but no one pushed further.

Aaron returned to his office, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. He sank into his chair, staring at the stack of files on his desk without really seeing them.

The idea of you seeing someone else didn’t sit well with him. Not because you didn’t deserve happiness—you did, more than anyone. But because the thought of you with someone who didn’t appreciate you, who reduced you to nothing more than your appearance or used you as a bragging point, made his blood boil.

He hated the way that man in the locker room had spoken about you. Hated that it had happened at all.

And yet, there was something else eating at him. Something sharper, more selfish.

Jealousy.

The idea that you might have moved on—might have found comfort in someone else’s arms—cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He had no right to feel this way. The two of you had made your decision, painful as it was, and he had to live with it. But knowing you might be with someone else, hearing those crude words about you... it was unbearable.

Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not ever.

But as he sat there, the words from the locker room replaying in his mind, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had let you go too soon. Too easily.

And it was killing him.

Time had a way of dulling pain, or so Aaron Hotchner told himself. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The ache of what had been and what could never be dulled into something he carried silently, like an old injury that flared up when the weather changed. But it never went away.

And then he found out for certain.

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation—it was the kind of thing he normally tuned out. But as he passed by the kitchen in the Quantico building, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two agents from a different unit, their voices low but not low enough.

“Yeah, they’ve been going out for a while now,” one said, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of smugness. “I can’t believe he managed to lock her down. She’s way out of his league.”

The other laughed. “I heard she’s really something. Smart, gorgeous, the whole package. Lucky bastard.”

Aaron didn’t need to hear your name to know exactly who they were talking about.

He found himself sitting in his office later that day, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his focus shattered.

You were seeing him—the man from Finance. The one Morgan had overheard in the locker room, the one who had spoken about you like you were nothing more than a conquest.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, and his chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to regret. He hated the thought of you with someone who didn’t truly see you—who didn’t appreciate the sharpness of your mind, the strength in your character, the way you carried yourself with grace and confidence even under the heaviest burdens.

And yet, what right did he have to feel this way?

You had every right to move on. Every right to find happiness where you could. It wasn’t your fault that he couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what the two of you had shared—or what might have been if things had been different.

As the weeks dragged on, Aaron tried to bury himself in his work. He tried not to notice the way you laughed at something someone said in the bullpen or the way your eyes lit up during a briefing when an idea struck you. He tried not to think about the nights you spent with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

And then Beth called.

It had been months since they’d last spoken, her name long buried in the recesses of his mind. But there she was, her voice warm and familiar, asking how he was, how Jack was if he might want to grab coffee sometime.

Aaron hesitated.

He thought of you—of the distance that had grown between you, the way your conversations were now stilted and professional, the warmth that used to linger between you replaced by a polite coolness. He thought of the man from Finance, the way his name had crept into conversations around the office, always tied to you.

Maybe it was time, Aaron thought. If you had moved on, maybe he should too.

He met Beth for coffee and then for dinner. She was as kind and understanding as he remembered, her smile easy, her company pleasant. But something was missing.

With you, there had been a fire—a spark that made every conversation electric, every glance charged with something unspoken. With Beth, it was different. Comfortable but muted.

Still, Aaron told himself it was the right thing to do. Jack liked her, and she was good to him. Maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of what it felt like to let someone in, to have a life outside the walls of the BAU.

But no matter how much he tried, Aaron couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going through the motions. He couldn’t stop himself from comparing every moment with Beth to the moments he’d shared with you.

When Beth laughed, it wasn’t your laugh. When she reached for his hand, it didn’t feel the same as when you had pulled him close in the quiet of your office.

And every time he saw you in the hallways of Quantico or across the table during a case briefing, that ache in his chest flared anew.

Aaron knew he had made his choice. He had chosen to let you go, to protect the work and the team, to do what he thought was right. And now, he was trying to live with that choice, even as it slowly unraveled him from the inside.

But as he sat in his office late one night, the bullpen quiet and empty, Aaron allowed himself a single, fleeting moment of honesty.

He had moved on.

But not really.

Because a part of him—the part he tried to bury beneath duty and responsibility—would always belong to you.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the head of the conference table, scanning the stack of case files in front of him as the team settled into their usual seats. The murmur of conversation drifted around the room—Morgan and Emily debating the odds of another late-night call, Penelope slipping a fresh report to Reid, Rossi sipping a coffee that smelled distinctly stronger than the usual bullpen brew.

You entered last, heels clicking sharply against the tile floor as you carried yourself with the effortless confidence Aaron admired. You placed your tablet on the table and glanced around the room, your polished demeanor demanding attention without a single word.

“Before we get into case updates,” you began, your voice calm but firm, “I wanted to bring something to everyone’s attention.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, already anticipating the shift in focus. You had a way of setting the room’s tone that even Rossi respected, and your next words proved no different.

“As most of you know,” you continued, your gaze sweeping across the team, “the Bureau’s annual holiday party is coming up. And while I’m well aware that the BAU has a reputation for... skipping it, I feel this year it’s important that we all make an effort to attend.”

That got their attention. Emily’s eyebrows lifted, Morgan tilted his chair back with an incredulous grin, and Penelope froze mid-sip of her elaborately decorated coffee.

“Come on,” Morgan said, his tone half-teasing. “You can’t be serious. You know those parties are all stiff handshakes and bad speeches.”

You smiled faintly, unruffled. “I’m very serious, Morgan. This isn’t about the party itself—it’s about the message it sends.”

Aaron noticed the way you paused, your gaze flickering briefly in his direction before continuing. “After the last few years, it’s important that we show the brass that we’re aligned with their expectations. It demonstrates that we care about appearances and that we’re just as invested in maintaining relationships as they are.”

There it was. A subtle but unmistakable reminder of why things between you and Aaron could never be, woven seamlessly into a broader point that the rest of the team couldn’t grasp fully.

Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re going to this thing to rub elbows with suits who don’t know what we actually do out here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” you replied, your tone calm but edged with authority. “Appearances matter. And it’s our job to ensure those appearances align with the professionalism the BAU stands for.”

Aaron watched as the words settled over the team, their expressions shifting from mild amusement to begrudging understanding. You had a way of cutting through their resistance without belittling them—a skill Aaron had always admired.

“Plus,” you added, a faint smile tugging at your lips, “I’ve been assured the band will be better than last year’s.” You paused. “And an open bar.” 

That earned a soft chuckle from Penelope, who set her mug down with a small shrug. “Well, if it’s formal attire and a better band, I suppose I could make an appearance.”

“Attire is black-tie,” you confirmed, your gaze sweeping the room. “And yes, plus-ones are welcome. But I expect every one of you to be there. No exceptions.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Guess that means we all have to dust off our evening wear.”

“I have a tux,” Reid offered quietly, drawing a chuckle from Rossi.

Aaron remained quiet, his focus trained on you. He could feel the weight of your words—not just the direct ones, but the subtext you didn’t need to spell out. He knew why you were pushing for this, why it mattered so much to you. And he hated that he understood.

As the meeting wrapped and the team began to filter out, you lingered behind, gathering your tablet and a small stack of papers. Aaron stood as well, pausing briefly near the door.

“Formal wear suits you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up, your expression unreadable but your eyes betraying the smallest flicker of something softer. “I expect to see you there, Hotchner. On time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.

But as he left the room, his chest tightened with the familiar ache that came every time he was near you. Formal appearances, aligned expectations—he understood all of it.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

The Bureau’s holiday party was exactly what Aaron Hotchner had expected: polished, overly formal, and steeped in thinly veiled networking. The grand ballroom at the hotel downtown was decorated in muted gold and deep red, elegant but impersonal. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music adding to the ambiance without drowning out the hum of conversation.

Beth stood beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that flattered her in every way. Her brunette hair was swept into a low chignon, and her smile was warm as she introduced herself to the occasional colleague who passed by. She looked stunning, and Aaron knew that anyone in the room would agree.

But when you walked in, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

You entered the ballroom on the arm of Jeff from Finance, a name that Aaron had come to resent more than he cared to admit. He was wearing a garish plaid tuxedo jacket that screamed “trying too hard,” and his broad grin made Aaron’s jaw tighten. But none of that mattered—because you were radiant.

Your gown was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that made your eyes seem brighter, your skin glow. It hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly under the chandelier light as you moved. Your hair, styled elegantly but effortlessly, framed your face in a way that made Aaron’s chest ache. You looked... otherworldly.

Aaron had always known you were beautiful. It was an undeniable fact, one that had never gone unnoticed by anyone who crossed your path. But tonight, you were something else entirely. You weren’t just beautiful; you were extraordinary, like a rare phenomenon that people spend their entire lives waiting to glimpse.

When you stepped into the room, it was as though the world tilted slightly, every sound dulling, every light dimming except for the one that seemed to follow you. Aaron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange, almost childlike awe settled over him. He felt like a boy again, staring up at the stars for the first time and realizing just how vast and infinite the universe could be.

You were that kind of beautiful. The kind that made time seem to pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath just to take you in. You were the kind of beauty that inspired poetry and music—the kind artists yearned to capture and always failed to do justice.

And in that moment, Aaron finally understood why men wrote poetry, painted masterpieces, composed symphonies, and created entire films in honor of women like you. It was all a desperate attempt to grasp something fleeting, something divine, and pin it to the earth long enough to keep.

It wasn’t just your gown, though the deep emerald green shimmered like it had been made for you, highlighting the curve of your shoulders and the elegance of your frame. It wasn’t just the way your hair fell, soft waves framing your face in a way that seemed almost unfair. It was something deeper, something impossible to put into words.

Aaron felt it in his chest, a deep, aching yearning that he’d never experienced before. It was amazement, pure and unfiltered, like seeing magic for the first time and realizing it wasn’t a trick. It was real. You were real. And yet, you didn’t feel like something he could ever touch.

He couldn’t stop staring, and for a brief, dizzying moment, he didn’t care who saw. The logical part of his mind—the one that always kept him grounded—was overruled by something more primal, more human. How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look like that? To exist in a way that felt so rare and unattainable and yet so deeply, painfully familiar?

He thought of how easily you commanded the room, not by seeking attention but simply by being. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t deliberate. It was just you—this singular, dazzling presence that made everyone around you seem to fade into the background.

Aaron had never felt this way before, not even with Haley. Not even with anyone else he’d allowed into his life. This was something else entirely, something more profound and unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration or attraction. It was belief. Belief in something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

And then he saw Jeff beside you, his tacky plaid suit clashing with the elegance of everything you were. The man who didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was, who treated your presence like a status symbol rather than a gift.

Aaron’s stomach churned, his skin crawling as jealousy flared sharp and unrelenting. He hated it—hated the way it burned, the way it clawed at the edges of his composure.

But what he hated more was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.

You weren’t his. And yet, watching you from across the room, Aaron couldn’t help but think you never truly belonged to anyone. You were too rare for that. Too extraordinary.

And God, how it ached to know he had let you go.

He forced himself to smile at Beth as she laughed at something Rossi said, but his attention kept drifting back to you. He hated the way Jeff hovered near you, his posture possessive and his grin smug. He hated the way Jeff’s gaudy suit jacket clashed with the elegance of your dress, as though he didn’t understand how lucky he was to be standing beside you.

More than anything, Aaron hated the feeling crawling under his skin—the sharp, searing jealousy that he couldn’t shake. It was worse than anything he had felt before, even when Haley had been unfaithful right in front of his face. This was different.

Haley’s betrayal had stung, yes, but it had been rooted in a relationship that had already begun to fracture. What Aaron felt now was raw and consuming, made worse by the knowledge that he had no claim on you. You weren’t his.

You never would be.

Beth touched his arm gently, drawing his focus back to her. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Aaron nodded quickly, plastering on a polite smile. “Of course. Just thinking about the week ahead.”

Beth gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. She turned her attention back to Rossi, leaving Aaron with his thoughts.

He glanced toward you again, catching the way you laughed at something Jeff said. It wasn’t the laugh he remembered—the soft, genuine sound that used to fill his office late at night. This one was polite, reserved, a laugh you gave when you were being kind but not necessarily amused.

It was a small comfort but not enough to quiet the jealousy raging in his chest.

When you caught his eye from across the room, Aaron felt his breath hitch. Your gaze lingered for a moment—just long enough for him to see the flicker of something in your expression before you turned away, a polite smile on your lips as you greeted someone else.

He had made his choice. You had made yours. But standing there, watching you with someone like Jeff, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he had made the wrong one.

And yet, there was nothing he could do but endure it.

So Aaron turned back to Beth, his expression carefully neutral, and let the music and the hum of conversation fade into the background. But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

It never did.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his order. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the holiday party continuing around him like static. Beth was across the room, talking animatedly with one of the Bureau’s administrators, her glass of white wine nearly empty.

He had volunteered to get her a refill, partly because he wanted to give her a moment to network uninterrupted, but mostly because he needed a moment to himself. Maybe Beth would sell a painting or two with the amount of stiff suits in the room thought, he thought. 

The sight of you with Jeff—laughing politely, your hand resting lightly on his arm—was wearing thin on his composure.

The bartender slid a fresh glass of wine and a scotch across the counter, and just as Aaron reached for them, he heard the unmistakable click of your heels behind him.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply sidled up beside him, so close that he could feel the faint warmth of your body through the fabric of his suit. The scent of your perfume—something soft and alluring, with notes of jasmine—drifted over him, making his pulse quicken.

Aaron didn’t turn his head, but he felt the air shift between you. His grip on the glass tightened as he fought the urge to look.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I hate you here with her.”

The words were quiet but sharp, cutting through the hum of the party like a knife. Aaron froze, his breath catching as he turned to look at you.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the row of liquor bottles behind the bar, your expression calm but your eyes betraying the storm beneath.

He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “And you think I like seeing you here with Jeff?”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, finally turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity in the small space that separated you.

Then you leaned in, so close that Aaron could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear.

“Do you know what I do?” you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.”

Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of your words knocking the air out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at you in stunned silence.

You straightened, your expression unreadable but your lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. “I thought you should know.”

His throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

Before he could gather his thoughts, you stepped back, your gaze flickering briefly to his hands, still clutching the glasses. “Your drinks,” you said softly, the faintest hint of something unspoken lingering in your tone.

And just like that, you were gone.

Aaron watched as you crossed the room, your hips swaying, your gown flowing gracefully behind you as you returned to Jeff and the group of section chiefs. You slipped back into the conversation effortlessly, smiling and nodding as though nothing had happened.

But Aaron knew better.

He stood there at the bar, the scotch and wine forgotten in his hands, as the weight of your words settled over him. His pulse still raced, his skin prickling with the memory of your closeness, your voice, your confession.

For a man who had always prided himself on control, Aaron felt anything but. You had shattered the careful walls he’d built around himself, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded room, completely undone.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the table, his back straight, his hands loosely clasped around the tumbler of scotch in front of him. The room was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the murmur of conversation, but to him, it all blurred into a distant hum.

Beth was seated beside him, engaged in an animated discussion with Penelope. Her warm laugh punctuated the conversation. Aaron nodded occasionally when prompted, but his focus was elsewhere.

Across the room, you swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, your body close to Jeff’s as he held you gently, one hand on your waist, the other resting lightly on your back. Your head tilted slightly, your cheek brushing the fabric of his shoulder. The two of you moved easily, almost effortlessly, to the soft melody of the band.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes found his across the room, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away.

Aaron froze, his breath catching in his chest as your gaze locked onto his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something unspoken but deeply familiar, that cut through the noise and the lights and the meaningless chatter around him.

It wasn’t just eye contact. It was a connection—a thread pulled taut between you, invisible to everyone else but impossibly strong.

He couldn’t look away.

Your eyes held his, and in them, he saw everything that words couldn’t convey. Longing. Frustration. A quiet, desperate ache that mirrored his own. It was as though every emotion he’d buried, every feeling he’d suppressed, was reflected back at him in your gaze.

And then there was the tension—the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed between you but felt even stronger now. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, the kind of thing that made time seem irrelevant.

Aaron didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand or the way his heart began to pound. All he knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You swayed gently in Jeff’s arms, your movements fluid and graceful, but your gaze never wavered. The music, the people, even Jeff himself—all of it faded into the background. There was only you and him, locked in this moment, this silent conversation that neither of you could end.

It wasn’t just attraction, though, that was there, simmering beneath the surface. It was something deeper, something raw and unspoken. It was the weight of every choice you’d made, every boundary you’d set, and every word you’d left unsaid.

Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe like the space between you was both infinite and nonexistent. It was a cruel paradox—feeling as though you were so close he could almost reach out and touch you, yet knowing you were untouchable, unreachable.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain; it was a deep, hollow yearning that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a fleeting wound—it was the slow, relentless ache of loss. Of knowing exactly what he was missing and yet being powerless to reclaim it.

He missed you in ways that felt impossible to quantify, in ways that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. He missed your touch—the way your hand had lingered on his arm during late-night conversations, grounding him in moments when he felt untethered. He missed the warmth of your presence, the quiet reassurance that came with simply having you near.

But it wasn’t just the physical things. It was everything about you, the parts of you that no one else seemed to notice or understand the way he did.

He missed your laugh—the genuine, full-bodied sound that lit up a room and chased away the weight of even the hardest days. It was rare, but when it happened, it was like the world itself paused to listen.

He missed your softness—the way you could be so strong, so unyielding in your convictions, and yet offer a kindness that made even the most jaded person feel seen. You had a way of making people believe they mattered, a way of making him believe he mattered.

And he missed your fierceness—the fire in your eyes when you were fighting for something you believed in, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, never backing down from a challenge. You inspired him in ways he didn’t even realize until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

Most of all, he missed your presence. That quiet, steady support that had become such a part of his life he hadn’t realized how much he relied on it until it was gone. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And now, you were just... gone.

The ache in his chest deepened as he sat at the table, staring at the empty doorway where you had disappeared. He didn’t just miss what they had shared—the stolen moments, the quiet confessions. He missed you. The person who had seen him at his worst and still stood by him. The person who had understood him in ways no one else ever could.

And as the weight of that realization settled over him, Aaron knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter what choices either of them made, the space you had left in his life would never be filled.

And then, just as suddenly, you broke the spell.

You blinked, your gaze faltering as you looked away, your expression unreadable. Flustered almost. Aaron watched as you gently stepped back from Jeff, your movements deliberate but hurried.

“Excuse me,” you murmured to him, your voice just audible enough for Aaron to hear over the music.

You crossed the room with purpose, your gown flowing behind you like liquid emerald. Aaron’s eyes followed your every step, his heart sinking as you reached your table and grabbed your clutch.

Jeff, caught off guard, trailed after you, his expression confused but compliant. He said something to you, but you barely acknowledged him, your focus entirely on leaving.

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the empty space you left behind, his chest tightening as he watched the two of you disappear through the ballroom’s double doors.

The world slowly returned—Beth’s voice beside him, the hum of the music, the clinking of glasses—but none of it felt real.

Aaron took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the door as though willing you to return. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Because whatever had just passed between you, whatever that moment had been, was too much for either of you to bear.

The drive to Beth’s apartment had been quiet. Too quiet. She had smiled softly at him when he pulled up in front of her building, the warmth of her expression filled with an affection that he knew he couldn’t return—not the way she deserved.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked, her tone light but hopeful.

Aaron hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day.”

Beth studied him for a moment, her disappointment subtle but evident. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Drive safe, Aaron.”

He nodded, waiting until she disappeared into the building before exhaling a shaky breath. He should have gone home. He should have driven straight to his house, poured himself another drink, and buried the night in paperwork or sleep.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Aaron found himself driving through the quiet streets, the sound of the city outside his car muffled by the relentless echo of your words in his mind.

Do you know what I do? I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.

The words played on a loop, relentless and consuming. He could see the way you had looked at him, the softness in your voice, the sadness and longing that mirrored his own. It unraveled him.

He loosened his tie, tugging at the silk knot with a sharp, frustrated motion as if it were choking him. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind—your gown, the way you moved, the way your eyes had locked with his in a silent confession across the room.

He didn’t even notice his speed, the way the city blurred around him as he drove. All he knew was where he needed to go.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he hesitated only briefly. Jeff could be here. That much was obvious. But Aaron didn’t care—not tonight.

He climbed out of the car, his footsteps quick and determined as he approached your door. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind was clear.

He knocked, his knuckles rapping firmly against the wood.

The seconds stretched endlessly until the door opened, and there you were.

You were wearing a silk robe, its soft fabric clinging to your frame and catching the light. Your hair was loose, framing your face in soft waves, and your expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable when you saw him.

“Aaron,” you said softly, your voice tentative.

“Is he here?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest felt like it might explode.

You blinked, startled by the question, before shaking your head. “No.”

“Good,” he said, stepping forward and into your space.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. 

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot. The kiss was fierce, dominating, raw, filled with all the pent-up tension and longing that had been building for months.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as you stumbled slightly, the force of his kiss pushing you backward. He guided you with purpose, his body pressing yours against the wall just inside the entryway.

His hands moved to your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection. It was raw, desperate, and consuming.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The silk of your robe brushed against his suit, the contrast of textures only heightening the sensation.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with something unmistakable—desire, relief, and a trace of vulnerability.

He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.

You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you pulled him back into another kiss, and Aaron let himself surrender to the moment, the weight of everything else fading away.

For once, nothing else mattered.

Aaron’s breath was ragged as his lips moved against yours, his hands still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. Every ounce of restraint he’d held onto for so long had snapped the moment you’d opened the door, and now, the thought of stopping felt impossible.

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, and he responded in kind, his body pressing firmly against yours. The silk of your robe was impossibly soft under his hands as he slid them from your face to your waist, his fingers gripping you like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

Aaron knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew this was a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. But every logical thought dissolved under the weight of your kiss, the way your lips moved against his with a hunger that matched his own.

“God, we shouldn’t—” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but tinged with something desperate.

“I know,” he whispered back, his hands trailing along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your robe. “But I can’t stop.”

Your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze nearly undoing him. It wasn’t just lust that burned in your expression—it was longing, the same yearning that had been simmering between you for months, the same ache he’d carried every time he saw you.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming up your back as he felt you relax into him. Your hands found the knot of his tie, tugging it loose with a deliberate pull that sent his pulse racing. The silk slipped free, and you tossed it aside, your fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt with a sense of urgency that mirrored his own.

Aaron let out a soft groan as your hands brushed against his chest, your touch igniting a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as you tilted your head to give him better access.

“Aaron,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine.

His hands found the sash of your robe, his fingers hesitating briefly as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only want, only need.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but tender, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I’m sure.”

The robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight of you, so beautiful and bare before him. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch reverent but firm, as though he was committing every detail to memory.

He kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, savoring the taste of you, the softness of your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood.

Every touch, every kiss, felt forbidden, a line crossed and recrossed with every passing second. But neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.

Aaron guided you gently toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours as you moved together. You sank down onto the cushions, pulling him with you, and he let himself get lost in you—the way you smelled, the way your skin felt against his, the way you whispered his name like it was the only thing that mattered.

As his hands roamed over you, exploring, memorizing, Aaron felt a pang of guilt buried beneath the passion. He knew this was dangerous, that there would be consequences. But for now, in this moment, he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were his.

And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

Aaron’s mind was a storm as he pressed you against the cushions of the couch, his lips moving with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. The weight of his body pressed into yours, grounding him in a way that made everything else—Beth, Jeff, the consequences of this moment—fade into the background.

Your hands slid under his shirt, your fingers grazing his skin with a touch that sent shivers through him. He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to shrug out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, buttons undone hastily by your hands, and he barely registered the faint sound of fabric hitting the hardwood before his mouth was back on yours.

This was wrong. He knew it with every rational part of himself. But it didn’t stop the way he kissed you, dominating, claiming like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else who had touched you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your back—pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch of you against him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost a growl. His fingers found your bare skin so inviting. “I’ve wanted this… you… for so long.”

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Aaron felt like he might lose his mind at the way you responded to him.

“Do you know how hard it’s been?” he asked, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers grazed your bare shoulder, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “Watching you, wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The intensity in your gaze was enough to undo him, filled with the same longing, the same desperation he’d been carrying for months.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve felt it too.”

That was all it took for Aaron to give in completely. His lips crashed against yours again, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts. He shifted, lifting you slightly as he moved you further onto the couch, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t hold back.

You were his. At least in this moment, you were his.

His hands roamed over you with purpose, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His lips continued their relentless exploration of your body. He kissed you like he was starving like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe you were.

The air between you was thick with tension; each movement laced with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s hands framed your face as he paused to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but intense. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, your fingers brushing over his jaw as you pulled him back to you. “Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

Aaron didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The way you looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered—was enough to silence any doubts. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch, every sigh that escaped your lips.

It was forbidden. It was reckless. But in that moment, it was everything.

Aaron’s control, the control he prided himself on in every aspect of his life, was slipping through his fingers. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. The feel of your body beneath his was intoxicating, and for once, he allowed himself to surrender to the moment.

But you weren’t passive. No, that wasn’t who you were.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you shifted beneath him, a movement so deliberate it nearly undid him. You pressed up against him, your strength and confidence matching his in a way that sent his pulse racing.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath heavy as his eyes roamed over you. The sight of you—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire—was enough to make his chest tighten.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned in close.

You smirked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him toward you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with intent.

Aaron’s response was immediate. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He wanted to mark you, to leave a reminder of this moment, of him, as if to stake a claim neither of you would ever admit aloud.

Your hands moved to his belt, the boldness of your actions sending a jolt through him. He let out a low growl, gripping your wrists gently but firmly to still you.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone a mix of command and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging. “Afraid you can’t keep up, Hotchner?”

That did it.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and possessiveness into it. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you that went straight to his core.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough as he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest with deliberate slowness. “I think I have some idea,” you replied, your voice low and filled with heat.

The push and pull between you was electric, a constant dance of dominance and surrender that neither of you fully gave into. When you shifted, pushing him back with a surprising strength that only made him want you more, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, his hands gripping your hips as you straddled him, your robe slipping fully off your shoulders, completely bare to him. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?”

Aaron’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you down against him, his voice a growl. “Not at all.”

The heat between you was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and desire as your lips met his again, both of you fighting for control even as you gave into the pull of each other. It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a collision of two forces that had been held back for far too long.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement spoke volumes, the unspoken words of longing and frustration spilling out in the way you claimed each other, over and over again.

Aaron had always been a man of control, a man who measured his steps and chose his words with precision. But here, with you, that control was unraveling, slipping away with every kiss, every touch. The months of tension, the stolen glances, the unspoken words between you had built to this moment, and now, neither of you seemed capable of holding back.

Your nails dragged along his chest, leaving faint, red lines in their wake as you leaned into him. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to anchor himself. Aaron couldn’t stop his hands from exploring, feeling the heat of your skin under his touch.

“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was fierce, almost punishing, a testament to the months of restraint that had finally snapped.

You didn’t shy away. You met his intensity with your own, your lips moving against his with a hunger that left no doubt about how much you wanted this—wanted him.

“Good,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Aaron chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, earning a gasp from you that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you from the couch effortlessly. The action earned a surprised laugh from you, but it was cut short when he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hands roamed your body. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and desire. “If you want me so badly, Aaron, prove it.”

Something snapped in him at your words. His hands tightened on your thighs as his lips found yours again, the kiss rough and consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who you belonged to in this moment. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave faint impressions, a silent mark of his claim on you.

Every movement was deliberate, every touch a blend of dominance and reverence. Aaron’s hands slid beneath the loosened fabric of your robe, his fingers exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. 

Your body arched against his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you met him with equal fervor. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way you moved together; it was raw, fierce, a collision of passion and pent-up frustration that neither of you could contain.

“Aaron,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it undid him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, his grip on you firm and steady.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a growl as he tightened his hold on you.

Your eyes locked with his, dark with desire and unspoken emotion. “Aaron,” you repeated, your voice softer this time but no less commanding.

His lips crashed against yours again, his hands roaming freely, claiming you in every way he could. There was no hesitation, no room for second thoughts—only the overwhelming need to have you, to show you exactly what you meant to him, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. What he saw there—desire, longing, and something deeper, more vulnerable—unraveled him completely.

“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, filled with the weight of months of suppressed emotions. “Tell me you want this.”

Your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his jawline as you looked at him with a gaze that left him breathless. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all he needed.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming as his hands slid up your thighs, securing your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, the roughness of the plaster against your back contrasting with the heat of his body against yours.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with urgency, a desperate need to make up for all the time you’d spent denying yourselves this moment. His hands roamed your body, possessive and reverent as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

Your hands tugged at the rest of his clothes, pushing them further off him as your lips moved from his mouth to his jawline, trailing kisses down his neck. The soft, breathy sound you made against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, his control slipping further.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

He groaned in response, his name on your lips undoing him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and raw as his lips found yours again. “No one else’s.”

Your response was immediate, your arms tightening around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The way you moved against him, the way you whispered his name between gasps, left no room for doubt—you were his, and he was yours.

The tension between you reached its breaking point, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood. Aaron’s movements became more deliberate, his hands gripping you firmly as he gave in completely to the moment.

It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a culmination of months of longing and frustration. Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with a passion that left you both breathless, the line between control and surrender blurring as you claimed each other fully.

When he reached between you, he found you wet and wanting. Bucking your hips against his hand. He circled his fingers, warming you up--not that you needed it. Savoring the little responses he got from you. His other hand reached for your breast, caressing and cupping it with achingly slow motions. 

“Aaron!” It was almost a demand, telling him you needed him now. He understood as you pushed yourself up, wrapping one leg around his waist. His pants and belt pooled at his ankles--it wasn’t the most practical scene, but was anything about this situation? 

He entered you swiftly, an open-mouthed kiss with a shared groan between the two of you. Your hands found his hair, tugging on it as your eyes rolled back. His mouth moved to the hollow of your neck, his hands exploring you all at once, but still not enough. 

He imagined the angle was physically more demanding for you as he lifted you, holding you up against the wall, bringing him impossibly deeper now. He rocked into you with a rhythm that was unmatched. The sound of his metal belt buckle shifting on the floor with every swift slap of his hips against yours filled the room.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, basically melting in his arms. It was like a domino effect, taking him down with you. He released deep inside of you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he groaned your name. 

Something deep was released inside in this moment, too, more emotionally than any sexual release. He knew in this moment he couldn’t not have you again. 

You unwrapped your legs from his hips, the two of you slowly separating with a whimper. 

Aaron held you against him, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what you’d just done hung in the air, but so did the undeniable connection that had brought you to this point.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough as his fingers brushed lightly against your side.

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

Aaron exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. For now, there was only you.

The intensity between you had cooled slightly, replaced now by a quiet tenderness that neither of you knew how to navigate. Reaching down, he pulled his boxers, pants and belt back up, leaving them still undone.

The silence was thick, and as Aaron stepped back, his gaze flicked to the disheveled state of both of you. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven as the realization hit him like a jolt.

“We didn’t...” he started, his voice low and gravelly. “We didn’t use protection.”

Your lips parted, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Then, with a softness that caught him off guard, you said, “I know.”

Aaron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. “And you’re... with Jeff.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out, needing to understand. He watched as you turned away.

“We haven’t had sex,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron froze, the weight of your words sinking in slowly. “What?”

You turned to face him, your expression vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “I couldn’t,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to... be with him. He’s—” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “He’s been an accessory. Something to keep people from asking questions.”

Aaron stared at you, his mind racing. Jeff’s smug comments in the locker room, the way he’d hovered near you at the party—it had all been an act, a performance. You hadn’t been with him. You’d been pulling him along to keep up appearances, just like you’d said.

“I thought...” he began, but his words faltered. He took a breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re with him, and I’m with Beth. Or at least I thought I was.”

You studied him, your eyes searching his face. “Have you?” you asked, the question hesitant but pointed.

Aaron shook his head, his voice quieter now. “No. I haven’t been able to.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he met your gaze. “She’s not... she’s not you.”

For a moment, the weight of that truth hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you moved, the air between you thick with something that felt too fragile to name.

Eventually, Aaron stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours before gently taking it in his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You followed him without a word, the quiet between you more comfortable now, though still heavy with everything unsaid. In the dim light of the small bathroom, Aaron found a clean towel, dampening it with warm water before turning back to you.

He worked in silence, his movements careful and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion. His touch was tender, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

When it was your turn, you took another face cloth, your hands steady but your expression unreadable. You dabbed at his face, his neck, his chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long as if memorizing the feel of him.

Neither of you spoke, the quiet filled only with the soft sound of water and the unspoken tension that neither of you knew how to address. Aaron watched you, his chest tightening as he saw the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you concentrated on your task.

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. So he let the moment stretch, allowing the silence to say what neither of you could.

When you were finished, you folded the towel and set it aside, your hands brushing his one last time before you stepped back. Aaron caught your wrist gently, his touch lingering just long enough for you to meet his gaze.

But still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, you turned away, pulling your robe tighter around you as Aaron let his hand fall to his side. The weight of everything you’d shared pressed heavily on both of you and for now, neither of you had the courage to face what came next.

Aaron stood in the quiet of your bedroom, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The events of the night weighed heavily on him—what they meant, what they would lead to—but before he could sink too deeply into his own mind, you reappeared.

Your silk robe was gone, replaced by his button-up shirt, which hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You looked both effortless and intimate, like you belonged in it.

“I missed this,” you said softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, as though savoring the feel of it. “I missed the smell of you. I missed you. Everything about you.”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest, and he exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. He knew the feeling all too well. He had missed you, too—more than he could admit, more than he had allowed himself to feel until now.

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you gently tugged him toward the bed. Aaron followed, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding him even as his heart raced. Removing his dresspants, folding them, and placing them on a chair nearby. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body taut with hesitation, but you didn’t let him linger there. You climbed onto the mattress, settling in on your side and motioning for him to join you.

Aaron hesitated for a moment, then slid under the covers, lying on his side to face you. The moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, silver glow. It cast delicate shadows across your face, highlighting the vulnerability in your expression as you looked at him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s gaze traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of your cheek, the softness of your lips, the way your eyes held his with an intensity that made his chest ache.

“Love me,” you whispered suddenly, your voice trembling but insistent. Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, your touch hesitant but desperate. “Please, Aaron. Love me.”

The vulnerability in your voice, the way you said the words like they were both a demand and a plea, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. This was almost uncharacteristic for you. Your presence never demanded attention, yet here you were, asking him to love you. Aaron’s heart twisted painfully, and he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to ask me to do that,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. But there was no doubt, no hesitation in his gaze. He loved you—he always had, even when he couldn’t say it, even when it felt impossible.

“But we can’t,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You know that. If we do this, we risk everything—our jobs, the team, the work we’ve both sacrificed so much for.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears shining in your eyes. “I don’t care about any of that, Aaron. I just care about you.”

Aaron closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing through him. He hated how complicated this was, how the world seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.

“I hate it, too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how complicated this is, how much we have to give up just to be together. But I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing everything that makes you... you.”

Your hand cupped his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “Don’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

Aaron exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes closed. The thought of giving you up, of walking away from this, was unbearable. And yet, the thought of losing everything you had worked so hard for was just as devastating.

“I’d give it all up,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “The job, the team—all of it. I’d give it up to have you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling over you. He had reached a point where he couldn’t even get to with Haley--ready to put the job and whatever else behind him. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise.

Aaron kissed you back, his hands cradling your face as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the connection. And as the two of you lay there in the quiet, the moonlight casting its gentle glow over the room, Aaron realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as Aaron woke to the warmth of your body next to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of forgetting everything outside this space. But the weight of reality settled quickly, and he knew there were choices to be made—choices that couldn’t wait.

You stirred beside him, your head turning slightly on the pillow as your eyes fluttered open. When you looked at him, there was a quiet understanding in your gaze, as though you’d already been thinking about what needed to happen next.

The day was spent in quiet, focused conversation. You sat together at the kitchen table, steaming cups of coffee in front of you, as you laid out the possibilities. Aaron admired your methodical approach, the way you analyzed every angle every consequence, even as he felt the heaviness of the discussion pressing down on him.

“What if we went to the team first?” you suggested your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “If they’re on our side—if they don’t have any reservations—it might give us the leverage we need when we talk to the Director again.”

Aaron considered your words carefully, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s risky,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “But it might be the only way to prove that this won’t affect the team’s dynamic. If they can support us, it could make a difference.”

You nodded, your hands wrapped around your mug as you leaned back in your chair. “And if the Director still refuses?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. “Then we don’t give him a choice. We go in together and tell him it’s either this—or we both walk.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding of the enormity of what you were discussing. Neither of you had ever walked away from anything lightly, but the thought of giving each other up again was unbearable.

Later, as the day stretched on, the two of you made the decisions you’d been avoiding for weeks. Beth deserved the truth, as did Jeff, no matter how difficult those conversations would be.

Aaron made the visit to Beth first. She was tinged with confusion at his sudden need to talk. He kept his words measured and respectful, explaining that he couldn’t give her what she deserved—that his heart had always belonged to someone else. Beth was hurt but graceful, her acceptance tinged with sadness.

When he returned to the your house later on after also attending to fatherly duties with Jack, you were finishing your call with Jeff. Your expression was unreadable, but the way you let out a soft sigh as you set your phone down spoke volumes. “He didn’t take it well,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug. “But I couldn’t keep leading him on. It wasn’t fair.”

Aaron placed a hand over yours, his touch grounding and steady. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “Now we move forward.”

That evening, as you sat together in the quiet, the weight of the day’s decisions settled over you both. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential challenges and risks, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

The two of you had a plan—a united front—and whatever came next, you knew you’d face it.

The BAU conference room felt smaller than usual as Aaron Hotchner stood to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were seated at the head of the table, your posture poised but your hands clasped tightly together—a rare sign of nervousness that only someone who knew you well, like Aaron, would notice.

The team filtered in one by one, their expressions curious but light. Emily had a cup of coffee in hand, Derek was chatting with JJ about some recent Quantico gossip, and Penelope trailed behind with a bright, questioning look. Reid sat toward the middle, already flipping through a notepad, and Rossi took his usual spot near the back, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Derek asked, his grin playful as he pulled out a chair and settled in. “This doesn’t feel like our usual meeting vibe.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze sweeping across the table before landing briefly on Aaron. He gave you a small nod, his expression calm but supportive.

“Thank you all for coming,” you began, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. “I know this isn’t our usual meeting. Aaron and I asked you here because we need to discuss something important—something personal that affects the team.”

The lighthearted chatter died down instantly, replaced by a palpable curiosity and concern.

You continued, your hands tightening slightly around each other as you spoke. “Over the past few months, Aaron and I have realized that we want to pursue a personal relationship. I know this might come as a surprise—or even a concern—to some of you, given our roles and the nature of our work.”

Aaron watched as the team processed your words, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and, in some cases, quiet understanding.

You straightened, your tone firm but earnest. “We’ve thought this through carefully. We understand the gravity of this decision, not just for ourselves but for all of you. This team is a family. It’s been my honor to work with each of you, and I don’t take lightly the idea of doing anything that could disrupt that dynamic.”

Aaron stepped forward then, his voice calm and measured as he added, “That’s why we wanted to be upfront with all of you. We respect your opinions, and we’re here to listen if any of you have reservations or concerns.”

There was a beat of silence before Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement. “The two of you want to be together, but the higher-ups don’t approve?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Correct. The Director has made it clear that our relationship is considered inappropriate given our positions. He gave us two options: end it or find roles outside the team.”

JJ frowned, her concern evident. “And what are you planning to do?”

Aaron glanced at you, and you gave a slight nod before he spoke. “We’ve decided to pursue the relationship despite those orders. But we’re not going into this without a plan. We believe the best course of action is to go to the Director with the support of this team. If we can demonstrate that our relationship won’t compromise our work or the dynamic here, it may give us the leverage we need.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Reid asked quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.

You hesitated, and Aaron stepped in. “If the Director won’t budge, we’re prepared to leave. Together.”

That admission hung heavy in the air, and Aaron could feel the weight of the team’s reactions pressing down on him.

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a big gamble. But you’ve always been a risk-taker, Hotch.”

Emily smirked faintly, her tone more teasing than judgmental. “Never would’ve pegged you for a rule-breaker, though.”

Penelope, wide-eyed and fidgeting with her bracelets, finally spoke up. “So… does this mean we’re, like, the deciding vote? Because, no pressure, but this feels like a really big deal!”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your posture easing slightly. “It is a big deal, Penelope. But we trust you. All of you. That’s why we wanted to have this conversation first.”

Rossi, who had been quietly observing, finally leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I’ve seen a lot of things in this job. Relationships, breakups, people falling apart under pressure. But I’ve never doubted the professionalism or dedication of either of you. And I don’t see that changing now.”

Aaron felt a flicker of gratitude as Rossi’s words hung in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the discussion.

One by one, the team voiced their thoughts. JJ expressed some concern about how this might look to the brass but ultimately supported you both, trusting your judgment. Reid, after asking a few logistical questions, nodded thoughtfully and said he believed the two of you could handle it. Penelope gave an impassioned speech about love conquering all, which drew chuckles around the table, and Emily and Derek exchanged a look before both offering their backing with only a bit of playful ribbing.

By the end of the discussion, Aaron felt a weight lift from his chest. The team’s support wasn’t just a relief—it was a validation of the respect and trust you had built with each of them over the years.

You stood, your hands resting lightly on the table as you addressed them one last time. “Thank you. Truly. This means everything to us. And I promise, no matter what happens, the integrity of this team will always come first.”

Aaron stepped beside you, his gaze sweeping over the team with quiet gratitude. “We’ll take this to the Director together. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

As the team began to disperse, Derek clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day, Hotch. You breaking rules for love? Guess there’s hope for all of us.”

Aaron chuckled softly, but as he turned to look at you, his expression softened. This wasn’t just about breaking rules—it was about finally choosing the person who made it all worthwhile.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the hallway outside the Director’s office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze steady. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between you, but he felt none of the apprehension he might have expected. Instead, he felt a strange calm bolstered by the resolve that radiated from you as you stood beside him.

You turned to him, your expression set but your eyes soft. You had dressed sharply for the meeting, your tailored suit immaculate, projecting the authority you carried so effortlessly. Still, there was something in the way your fingers brushed against his as you reached for him that made his chest tighten.

“You ready for this?” you asked, your voice low but steady.

Aaron looked at you, taking in the determined set of your jaw and the quiet strength in your posture. “With you? Always.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, the tension between you softened. You stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both grounding and electrifying.

“Let’s do this,” you murmured against his mouth, and he nodded, his hands lingering briefly on your waist before you pulled away.

When you entered the Director’s office together, the atmosphere shifted. The room was large and imposing, the walls lined with awards and photos that told the story of the Bureau’s successes. The Director sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

Aaron stayed standing beside you as you took the lead, your voice calm and authoritative as you began. “Thank you for meeting with us, sir. We wanted to address the situation between Agent Hotchner and myself directly.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m listening.”

Aaron watched as you laid out your case with precision and confidence, detailing how the two of you had handled your relationship with professionalism, how you had sought the team’s support, and how they had expressed their trust in your ability to maintain the integrity of the BAU.

“We understand your concerns, and we don’t take this lightly,” you said, your gaze steady on the Director. “But we also know the value we bring to the Bureau, both individually and as a team. We’re here to ask for your trust, just as we’ve earned the trust of the people we lead.”

Aaron stepped in then, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve always put the mission of the BAU first, and that won’t change. But if this is a line you believe we’ve crossed, we’re prepared to accept the consequences. Both of us.”

The Director’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you both. “You’re telling me you’re willing to walk away? Both of you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “We believe in what we’ve built here, but we won’t compromise our integrity—or the team’s—by pretending this relationship doesn’t exist.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Aaron could feel the tension coiled in his chest, but he didn’t waver. He stood beside you, unflinching, as the Director considered their ultimatum.

Finally, the Director let out a slow breath; his fingers steepled under his chin. “This is highly irregular. You both know that. The Bureau doesn’t operate on personal exceptions.”

You nodded, your posture unyielding. “We understand that, sir. But losing both of us would be a significant blow to the BAU, especially given our track record and the current demands on the unit.”

The Director’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking for a lot.”

Aaron stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “And we’re offering a solution. Put us on a review period. Watch us closely. If there are any issues—any compromises to the integrity of the BAU—you’ll have our resignations. No questions asked.”

The Director’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his expression inscrutable. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled sharply. “Fine. A review period. But understand this: you’ll both be under intense scrutiny. Any sign that this relationship is affecting the team or your work, and it ends. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you said immediately, your voice steady.

Aaron nodded. “Crystal.”

When the two of you left the office, the tension in the hallway was palpable, but it quickly gave way to a quiet sense of victory. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself a small, relieved smile.

“That went better than expected,” you said, your voice light with a mix of relief and determination.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “I’d say we make a pretty good team.”

You stopped then, turning to face him fully. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows cast a soft glow over your face, and Aaron felt his chest tighten at the sight of you—strong, confident, and absolutely unshakable.

“With you?” you said, echoing his earlier words. “We can do anything.”

Aaron smiled, his hand finding yours and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. And as the two of you walked away from the Director’s office, united in purpose and resolve, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Days later, the grand estate was already alive with warmth and light as Aaron Hotchner guided you up the stone steps to Rossi’s front door. The crisp New Year’s Eve air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he glanced at you, wrapped in a deep burgundy coat that highlighted the glow in your cheeks.

“Rossi doesn’t do anything halfway,” Aaron remarked quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile as you reached the top step.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand finding the small of your back as the door swung open, revealing Rossi himself. Dressed in a sharp suit, his expression was one of genuine delight as he welcomed you both with open arms.

“Ah, my two favorite rule-breakers,” Rossi said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, come in. There’s champagne waiting, and plenty of people to charm.”

The party was every bit as grand as Aaron had expected. Rossi’s expansive living room was filled with colleagues, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving seamlessly through the low hum of conversation.

Aaron scanned the room instinctively, cataloging familiar faces—Emily and JJ chatting near the bar, Penelope gesturing animatedly to Reid, and Derek leaning against a nearby column, his easy grin drawing a small crowd of admirers.

But his focus always returned to you.

You were by his side, your coat now replaced by an elegant black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the neckline just daring enough to make his chest tighten. You smiled at someone who greeted you, your laugh soft but genuine, and Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you commanded the room.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him as you handed him a glass of champagne.

He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “I’d say that depends entirely on you.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smirk, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded, leaving only the quiet connection between the two of you.

As the evening wore on, Aaron found himself drawn to you again and again, his gaze seeking you out even when you were across the room. You had a way of grounding him, even in the chaos of a room full of people, and he felt a quiet thrill every time your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you.

When the two of you found yourselves alone on Rossi’s terrace, the night sky stretched out above you, Aaron couldn’t help but steal a moment. The cold air bit at his skin, but the warmth of your presence was enough to chase it away.

“You look stunning tonight,” he said softly, his voice low as he leaned on the railing beside you.

You glanced at him, your smile softening into something more intimate. “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing tone in your voice made him chuckle, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made his chest ache in the best way.

The sound of the party spilling onto the terrace broke the moment, and the two of you turned to see Rossi stepping out, his hands raised theatrically.

“Two minutes to midnight, folks!” he called, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s make it count!”

Aaron glanced at you, his heart pounding as he saw the faint blush on your cheeks. Without a word, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently closer.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as the first sounds of the countdown began to echo from inside.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a small, private smile as the world around you blurred.

And as the clock struck midnight and the room erupted in cheers, Aaron kissed you, his hand cradling your face as the noise and the cold and everything else faded away. It was just you and him, standing together at the start of something new, something strong.

Together, you could conquer anything.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[gghostwriter]

Time is a Fickle Thing

Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.

The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.

“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.

He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.

Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.

Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”

“What happens next?”

Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.

It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.

In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.

Still, scared even.

Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.

It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.

“Daddy, what happens next?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.

Everything about her was captivating.

“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”

“But—”

“Remember what we promised?”

She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”

“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.

As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.

“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”

He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.

“Is that it?” He teased.

She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”

Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”

Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.

“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.

Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.

“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”

“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”

She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”

“How about giving me a clue then?”

She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”

Oh.

That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.

“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”

She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.

“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”

He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”

Aurora nodded.

“And what about the best part?”

She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”

Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.

“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”

Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

He slowly crept out of the room.

“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.

Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.

Her first steps.

Her first tooth falling out.

Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.

In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.

Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’

It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.

He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.

And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.

Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.

Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.

She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.

Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.

“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.

He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”

You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”

“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”

There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”

“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”

You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”

“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”

“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”

Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

You gave him another kiss.

“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[grandisknight]

dots and dashes | sylus

summary: Sylus gives insight into one of the many languages he's well-versed in.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, afab!reader, banter, morse code, vibrator, sex toys, orgasm edging, f!orgasm, aftercare/morning after, gift giving, evol abilites (sylus' energy manipulation), a pinch of fluff

wc: 2.6k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: mildly inspired by one of his older text messages (affinity 37’s text message: deal)! also around his pre-debut, he had morse code in one of the teasers (official weibo post here) and i thought that was pretty neat so here we are ^_^)7

The leader of Onychinus kept a plethora of languages stored away under his sleeve. A man of multiple tongues and talents, you just wanted to know how to say one thing—anything, really. 

Though, you didn’t think he’d take a silly comment in passing so seriously, and it landed you in his personal study the following evening. A rare day where your schedules aligned, Sylus took the opportunity to extend a warm welcome into the N109 Zone under the promise of a ‘lesson.’

Of all the languages, morse code was what he decided to reveal in his cards. A curious choice, to say the least, but it piqued your interest nevertheless. Cozied in one of the cushioned chairs, a beginner’s guide laid flat across the desk with your scribbled notes. Sylus’ chair was tucked to the side in observation, accompanying your lessons as a stand-in teacher of sorts.

Time passed in this way—he would offer a series of taps and drags with his fingers against the surface, and you would write them down. He was patient with you all throughout, solidifying the foundation for the alphabet before switching to small words and phrases.

A question that had been plaguing your mind since you arrived drifted into the air during a self-proclaimed break. “By the way, why do you know morse code?” 

With a hand propping your chin, your gaze takes in his relaxed figure. Comfortably dressed in his light gray sweater, the detailed threads of silver patterns painted him in a softer aura that juxtaposed his usually formidable appearance. Rimless glass coveted the rubied gaze that would occasionally meet yours, though occupied in thought. 

It was distracting, to say the least. A handsome distraction at its finest, though it doesn’t pull away from the message he quietly relayed to you.

A dot, two dashes. A series of dashes, another dot and some more followed.  (.-- / --- / .-. / -.-)

Counting off the units that met the table in muted taps, you answer, “Work?”

“Good ear, sweetie.” Sylus nods, leaning back and adjusting the thin frames balancing atop his nose. “Sometimes, negotiations are better said without words.”

“That’s a thinly veiled way of saying threats, but sure,” you retort. He doesn’t deny your claims, rather letting out a small chuckle in acquiesce. 

Sylus taps your forehead with his forefinger, amusement quirked in his brow. “You’ve seen the kind of talks and people I’ve dealt with. Who knows, you could use this in one of your little undercover missions too.” 

His hands return to nestle in his lap, and it catches your eye then—a faint snap and swirl of black manifested into a box underneath his palm. Perfectly fitted and nearly hidden if it weren’t for the glimmering trim around the edges, and the fluttering crow feather swaying towards the floor.

“Curious, are we?” Sylus voices your thoughts, fingers drumming against the lid. 

Two dashes and a dot, a couple more dots, another dash-dot and lasting dash. (--. / .. / ..-. / -) 

“Gift,” you echo upon realization. 

Your eyes wandered between his lap and the sparkling rubied gaze that honed his presence, reading between the lines. “Don’t tell me it’s another gun? Last time I checked, my Harrier 700 still works well.” 

And the last thing you wanted to deal with was a run-in with customs, if that were the case—he’s already tried his luck before, and you weren’t counting on his luck index to grant a second chance.

“You’ve been taking good care of it, so there’s no need for a replacement,” Sylus says. He leans back, tapping a forefinger to his temple in thought. “I thought it would be nice to get you something for studying so diligently.”

It had your back straightening in attention—now you really had no idea what he could be hiding. Even so, a scowl sketched onto your face, wondering if you’ve walked into a trap. A dry chuckle parts his lips at your clear interest and adamant attempt to maintain a façade all the same.

“Sweetie, it’s all yours.”

“It’s not that simple though, is it?”

“Ah. You know me so well,” he muses. “As vigilant as ever.”

The box finds itself on the desk and his hands reach for your chair. They dance over the armrest before turning your full front towards him—where his cocked head and curled lips asked, “Let’s make a deal. How does that sound?” 

“What’s the catch?” Your heart jumped into your throat, unsure of when the air became so… palpable. Damn him and his ridiculously handsome face, you couldn’t tell if it made this more bearable or stirred your senses further. “I might be willing to wager.”

“Relax, that’s one of the conditions.” His larger fingers swipe over one of yours, which had subconsciously curled into a fist. Gently, he coaxes your hand to open into his, soon neatly slotted and all encompassing with warmth. “You look nervous, and I haven’t done a thing.”

“I know.” Your shoulders relax when his thumb massages yours in a light stroke. “But you haven’t done anything yet,” you clarify.

“Which brings me to my second condition.” He brings it closer to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours when he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “A test, if you will. You pass if you manage to decode my sequence correctly.”

“My sequence,” you pause, catching the tail end of his proposal. “So there’s only one?” 

“Why, do you want a whole pop quiz?” He snickers, a brow raised. “We’ll be stuck here all night if that’s the case.”

“Nevermind,” you shake your head, finding the prospect to be less than charming. One was more than enough to take on your plate.

You purse your lips then and poke in jest. “Are you doubting my academic prowess now?”

“I would’ve dismissed you entirely if I was,” Sylus points out, tugging your hand towards him. 

It jerked you forward unexpectedly, though it seemed he was anticipating this—smooth swirls of red and black tangled around your body, gently placing you atop his expecting lap before softly dispersing. “There’s no doubt in my mind you’re as bright as they come,” he adds in honesty.

“What the—hey, now!” A flush ran across your cheeks at the newfound proximity. 

Hips hovering above him, you nearly fell onto the fine meeting place between his thighs. You save yourself the embarrassment, reaching for the chair’s headrest to steady your shift. He allows you this much, your legs soon bracketing his own and enjoying the sight all the same.

You huffed, “Is this part necessary?”

“Par for the course, actually.” Sylus’ fingers ghost over your sides, before settling atop your thighs and his palms lying flat in a gentle caress. “You can always back out if you’re not game.”

An arrow to your pride dug into your heart at the mere offense. The competitive spirit that once laid dormant jerked into consciousness—absolutely not.  “No, we’re on. Do your worst,” you raise in steadfast confidence. “I can take it.”

“Those are fighting words,” he says. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, teetering on a fine line of fondness and scheme alike. “But I’ll hold you to it.”

—

So, maybe your confidence could only carry you so far. 

Rather, it tumbled you into a predicament at the cost of your exposed cunt. His free hand lazily dimpled into the plush of your hip, simultaneously careful to keep you steady. No longer a comfortable chill, the study’s air swirled into a concoction of heat and burning salacity in every inhale.

“Sweetie,” Sylus purrs. “You still haven’t answered my question.” 

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. The game of codes was the last thing on your mind when a fine man of caliber was perched beneath you, gracefully stringing you along and allowing you the same right.

Easily thrown out the window, especially so, when all inhibition was lost to his kneaded touches and peppered kisses. The smooth movements that treasured your skin with care, tugging your bottoms down just enough in the process and tenderly appreciating you throughout the heat of the moment. Even his hair stuck out in one direction to the next, unkempt from the field day your tugging fingers reshaped the silver stands into. 

Be that as it may, you still groan, chest rising to catch your breath. Nails drag into planes of his firm shoulder blades, lightly leaving their mark. “It’s because you’re not playing fair, Sy.” If you had a nickel for every time you were close to crashing in his embrace from an impending climax, it would be two. While it’s not an impressive sum, both were earned in the past few minutes alone, under the direction of his cunning smile and newfound toy in hand.

To his kindness, he pulls the rounded head of the vibrator away from your clit—the once muffled hums rang out more clearly, whirring at the highest setting. It glistened to the naked eye, finely coated in a layer of your evident arousal.

“All is fair in love and war,” he says, unphased by the line of bait you failed to reel in. He leans forward to press a kiss into your temple, a sign of affection pairing with a gentle squeeze to your side. “Should I be nice and walk you through one last chance?”

Your hands trace the curves melting into his neck, grazing his nape in forewarning. “Thin ice, Onychinus head.” 

“Alright,” he muses, though reveling at the added pressure that only spurs him further. “No need to get so formal with me.” The vibrator lowers in the same breath to meet your anticipating heat.

“Five letters. Ready?”

Your hips roll forward then, impatience losing its virtue if meant you could finally, finally seek some relief. “Was practically born ready, at this point.” And then, the first rhythm played out in three, gentle presses to where you needed it most. 

Three dots. (...)

This was fine, you could handle this much.

A moment of pause soon sways into the vibrator sliding between skin, returning to the apex of your labia, and dipping once again. 

A dash, added dot, and paired dashes thereafter. (-.--) “Still with me?” Sylus asks, taking in the sight of your eyes screwed in concentration. It was endearing, in some sense of the word, and his gaze lingered on your expression in intrigue.

Though grateful for the concern, you chide when your breath allows it. “Don’t stop, go all the way already.”

To stop halfway tested what little patience there was left in you. You raised your head to find his circles of crimson brimming with a fondness and undivided attention. All for you.

The grin he graces you with carries the same sentiments, newly tinted with mirth. “Whatever the boss wants.” 

The humming returns without warning, and you jerk against the touch, gasping. A press and slide, following upwards once more in double succession. 

Another dot, dash, and two dots in a row. (.-.. )

You were quickly beginning to piece together the puzzle he left you to solve, the audacity of it all.

Before you could admonish such revelations, you bite your tongue when he continues into the next piece. It was fleeting, but memorable—identical presses and a sinister slide, the buzzing toy greeting your entrance in slick abundance. 

Two dots, and a dash. (..- )

“You’re not—” Your eyes grow wide at the newly placed prodding. 

“Getting cold feet? A minute ago you wanted me to go all the way,” Sylus recalls with a click of his tongue. “It would be unlike you to stop right before the finish line, sweetie.”

You squirm against him, sensitive and incredibly aware of the coil threatening to unfurl. He takes notice, hand stilling in consideration.

“You can do it,” he croons, forehead to yours and capturing your fluttering gaze.

“Never said I couldn’t,” you say, a swallow sealing your determination.

Sylus smiles. “Last letter. Let's make it count.” The vibrator slips into your cunt, whirring against your walls in a sense of overwhelming ecstasy. He makes quick work of it all then, three generous thrusts of the wand disappearing almost entirely, save for his firm grip around the base. 

Three final dots. (...)

It marks the end of his charades, and the beginning of your incandescent cries.

You came undone at last, release ebbing as a flurry of sounds shape themselves into your call. “Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.”

“That’s it, ride it out for me. You worked so hard to earn it, after all.” His nose brushes just beneath your jaw, a tender kiss in consolation to soothe your high. 

He relaxes the toy out of your spent heat by the time your trembling thighs subsided, power shutting off and rolling onto the desk’s surface. A brief swirling of black and crimson manifests a small cloth into his hand, gently patting away the stickied outcome before it disperses in the same specks. His fingers rake along your sides, dragging the fabric of your bottoms into their proper place.

“Sylus.” You slump against his shoulder in recovery, bemoaning amidst the moment of calm clarity. “You are unbelievable. The damn answer was your name, of all things.” “And now you know how to call for me in code. Aren’t I generous?” The slight rumble of his chest supports the chuckle he lets out, deepened further when a curl of your fist smacks his shoulder in protest.

Endearment softens his tone as he draws circles into your back, taking the rolling punches. The other tangles his fingers against your temple, smoothing out the sides in thought. “I would say our lesson went well today.”

“One hell of a lesson,” you remark. Your breathing slows for a moment, listening to the drumming heart beneath your ear. His caresses were kind, lulling, attentive. A sense of peace, wholeheartedly yours and Sylus' alone.

Your gaze shifts towards the desk, when another piece of memory, well-decorated in its untouched trim, lies next to the toy. Forgotten, nearly—the gift. “By the way,” you murmur. “What’s in the box?” Whether it was out of laziness and unwilling to move from your warmth or pure convenience, Sylus waves his hand in summoning. Accepting the floating item midair, you were about to peel off the lid when he began to shift under you, interrupting your grand reveal.

“Hold on.”

With practiced ease, Sylus single-handedly cradles you to his chest and adeptly rises from the cushioned seat. No matter how many times he’s pulled it off in the past, it still leaves you breathless as if it were the first time.

You circle an arm around his neck, the other clutching the box with a huff, “I was about to do an unboxing, you know.” 

“I know,” he confirms, and presses another kiss to your temple. “But you’re getting sleepy. Open it after a good night’s rest.”

A swirl of Evol pushes the doors open, his footsteps echoing down the hall and towards his sanctuary. Your mind willed to protest his attempt of procrastination, yet only a yawn pushed past your lips and proved his point.

Curling into his embrace, you faintly mumble into his neck, “I’m wide awake.”

“And the sun shines at midnight,” Sylus deadpans, unimpressed at your performance. “Don’t fight it. If you’re tired, then sleep. I’ll make sure the gift will be there when you wake up.”  “You promise?”

“With my heart,” he says.

It was a simple response, yet the timbre of his words imbued security and affection all the same. As if he meant more than just ensuring your box was safe, swearing to something beyond your greater comprehension. 

One blink lasted longer than the one prior, sweeping the thought and yourself away into soundless sleep. Another time, perhaps.

—

You would find out the following day that he stayed true to his word. In the quiet hums of the morning, a slumbering giant clung to your side, his breathing calm and unknowing you had finally peeled open the mysterious box. 

A finely crafted jewel twinkled amidst padded velvet, a clasp secured on one end. Engravings inlaid in a series of familiar dots and dashes; you couldn't help but softly laugh, a finger tracing the pattern.

(-... . .-.. --- ...- . -..)

Beloved.

[daisynik7]

Make Me Sweat

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~2.5k

cw: written with a curvy reader in mind, canon-divergent (post-Shibuya but a happy one), all characters are 18+, explicit language, smut – cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit play, PIV sex (cowgirl position, mating press), breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, good girl), creampie 

Summary: With the start of the new year, you make it one of your resolutions to become more active. You begin at your apartment's fitness center, where you run into your muscle head, loud-mouth next-door neighbor, Aoi Todo. He offers his gratuitous advice, annoying you at first. But when he suggests a particular kind of workout, it piques your interest enough that you can't refuse.

Author’s Note: I used metric units (kg) to describe the weights. Also, I am no expert in lifting so please take all of this with a grain of salt LOL. I just know that canonically, these characters are fucking STRONG. I stopped with the tag list on this one bc technically this was a bonus fic and I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to be tagged in these. With that, please enjoy some shameless smut about our favorite JJK himbo! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

part 6 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

When you said you wanted to start exercising more, you weren’t expecting this: being bounced up and down your next-door neighbor’s impressively huge cock. Yet, here you are, getting pounded with your ass slapping lewdly on his thighs. His big hands dig into the sides of your belly, his lips on the skin of your neck, voice gruff and husky.  “Told you, didn’t I?” 

Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.

You haven’t been prioritizing yourself lately; your obligations during the day drain all the energy from you and your bed is always so enticing for a nap. When the new year approaches, you make it one of your resolutions to be more active. The gym in your apartment complex is finally open after being renovated the past three months and now, there’s really no excuses when the opportunity is just five floors below you. Your forego your usual nap and suit up in your favorite workout clothes, heading down the elevator to the fitness center. 

Luckily, it isn’t crowded; the only other people inside are Aoi Todo, your neighbor, and his pink-haired buddy, Yuji. They’re both at the weights section, Yuji doing squats with the barbell while Todo spots him, yelling at him encouragingly. “Come on, brother. Hold it, hold it! You got this!”

Yuji grunts, holding the deadlift for as long as possible, eventually dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. Todo claps emphatically, beaming at him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

You smile to yourself, amused at Todo’s contagious enthusiasm. When he notices you, he gives you a nod, which you return, slightly embarrassed for being caught watching. 

Have you mentioned yet how fucking ripped he is? Today, he wears a loose tank, arm holes cut low to show off his extraordinary physique. Arms bulging with muscles, an incredibly large chest, a well-defined eight-pack. He’s built like a Spartan warrior, ready for battle, destined for victory. It’s impossible to ignore a body like his, even more impossible to ignore his eccentric attitude, which gets on your nerves when you have to listen to his noisy demeanor on the opposite side of the wall. 

The cardio section is on the other side of room, so you make your way to one of the treadmills, setting the level to a walking pace for a quick warm-up. Before you put your headphones in to listen to music, you eavesdrop of their conversation, observing them from your peripheral. 

“Good shit, brother,” Todo says, massaging his shoulders affectionately.

Yuji scratches his head, grinning. “Still got work to do to match my PR. After Shibuya, my strength hasn’t been the same.”

“You’re still the strongest fucker I know. Besides me, of course,” Todo adds, chuckling. “Spot me before you go.” 

They replace the already notable weights with what you suspect are heavier ones. Yuji whistles through his teeth. “300. You’re losing your touch, don’t you think?” he teases, nudging him in the ribs.

Todo digs into a container of powdered chalk, coating his fingers with it. “I’m taking it easy today. Don’t want to over-exert myself in case something exciting happens later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs on to the barbell, smirking. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost swear that his eyes meet yours for a split second in the reflection of the mirror. 

You continue to observe as Todo easily deadlifts 300 kg, as if it weighs nothing to him, repeating this ten times without breaking a sweat.

Yuji laughs, helping him rerack. “That’s crazy.”

Todo pats his back. “You’ll get there soon, brother. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll be lifting more than me, I’ll make sure of that.” His unwavering support is actually endearing. Sure, he can be obnoxious, but this side of him is charming. 

Unfortunately, this sentiment doesn’t last long. Once Yuji leaves, Todo decides to choose the treadmill right beside you, purposefully neglecting the surrounding unoccupied cardio machines. You’re still at a walking pace, eyeing him suspiciously as he stands there, blatantly watching you with a cocky grin. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Avoiding his gaze, staring at the console in front of you, you mutter, “Excuse me, but I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what? Walking?” he scoffs, leaning on the handrail nearest to you. “You’re not going to get far if you keep going at a snail’s pace.”

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. “So what do you suggest, Oh-Wise-One?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but of course, he thinks you’re genuinely asking. “You’ve got to alternate between high intensity and low intensity. Sprint for thirty seconds, then walk for a minute to cool off. Then repeat. Simple as that.”

As much as you appreciate the gratuitous advice, you’re already familiar with high intensity interval training. You’re just nervous to actually do it, not confident in your running abilities. “I’m not a good runner,” you admit. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, show me what you got.” He crosses his arms over his pecs, waiting. 

Deciding it’s better to relent to him rather than argue, you brace yourself, upping the speed so that you’re doing an easy jog. 

“You can do better than that!” he hollers, reaching for the controls to increase the level, making the track move faster and faster. You’re sprinting full speed now, lasting about thirty seconds before you swat him away, tugging at the emergency shut off cord to stop it. 

You catch your breath, glaring at him, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. "What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?!"

He’s unfazed by your outburst and oblivious to the asshole move he made. “Don’t be so dramatic. You did great. You have really nice form.”

You don’t let his compliments dissuade you from being angry at him. “You can’t just do that without any warning. I’m still getting used to all this.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I won’t do that again.” He watches you take long sips from your water bottle, scanning your figure up and down. A coy smirk spreads across his face. "You know, if running ain't your thing, there are other workouts we can try that might suit you better."

You continue to drink, gradually regaining your composure. "Like what?"

He leans in close to you, breath hot on your ear. "Sex."

You choke on your water, using your towel to wipe the mess. Ready to give him an earful, he hops off the track, walking towards the exit. "If you want to work up a real sweat, you know where to find me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving you speechless. And intrigued. 

~~~

After dinner, you take a long shower, Todo’s unconventional suggestion replaying continuously in your mind. You’re almost certain it’s a ridiculous joke, though the more you analyze it, the less ridiculous it seems. In fact, by the time you’re drying off in front of the mirror, checking your reflection carefully, you’re seriously considering it. You’re not particularly tired from earlier, so maybe you have room for one more workout. And hey, if the offer still stands, why not take it?

You slide into a different pair of leggings, one that shows off your curves, and slip on a t-shirt, fulling prepared to exercise. In your running shoes, you walk the few steps next door and knock twice. When he doesn’t answer within the first ten seconds, panic sets in and you’re tempted to turn on your heel to retreat. Before you can, the door swings open and you’re greeted by Todo’s bare bust. He smirks, not at all surprised to see you standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Swallowing the thick saliva gathering on your tongue, you let out a meek, “Hello.” His enormous frame towers over you and you can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. You always assumed he’d be the type of guy to walk around shirtless in his apartment. Not that you’re complaining.

He beckons you inside, closing and locking the door shut behind him. “Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, cracking a smile simultaneously. “Well, it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer, right?”

He lets out a small laugh, stepping towards you, gripping at your hips to pull you into him. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You’ve severely underestimated how much bigger he is than you until this moment, as you peer up at him eagerly. “Todo.”

He bows his head down, mouth grazing your ear. “Aoi.”

“Aoi,” you repeat, breath hitching. 

“Good girl,” he praises, making you shudder with anticipation. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You paw at his chest, admiring his sculpted muscles, pressing your fingers into them without even making a dent. “I want you to give me that workout you promised me.”

“Yeah?” he croons, his noticeable erection strained in his sweatpants. “You want this fat fucking cock, don’t you?”

He’s as vulgar as you imagined he’d be and it only spurs you on. You link your arms around his neck, on your tippy-toes to meet him for a kiss. Instead, he hoists you up, holding you with his hands below your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. His boner throbs as you buck your hips on him, desperate for friction on your aching clit. “You feel it, don’t you?” he purrs, grinding you against him. “That’s all for you.”

He carries you into the bedroom, kissing you sloppily with his massive tongue invading your mouth. When he can’t take it anymore, he tosses you onto the mattress, stripping his clothes off swiftly, you doing the same. He crawls on top of you, ogling your naked body, a lustful gleam in his expression. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so fucking big,” you blurt out in response, not knowing a better word to describe him. Because everywhere you look, Aoi Todo is big. Big biceps, a tremendous torso, a huge fucking cock ready to fill you the fuck up. You spread your legs open for him, practically begging for him to fuck you. 

“Look at this perfect pussy,” he coos, face inching closer to your cunt. He hocks a thick wad of spit directly onto your clit, smearing it with his tongue. “So wet for me.”

You squirm beneath him, unable to control yourself. “Fuck, Aoi,” you swear, toes already curling from the sensation. 

“I’m going to make you come first. Make this pussy extra creamy for my dick. Is that okay, sweetheart?” He massages circles into your clit with his thumb, looking up at you from between your thighs. 

“Yes,” you whine, trembling with arousal.  

“Good girl,” he says again, and you realize how fucking sexy it is when he praises you like this. “Can I finger you too?” 

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, growing impatient, needy for whatever he’s willing to offer you. 

With his lips latched to your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger, slowly sliding deeper until he bottoms out. He adds another digit, pumping inside you while he sucks on your bud, tongue swirling around it. You rock your hips against his face, greedy for more. Todo hums, encouraging you, the vibrations spurring you on until it’s too much. You come for him after a few more strokes, gushing all over his face. You reach down to grab his hair, trying to pry him off you, but he’s obviously way stronger and more resilient. “One more,” he muffles, chin shiny with your slick, his tongue flicking your clit. “For me.” He flashes you a cocky smirk that makes him even more impossible to deny.

You throw your head back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed from the pleasure. The squelch of his fingers in and out of your wet cunt is obscene, combined with the shameless moans pouring out of you. After your second climax, or maybe it’s the third (you’ve lost count), he finally eases off you, slurping his digits clean to swallow up your juices. “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” He strokes his cock in his fist, tapping the glistening head on your swollen clit. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

You hum, the only response you can muster in this fucked-out state. 

“How do you want it, sweetie?” He lifts you off the bed, having you straddle his lap. “You want to ride me?” 

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder, yearning for anything. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, slapping your ass before guiding his cock into your slippery cunt. You gasp, astonished by the extraordinary girth of him filling you up to the hilt. “You’re swallowing me up.” He spreads your cheeks apart, squeezing your ass in his grip. “That’s my girl.”

You gaze at him, pressing your forehead to his, sticky with sweat. “Fuck me,” you whimper, kissing him fiercely, completely enraptured by him.

He does, bouncing you on his lap, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you’re unraveling for him once more. “Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Whatever semblance of rationale you had is gone. All you can think of is Todo’s manhandling you like a fucking rag doll, pliable and yielding to his every touch. Before you reconsider it, you spout the words, “Breed me,” wishing nothing more but to have his hot load leaking out of your cunt.

As if he wasn’t already feral enough, he most certainly is now, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you faster and harder. “That’s what you really want? You want my fucking seed in you? Oh fuck. I’ll give it to you, then. I’ll give it to you so fucking good.”

It happens quickly; you’re on your back again, folded nearly in half, knees to your chest, Todo fucking you in a mating press like his goddamn life depends on it. The mattress creaks noisily with each savage thrust he delivers. Sweat drips from his face onto yours as you kiss each other passionately, his massive body surrounding you as he floods your womb with his cum. “Fuck, milk it all out of me baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You stay like this for a moment, allowing yourselves to catch you breaths and cool down. This really was a workout. Todo takes his time, reluctantly pulling out and watching his cum ooze out of you. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” you sigh, hiding your face in the pillow.

He gets comfortable beside you, giving you a smooch on the forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” You look at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping the perspiration off his brow with your thumb. 

He smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “Yeah.”

“Then maybe we should make this a regular thing,” you suggest as you snuggle into his arms. 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees, embracing you.

And just like that, you have yourself a new and very, very personal trainer. 

[captinamericashusband]

Juno | Steve Rogers/Captain America x Male!Reader (SMUT😉)

A/N: Wow another Steve Rogers fic. Anyways this one is smut. Also this is my first ever attempt at writing smut so it's going to be really bad. So enjoy!

Title and plot (loosely) based off of Sabrina Carpenter's new song (stream the album btw or else):

Juno

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: I might let you make me Juno 😉

Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And then he said to me, ‘How about you change your dentures!’” A chorus of laughter erupted from around the table. Among the voices and chuckles was Y/N, sporting a fake laugh to hide the pain he was currently feeling on the inside. He so badly wanted to leave, thinking that laughing at whatever he was presented with would help pass the night. 

Y/N was an Avenger. He loved his job – no doubt. He loved being able to help people on a worldwide scale, and the overall idea of doing something that mattered. However, what Y/N didn’t realize was that the fine print of the Avenger’s contract included him forcefully being present at the annual U.S. Defence Symposium Convention, where diplomats and political leaders from around the globe gathered to discuss foreign affairs. While he never had to speak during these conventions, Y/N’s presence was required for Avengers PR reasons. Why it couldn’t be anyone else was a question he’d never find the answer to. Luckily for him, he wasn’t alone this year. Even better for him, he was with his lovely boyfriend.

Y/N glanced towards Steve at the other side of the circular table. Steve was already looking at him, wearing a similar bored expression. The two shared tired smiles. A positive that came with being Captain America’s boyfriend was intimate looks like these, shared across dinner tables, conference meetings, and other situations where they couldn’t be close. Looks and glances that made Y/N feel warm inside. No one else knew, even the team, of their clandestine relationship, afraid of the uproar that would come if it were to become public. The controversy that came with two of the United States’ defensive powerhouses dating – especially considering both were men – was something Y/N chose to think about rarely.

The senator continued his comedically-not-funny joke, and Y/N felt grey hairs growing. He knew he had to leave or he would’ve broken down in tears. As a guest speaker was about to be introduced, Y/N politely excused himself from the table and glanced towards Steve, his eyes already on him. He gave him a wink – a not-so-discrete signal they both came up with before arriving, loosely meaning, ‘I can’t handle this anymore and I need to get the fuck out of here – meet me in the bathroom.’ 

As he walked through the halls of the large venue, he marvelled at the grandness of the building where the convention was held. While he despised being there, he had to admit the building was architecturally and aesthetically pleasing, being more on the higher end of NYC establishments with its Art Deco-inspired assets. When Y/N made it to the bathroom, he checked beneath the stalls to see if anyone was present before letting out a loud groan. He knew he had to talk to Nick Fury later to discuss his supposedly mandatory attendance at the energy-draining convention. He couldn’t stand another second here. Leaning against the sink, he waited for Steve to arrive.

After about two minutes, the door to the washroom opened, and Y/N was met with Steve's presence. Steve raised his eyebrows, silently asking if anyone else was there, to which Y/N responded by shaking his head. “What did it, huh?” Steve asked, closing the door behind him.

“That geriatric senator, obviously – Senator Shortdick,” Y/N groaned. The senator’s name was actually in fact Dick – something Y/N’s immaturity found astoundingly hilarious. “His very long extended joke about…I don’t even know actually.” 

“He was talking about his son, Y/N,” Steve said, walking closer to the other man. “It was a nice story – very wholesome.” When Steve reached Y/N, he wrapped his arms around his waist before giving him a small peck. 

Y/N’s eyes met Steve’s, and they both gave each other reassuring smiles. They both desperately wanted to leave, but were aware they legally couldn’t.

“I don’t think I can handle this anymore, Steve,” Y/N’s voice whined, laying his head on Steve’s muscular chest, and caressing his sides. “I need something exciting.” Suddenly, as if he had an epiphany, Y/N conjured a devious idea to pass the time. Looking up at Steve, he gave him a half-lidded look, an action he did in jest whenever he wanted something from him. “We should fuck right now.” 

Steve only responded with a bewildered look, slowly shaking his head and reprimanding Y/N’s unsavoury suggestion. “We can’t, Y/N,” he said. “It’s too risky. Not to mention, distasteful – we’re in public.” Steve was the more rational person in their relationship, often taking Y/N’s outrageous ideas to heed.

“Why not, Stevie?” Y/N’s voice feigned softness and seductivity. “Isn’t it exciting,” he started, arms sliding up Steve’s clothed bicep. “The idea of getting caught here.” 

“Not really-.” Before Steve could continue, Y/N connected their lips. It started soft – short and sweet – before gradually getting more intense and feverish. Steve pushed the small of Y/N’s back closer, deepening the touch of their lips. Steve wanted Y/N badly, and Y/N was aware of that. He always knew that he had some type of figurative spell over Steve, causing him to be more acquiescent towards him than any other member of the team – even before they started dating. Steve was entirely bewitched by Y/N.

------------------------------------

The two eventually locked themselves in one of the bathroom stalls, lips already connected and moving together hungrily. Both prayed no toilet would come beckoning some diplomat’s bladder amidst their carnal moment together. As they continued face-fucking each other, Y/N trailed his hands down towards Steve’s pantsuit. He palmed Steve’s already present bulge, rubbing it with the soles of his hand and causing a quiet whimper to leave Steve’s mouth. At hearing Steve’s sultry noise, Y/N felt his cock growing harder and heavier.

Y/N broke their lips’ ravenous movement and began unbuttoning Steve’s tux. “I saw you practically ogling me in there.” He bit one of Steve’s sensitive spots on his neck, eliciting a low groan from his throat. “It’s like you were begging to fuck me with your fuck-me eyes.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve panted in response. 

“Stay oblivious then, Stevie.” Y/N slipped Steve’s suit off, revealing his muscled buff chest. Not even a second later, Y/N’s mouth began trailing down Steve’s torso. He peppered kisses all over Steve’s chest, going further and further down until he was on his knees. Y/N came face-to-face with Steve’s growing bulge. He salivated, thinking about taking Steve’s entire cock in one go – the idea of hearing Steve’s whimpers made his dick even firmer.

Steve’s gaze was locked on Y/N. His eyes were half-closed, face flushed with both lust and pleasure. Y/N then unbuttoned Steve’s pants before taking them off which revealed Steve’s undergarments. Without sparing another moment, Y/N yanked Steve’s boxers off. Steve’s cock, upon being unclothed, sprung upwards and ached in the cold bathroom air. It begged for attention that Y/N’s mouth was more than willing to give. A slight droplet of precum was already at the slit which made Y/N even more aroused. Not wanting Steve to finish quickly (as if that is even a problem with his serum-induced stamina), Y/N started slow. He gave Steve’s shaft one long lick at the base, relishing the semi-salty taste. Y/N continued licking, throwing occasional glances towards Steve and how he was reacting. The quiet whimpering coming out of Steve’s mouth was evident he wanted – needed more. “Just please take it all, Y/N,” he quietly whined.

Y/N chuckled. He decided Steve had been good tonight and, sparing him from further punishment, took his entire cock in his mouth. A loud moan erupted from Steve to which he quickly clamped his hand over his mouth to silence. Y/N had to adjust to Steve’s size for a moment before doing anything further. Despite having done this several times, Y/N always thought Steve’s dick was maybe too big for him. This wasn’t that much of a problem for him as while he did struggle in throating it, it did make his ass feel good. And very sore afterwards. After a brief moment, Y/N began to slowly move his head up and down Steve’s cock. Steve struggled to quiet down his noises of pleasure as much as Y/N struggled trying not to choke. With each movement of Y/N’s head, Steve was hitting the back of his throat which sent a wave of pleasure down his spine. Steve, however, wanted much more.

To Y/N’s shock, Steve bundled his hands in his H/C locks and shoved him further down his throat. Y/N’s eyes went wide, gagging noises coming from his clogged mouth. Before Y/N could steady himself, Steve began ramming his throat at a rapid speed, his attempt to quiet himself vanishing as he prioritized quickly getting off with Y/N’s mouth. As Steve continued at his pace, he let out breathy moans that were amplified and reverbed by the bathroom’s walls. While Steve was in pure bliss at his cock being serviced, Y/N was not able to cope with the sudden change. His hands were placed on both of Steve’s thighs, trying to steady himself. Tears pricked near the corner of his eyes as his entire buccal cavity and throat continued being ransacked by Steve’s length. Each time Steve’s cock hit the rear of his throat, Steve shuddered and Y/N gagged loudly. As Steve began nearing his climax, he began to go even quicker than his initial speed, causing Y/N’s tears to freefall down his cheeks. With one loud grunt and a sloppy thrust, Steve came down Y/N’s throat. As Y/N felt the warm and salty fluid trail down his throat, Steve’s breaths became more shallow.

Steve leaned against the stall’s door, and a slick ‘pop’ sounded as he took his cock out of Y/N’s mouth. He was still recovering from his orgasm as Y/N quickly got up from his knees and roughly pushed his chest. “Dude!’ Y/N half-yelled. “What the fuck was that? You nearly killed me!”

Steve staggered slightly at Y/N’s hit. He looked at Y/N with a confused expression that quickly vanished upon seeing his tear-stained cheeks. An apologetic look promptly dawned. “Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine it’s just,” Y/N said while wiping his face, “you have to warn me first before you do that.” 

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Steve did look remorseful. His face looked as if he had accidentally kicked a dog. “We should probably stop now.”

Y/N gave looked at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” He pointed sternly towards Steve, his voice coming out furious with a tinge of playfulness. “The only apology I’ll accept now is if you fuck me right here.”

“But, Y/N, I don’t have the…” Steve’s voice trailed off.

“The what, Steve?”

“You know,” Steve said, face slightly pink. “The wet thing and the rubber thing?”

An actual genuine look of bewilderment made its way onto Y/N’s face. “You mean condoms and lube?” Steve nodded shyly and Y/N began to laugh. “Steve, you just pounded my face in. Don’t give me any shit about you being too coy to say the words ‘condom’ and ‘lube’.” He then glanced down towards Steve’s penis which was already erect again. “Plus, your thing,” he continued, mocking Steve’s mannerisms, “still looks pretty wet from my spit. And as far as I remember, none of us have any diseases.” Y/N quickly looked towards Steve. “Right?” Steve nodded his head quickly, still too embarrassed to respond. Before Steve could do anything further, Y/N took his pants off alongside his underwear. “You’re already hard again, Steve. What are you gonna do 'bout it?”

Y/N’s teasing tone evoked Steve’s earlier confidence, leading to him hoisting Y/N around his waist, a quick yelp coming out of Y/N at the sudden movement. Before Y/N could say anything, Steve hastily prevented him by connecting their lips. Their tongues quickly tangled together, saliva combining and becoming indistinguishable from one another. “Steve, just put it in already, God.” Y/N’s voice came out breathy and unstable. Steve obeyed quicker than usual, seemingly eager to come a second time that night. Grabbing his cock with one hand and supporting Y/N with the other, he angled it towards Y/N's gaping hole. Without wasting any more time, Steve promptly thrust the entirety of his length inside of Y/N. A filthy ludicrous whine came from Y/N’s throat. His prostate was already being reached by Steve’s tip, causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head. He was euphoric and as Steve started moving, his speed matching that of earlier, Y/N felt like he ascended. 

Steve was usually gentle whenever they had sex, but he decided to spare no mercy tonight. His thrusts were aggressive, leaving Y/N unable to handle the surplus of pleasure he was feeling. With each graze felt by his prostate, he was sent further into the heavenly bliss he felt. “H-have you seen that one movie,” Y/N said in between heavy pants. “Juno?” He knew it was a stupid question, both in the situation he asked it in, and how he knew Steve had barely seen anything made in the 21st century.

Steve continued thrusting into Y/N, the sound of their skin slapping reverberating around the room. “No – fuck,” Steve’s voice came out breathless. “What is that?” His face was contorting into different variations of lewd expressions, making Y/N’s hard-on even stiffer. It was rare to see the Captain America in such a vulnerable state, and Y/N savoured the fact he was the only person who was able to see him like this. 

The pleasure Y/N felt inside of him was indescribable. Their fucking had never reached this level of catharsis. “Nothing – it doesn’t matter. Just keep going, Steve…please…” Y/N saw the little dribble of precum dripping from his cock. He was close. And Y/N knew Steve was too from how his pounds started becoming sloppier, and how his hands gripped his ass tighter. Their lips found each other again, and their tongues connected. Steve swallowed all of Y/N’s whimpers, biting his lower lip to prevent any would-be passersby from hearing his erotic gasps for air. 

“I’m gonna come, Y/N,” Steve breathlessly spoke. His pacing started to decline, and his entire body trembled. 

As Steve was about to endure another orgasm, Y/N saw him about to pull out. Suddenly, he protested with a hoarse sigh, “No, Steve, just finish inside me – it’s fine.” Steve nodded his head silently, not needing to be told twice. Their pants continued syncing together as Steve rode out his climax. Another load of his hot white cream exited him and filled Y/N to the brim. Shortly after Steve finished, Y/N felt his climax coming in. Steve continued floppily thrusting to aid in his release, soon releasing in thick ribbons that covered his and Steve’s chests. 

------------------------------------

Steve gently collapsed both of their bodies on the ground. The pair were in a state of exhausted pleasure, their breaths still deep and frequent. It stayed this way for a few minutes – Steve and Y/N basking in the decline of their orgasms in a comfortable silence. Y/N glanced down towards his ass, a tad icked out by Steve’s jizz pouring out of him. “It’s kind of gross isn’t it,” he said to Steve. 

Steve was broken out of his euphoric trance upon hearing Y/N’s voice. “What is?” He said, still catching his breath.

“Look,” Y/N signalled to his downward area. “It looks really strange.” The pair’s eyes met and they both erupted in boisterous laughter. 

As they started quieting down from what they considered the funniest thing of that night, Steve suddenly remembered what Y/N asked earlier. “Hey, what was it with that movie you asked me about earlier.”

“Juno?” Y/N responded.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Y/N said, getting uncharacteristically shy. “I just thought…it’d be nice if we have kids one day.” Y/N then realized what he said and began doubling down. “I mean, that is if you want any with me at all – children I mean. A family.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Instead, he smiled at Y/N, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. Y/N responded by giving him a meek smile. They both were met with another silence, their love-laced gazes filling each other with a comforting warmth. 

“How are we gonna get out of here, Steve?” Y/N’s voice came out softly, too absorbed in the moment to genuinely care about where they were.

“Now that is the predicament, isn’t it?” Steve said, reciprocating Y/N’s blissful voice.

Fortunately, it was evident that luck was on their side that night as no one had entered the bathroom at any point in their love-making.

FIN

A/N: My Google searches are legit “Synonyms for ‘cock’ in fanfiction”, “Synonyms for ‘moaning’ in fanfiction”, “Synonyms of ‘cum’ in fanfiction”, and “How to write smut properly.” Anyways, hope you enjoyed whatever that mess was!

[sashi-ya]

𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑫 　「part 3」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: i wasn't expecting the amount of love I've been receiving for cuts of freedom and かんぱい！and because you all been so sweet and requested for a next part on this story, well... here it is! I hope you enjoy 🥺💖 tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. shower sex. creampie. breeding mentioned. nipple play. soshiro being soshiro. wc: 1.3k // part1: cuts of freedom // part 2: かんぱい！// masterlist

Praying for no Kaiju appearances while this night lasts, you sit with your legs crossed and your cheeks on fire. He ordered you to keep it all inside of you, and all you wanna do is to please the slanted eyed demon in front of you.

Oh, he seems unbothered. Nothing has changed from the time he stood up as everybody was having fun and the time he returned to the table.

“I want you to sit back at the table with my cum still inside you… would you be able to hold it in for me?” “Ye-yes, Hoshina fuku-taichou…”

Soshiro takes quick snaps with his burning irises from time to time, never watching you for longer than a couple of seconds… however, it’s enough for you to understand, to feel as if he was making sure you were still holding it with all your will or if his warm seed has started to ooze down your legs.

Truth is, you are squeezing your folds with all your might to obey the vice-captain. Guilty of enjoying such impure act, perhaps also guilty for wanting that release to reach deeper, to make you his, to impregnate you even though the consequences.

“(Name)-chan!” you listen your name being sung by his sweet playful voice.

Shaking your head, you turn back to reality as you were not only lost in the memory of him cumming inside you but also the lack of energy you are experiencing.

“Y-yes, vice-captain Hoshina? You chime, with your back straight but your legs still crossed to the side.

You can see a little smirk on his lips, the little white of one of his fangs protruding… hungry, still, for your flesh.

“You seem tired; after all you’ve been through you should go to rest” he comments, but in reality he is doing nothing but ordering you to leave. And you know, exactly, why that is.

Again. And again. And again. He wants you all day, all night. Desperate, as if, perhaps, you were part of his training routine. Like the oxygen he breathes, and the water he drinks.

You are ready to object, but he is right. Even if he’d told you so because of real concern, you are absolutely tired.

You stand up, rather quickly and nervously. Your eyes open big, bigger. You shouldn’t have. Immediately, your hand reaches for your leg, stopping there by pure instinct. Were for you not realizing on time to stop, you could have use your hand to keep his seed from coming out.

Soshiro’s eyes slightly open in the menacing way that leaves you both trembling and needy. He knows what just has happened. He knows your already wet panties, now have become wetter and by far a lot more stickier.

“Y-es, I’m going to sleep. Have a good night everybody!” you salute, feeling your throat absolutely dry.

Everybody waves you goodnight as you walk with clear discomfort on your pace, ready to reach the showers before going to sleep.

It doesn’t take much for you to reach the community bathroom. Despite the base being huge, everything is at reach within the perimeter the soldiers move. And so, leaving the clothes you are sure should be burnt instead of cleaned on the ground, you hop into one of the shower units.

Drop by drop, lukewarm water cleans you from sins… but for how long?

In silence, he is so stealth and fast. Scared, but not surprised. You already know how he feels, how he smells and how he tastes.

“I thought you were going to sleep” Soshiro murmurs, entering the shower with you. “I- I couldn’t go to sleep with… you know” you whisper back, scared of anyone else coming.

His eyelid twitches.

“Didn’t I order you to keep it all inside, officer (---)?” he scolds you, pulling you against him by your waist.

You look down, eyes fixing on the perfectly sculped pecs, on the pale skin that is so easily bruised, so tempted to bite and mark.

“But- I tho-“ you wanna say something, excuse yourself, but your lips become sealed with his.

Those kisses he gives, scratching a little bit whenever he opens up with his sharp fangs… the way his hand squeezes your ass, the feeling of his hardness getting pressed in between your belly and his.

“You thought what? That I would fill you up again before sleep?” he asks, with his lips against yours.

You gasp. Not only he is good when fucking you, he is also good with words.

“This brings me memories… that day I’d have fucked you until you dropped if it wasn’t because you were hurt” he continues, reaching your breasts, pinching your nipples in between his fingers.

Soshiro inhales your moaning, going harder the more you do.

“Don’t say that, I know you we- were worried- fuck- for me” you giggle while his fingers are now deeply inside your folds.

Soshiro’s cheeks turn blushed, not because of the hot water but because of those words. In fact, you were absolutely right; he almost lost his mind when he saw you being a victim of your anti kaiju suit. Soshiro acts tough, but he is indeed the most gentle of them all.

“Shut up…” he embarrassed exclaims while picking you up from your thighs, making your back hit the shower wall behind you.

Snaked your legs around his tiny waist, both bodies eliminate any space in between them. Is it love or lust? it is both perhaps.

Probably a couple of seconds are what it takes for him to bury himself inside of you; there is nothing he wants more than that. Even if sore, even if drained. You, as well, don’t mind if your body asks for a rest.

Jumping rhythmically to his thrusts, with water pooling on your eyelashes; with your fingers interlocking with deep purple tufts of hair. All of him, all of you.

Your shoulder experiences sharp little cuts, that’s both painful and delicious; like the jaws of those monsters you fight, Soshiro bites your flesh to muffle the moans he can’t control.

The closer to ecstasy you both go, the louder the whimpers. And the louder the whimpers, the dangerous it gets for you. What would they say if Hoshina fuku taichou and an officer gets caught in such impure, unproper acts?

None of that, however, represents a worry for him nor you. There is no space, nor time nor brain capable to think of the rest right now that Soshiro has attacked your nipples. He pulls, he bites and sucks. Your core feels like exploding, the way his dick reaches for the perfect spot as if he was made for you, the way he stimulates your breasts.

No air is left to be breath, the humid atmosphere of the shower makes it even harder for the two of you. And his eyes, electrifying and deep, burn holes into yours as he looks up to see the expression on your face.

“Beautiful” he murmurs, with his tongue playing with your right extra sensitive button.

You brush his wet hair back, unable to think, unable to resist the urge to burst.

“Soshi..ro, I-…” you need to express what you heart aches to reveal. As if he didn’t know, as if he didn’t feel the same.

“Sh.. I know, me too” he shuts you up, this time before plastering a deep kiss on your lips.

This time, he doesn’t order you what to do with his needy release. Instead, he definitely knows you will keep it inside once again. Is it that he wants to breed you?

Oh, what a dangerous game you both are playing… What a risky kink of yours, Soshiro Hoshina.

The sound none of you wanted to listen has just took over the whole squad: Emergency Kaiju alert. “bet it will feel weird to fight with all of that inside, huh?” he laughs, rather loudly. “AH…. SOSHIRO T-T”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Next part?

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon waking up in the middle of the night horny and unable to get back to sleep. There's only one thing he wants to fix it.

The room is doused in darkness when Simon stirs awake, an ache situating itself in his chest that only grows the more he comes into consciousness. There is a flush in his cheeks, a heat in his face that he can sense now; the beginning signs of something visceral happening in his body that cannot be stopped. It's very late, too late to be awake, yet the longer he lays there the more his thoughts keep him from drifting back off. 

Sleep has caused you both to separate and find yourselves on opposite sides of the bed, but that gnawing feeling in his abdomen pushes him to close the distance between your bodies. Turning back over to face you, he moves through the cover to wrap his strong arms around your middle and pull himself up against you until his warm, bare chest rests as your back. United once again, his nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, broad chest molding perfectly into the curve of your spine. 

He hopes that maybe a little touch will sate him enough to fall back asleep, but it only makes the hunger worse. The blood begins to rush like liquid fire through his veins along with an overwhelming sense of anticipation: hot, invigorating energy coursing into his limbs that causes his mind to go hazy as he craves more contact. 

Movements are subtle at first, drawing you out of your dreams and gently back into being consciousness of the room as Simon stirs against your back, pressing himself tightly up to you until you mimic puzzle pieces with how your bodies fit together. You can feel the bulky contours of his chest through your tank top, the hair covering the surface lightly tickling the skin exposed along your shoulder blades between the straps as warm breath from his nose tingles across your shoulder and down your back.

Still drunk on sleep it takes you a minute to feel a stiffening, throbbing bulge pressing into your butt cheek through his boxers as the sensation of exploring hands finding their way underneath and inside your tank top numbs your already thoughtless mind. Roaming the curves of your hips and torso up towards your chest, delicate touches from calloused hands become more intentional by the second as soft, silky skin tantalizes his rough fingertips. 

Lips pepper themselves along your shoulder, quick, staccato kisses hot and sleepily sweeping over the curve of your neck as far as he can go. His lips leave burning trails along your flesh wherever they find themselves pressed until you tingle with a growing euphoric passion that urges you to seek more. Steamy breath hits your earlobe as that husky, gruff voice of his, more raspy and thickly accented from just waking up, breaks the silence.

"Can't sleep," he groans in a desperate whisper into your ear. “Need ya somethin’ fuckin’ fierce, sweet girl. Gotta come or I ain't gettin’ anymore rest tonight.”

Slowly he slides the arm on top of your hip palm side down over your abdomen and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties so that he can enter them and slip down the font. You are positioned on your side, your leg hiked up towards your chest so he can easily get between your legs. As fingers slip further down and into the space between your thighs, his breathing becomes more strained, hitching as he gets that first taste of the heat that waits for him. 

You adjust yourself in his grasp, pressing your butt up into him as his hand lingers against your inner thigh for only a moment. Your reciprocation only enhances his desire, positive nervous energy coursing through his limbs as he presses a burning palm up into the mound of your sex. Your body squirms at the sensitivity of that first contact as his hand applies pressure.

He inhales sharply through his teeth; he is losing it fast. “You’re so fuckin’ warm; so warm and soft. Fuck sweetheart, ya feel so goddamn good."

Gently, a finger splits you open to dive inside and up against that pleasure center as the top of your sex, drowsy whimpers and whines from your lips begin to fill his ears while he starts to draw soft circles over your clit. Careful, easy caresses he uses, nothing too hasty even with his gnawing desire eating away at him the more he gets a feel of all that ecstasy between your legs; soon enough he will be diving into all that goodness.

His mouth makes its way back to your shoulder, occasionally embracing the skin until your body trembles against his lips from the pleasure the more you melt into him. Words fail you as you can only focus on how good his fingers feel, relaxing your body with a few simple strokes while you still hover between sleep and awake. He feels like a goddamn dream, ecstasy in every single stroke to ease you into a tantalizing calm.

Faint, gratifying moans punctuate the silence of the night and send excited shivers down his spine. He wants to touch himself, but is satisfied enough to touch you while he lets the friction of his body grind his crotch into your side to take him further. “Goddamn, ya make me feel good. Do I make ya feel good, baby?” he asks breathlessly; he craves your music, but wants your desperate words most of all.  

Simon’s hand presses up harder into you, pushing you to answer him. You wriggle as you shake your head up and down. “Yes,” you mewl, a pronounced ache in your tone. 

You invite him to move in further as you spread your legs open wider so that he can access your core and with two fingers he pushes them inside. Instantly he is met by the slick wetness that envelopes his fingers as the walls of your pussy close around them to suck them in. 

“Such a pretty girl wrapped ‘round my fingers,” he purrs, as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, thrusting those longer digits in and out of you to the beat of his heart as you begin to rock on his hand. “Ya always look so good with any part of me buried in ya.”

His arm that is situated underneath you is still in your shirt and crawls to your chest to cup a breast against his palm, kneading all the beautifully plush tissue that fills it. Massaging all that fullness in his hand you lean into the feeling, but your tank top is a bit too restrictive, not allowing full ease of access, and so off it must go. Simon helps you wiggle out of it and discard it somewhere in the confines of the bed as his fingers stay resting inside of you until you can lay back down. The cool air outside of the covers sends a chill down your spine, though it doesn’t last as he is immediately pulling you back underneath and up against him again in that spooning position once more.

Your eyes flutter shut as you embrace the pleasure as your hazy mind is only full of thoughts of him. “You always do this to me, make me a mess,” you say breathlessly as he gets right back to work. 

In and out, in and out his fingers glide up into you as the dampness grows and leaks out of your entrance the longer he goes. Your body responds to him just as if it was designed to do so and soon you are a puddle in his capable hands. The more wet you get, the more his mind races; that urge that caused him to wake up reaching its peak. He needs to have you, needs to feel himself inside you, and with each pump of his fingers that need grows.

“Gettin’ fuckin’ desperate sweetheart, can't stop this ache till I have ya,” he groans at the edge of your ear before taking the tender flesh of your earlobe into his mouth to nibble at. “Do ya feel how fuckin’ hard I am? Goddammit, I need to be inside ya. Are ya ready for me?”

A muted hum of approval escapes your mouth; he’s gotten you close enough. “Please god, put in,” you agree between quick breaths. “I-I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

Simon is tugging down his boxers before you can even finish your sentence, his cock springing to attention now that it is free of its cage and pulsing wildly with his increasing heart rate. You go to roll over and face him, but he places his hand on your thigh to stop you from turning. He wants to fuck you like this, back to chest, spooning you in his arms. 

“That’s it, keep your leg up just like that. Wanna hold ya while I make the both of us feel fuckin’ amazin’."

Oh, you have no doubt about that. 

Keeping your hips forward and pulling them back he holds the base of his cock in his hand as he aligns it with your entrance, pressing the tip against the hole and adding his arousal to yours to coat you in even more lubrication. You can feel how hard it is, just waiting to pierce up into that tight, warm hole in your pussy. 

One arm wrapped around your middle holds you to him while his opposite hand grips into your ass cheek as he pushes against your top hip to keep you spread until he can carefully thrust inside. He only gets the tip in before he has to pause as the sudden restriction around his phallus has his body quivering and you gasping as he stretches you wide.

“So tight, so f-fuckin’ tight,” he bites back a moan as his voice wavers. “God, you’re fuckin’ heaven, luv.”  

A few deep breaths to calm himself and Simon thrusts again, this time pushing himself all the way inside right down to the base. Goddamn, the bellow of a moan that ripped through his chest vibrated throughout his entire body, his toes curling at all the overwhelming sensation of his cock smothering inside you, your walls clenching around him as your body desperately fights to accommodate being so full. 

“How the fuck am I not supposed to be obsessed with ya,” he whispers in a shudder, closing his eyes and bracing himself to become more calm before moving again. 

His thrusts are easy at first, but still forceful, shoving his thick, veiny cock as far into you as he can get. Hips rolling, back arching parallel to the mattress, he picks a steady rhythm and sticks to it while taking on the brunt of the work as it was his craving for your ecstasy that got you both here in the first place.

Every movement of his cock at this angle engages that sweet spot inside as wet, slapping sounds become more audible the more soaked you get, punctuated by his strained grunts with each time he slams into your pussy. The pressure feels divine, almost too good; mix that with the sinful beauty in your sounds and soon he’s being swept up in it all so that his mind goes numb. 

What starts as slow quickly picks up speed as more feral desires flood to the surface, leaving him at the mercy of his need. His pace is now intense, pounding into you with ferocity to make the bed shake beneath your bodies. The muscular arm that lays underneath you moves up to cradle your neck as it stretches across your chest to cup your breast. Again he kneads it more roughly this time, teasing the nipple with his fingertips as he rubs circles over it before taking it between his fingers to pinch at the tender flesh and make your body writhe with the extra stimulation.

Rotating your upper body at an angle, you now face him and immediately his lips are on yours, capturing them in sloppy, heated kisses that steal the oxygen straight from your lungs making you gulp in air in short bursts whenever your mouths break free, which isn’t for long. You are completely overtaken by his entire form as he steals kiss after aggressive kiss until your lips are raw and stinging.

Sweat gathers along your brow, tiny pinpricks of perspiration as he pushes you to your limit. At your back you can feel his abdominal muscles clenching tight with each plunge of his cock inside. You want more. Reaching down the front of your body, you find your clit and begin to rub circles around the nub. Simon catches the movement from the corner of his eye and breaks from your mouth.

“My job,” he struggles to speak as he rips your hand away from your pussy and replaces it with his own. 

Christ, you are on fire, grinding against his fingers as his cock fills your cunt from behind. “Yes, y-yes,” you choke out, eyes slamming shut as the multiple forms of stimulation drive you insane; every single brush of air upon your skin, each movement of his body against your own, each tug and grip and rub leaves only more pleasure in its wake.

“That’s it, sweet girl, ride me, ride me,” he grunts desperately. “Fuck, I’m almost there.” 

You were just as close, that gathering hot tension in your stomach ready to shoot off at any second. The slick begins to dribble down your thighs and onto the sheets, covering your skin in that warm, sticky liquid. Simon feels it too and the taste buds on his tongue light up as he thinks about all that sweetness coating the both of you. Even harder and faster his frenzied pace drills his cock into you relentlessly as those thoughts  fill his mind and make him ravenous for all parts of your beautiful body.

He’s about to blow. “Be a good girl and come for me-yeah?” he practically begs, wanting to feel himself come undone by your orgasm. “Let go, that’s it.”

All of a sudden you go silent as the string finally snaps and over the edge you fall with just a few more thrusts inside your dripping hole. Shit you are seeing stars as your toes curl and you cry out with a whimper that has him rocketing over the edge as your engorged walls clench around him.

“Fuck!” groans loud and forceful as his arms wrap around you tight, holding you to his chest so hard you can barely breathe. His hips continue to pound into you as he milks himself dry, grinding against your ass until he has nothing left to give. Body shuddering as all his urges drain from his mind he falls back onto the mattress to breathe through the high as you roll over to lay against him. 

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, but once his breathing is under control he leans down to press more delicate kisses to your lips this time. “Sorry I woke ya up,” he apologizes, though it hardly sounds like he is remorseful at all. “Seems I just can’t help myself when it comes to ya.”

You chuckle softly. “I’ve noticed.”

Simon smiles back at you, hand cupping your face so that he can rub his thumb gently over your flushed cheek. “Can ya blame me when I have such a sweet thing right at my fingertips? Who wouldn’t get a midnight craving?”

[fandomscombine]

New Kid

Spencer Reid x Reader

BG: It’s your first day at the BAU and meeting the team. The team is surprised with how you’re hitting it off with a certain Doctor but what they don’t know is that a bigger surprise is yet to come.  

A/N: My first Criminal Minds/Spencer Reid Fic! It’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year now and finally tied an ending together. (Are we over a 2-year writing slump? We’ll see!)

Honestly it’s pure season 1/season 2 team fluff crack and chaoticness! Wanted to capture the early seasons team dynamics. Hope you all enjoy!

Fun fact, it’s all the Spencer Reid x Reader fics that kept popping in my recommendations that I started reading and falling in love with Reid prior to starting the show!

WC: 1307

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

This is it. Your first day as a Special Agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Growing up reading detective stories and solving mysteries were your favorite pastimes. 

You’re grateful for having a family environment that was supportive of your thirst for knowledge and endless curiosity.

The receptionist has informed you that the team is waiting for you upstairs, ready to give your orientation tour.

"Thanks." You replied, half mildly picking at your nails. In just an elevator ride away, you'd be in the midst of the smartest profilers alive. And nothing goes unnoticed – that you know very well.

A vibration in your pocket breaks your thoughts. A smile slips to your face. 

"Stop picking at your fingers." The voice on the other line says.

"Hello to you dad." You can't help but roll your eyes. "I wasn't even–" You look down at your left hand. Shit. "How'd you even know?" 

"I just do, I watched you grow up for 25 years." 

"Yea yea."

"Hey kid, sorry I couldn’t be there—“

“You’ve got a whole auditorium full of nerds dying to hear your lectures, I understand.” The door in front of you opens and you step inside.

“Thanks kid. I’ll make it up to you. How does an extra large, extra saucy lasagne sound?”

“Oooh yes, don’t forget with extra cheese!” The monitors indicate: 3/F, 4/F, 5/F.  “By the way, you’ve told them right?” As you step out, you spot a group of agents handled near the department entrance. “Anyway I’ll see you later, gotta go. Bye.” Quickly cutting the line off, not wanting to seem unprofessional, chatting on the phone.

“Special Agent y/m/n?” Said the brunette.

You opted to be referred to by your first and Mother’s maiden name, when you first started out. Wanting to stand on your own merits and making a name for yourself.

“That’s me.” 

“Special Agent Greenaway, this is Agent Jareau, and Agent Garcia.” You shake hands with the two agents “Call me JJ” 

But you are quickly engulfed into a hug by the third, which you have to admit took you by surprise.  “You can call me Penelope.-- Opps sorry, just excited to have another female member in the team!” You give her a warm smile, patting her shoulder, “No worries, Penelope. Just caught me off-guard.”

“Come on, let’s meet the rest of the team.” JJ says, leading you all into the bullpen.

“So this would be your desk right here” points Agent Greenaway. “Which is right across from Agent Morgan–”

“Derek, Derek Morgan m’ beautiful lady.” cuts in the man. 

You can’t help but blush from the compliment. “You always flirt with the new kid, huh Derek?” You challenge, playing off his energy. 

“Ignore him,” 

“Cmon’ Elle. It’s all good fun!”

Elle directs you to a hunched figure behind Derek.

“This is our resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid.”  She points to Reid, who is preoccupied with a lego model to have noticed the group. 

“Dr. Reid! I’ve heard so much about you!” Reaching out your hand, to grab his attention. His head instantly shoots up, eager to know the culprit who distracted him from finishing this model of the Delorean and give them a piece of his mind.

“Hey! I was just finishing -.” His voice trails off upon realizing that A. it wasn’t one of his teammates making fun of his legos but instead a face he doesn’t recognize and B. feeling bad on being the reason why your bright smile turned into a frown. “Oh Sorry! Sorry Ms–”

“y/m/n” Your father had shared stories about the team, especially Spencer, his protege. He was the person you were most excited to meet, though with this first interaction - you were discouraged with how it went. Perhaps you shouldn’t have run multiple scenarios on how you’d wow the team with such high standards. 

Dropping your arm, eager to quickly change the subject, you turn to Elle. “ So what cases do we –”

“y/m/n? As in y/f/n y/m/n!?” Spencer exclaims, his eyes wide. Big hand gestures dancing through the air as he raved.  “ The author of ‘The Correlation Between The Probability of Sudden Adult Anger Outburst and Childhood Familial Upbringing.’ ?

You’d had your thesis quoted back to you by professors and peers, but never with such childlike wonder written all-over Spencer’s face, making you blush. “Yes! But how -”

“I’ve read so much about you! Your work, I mean.” Spencer isn’t normally affected by how he’s perceived by others. Spitting out facts in the speed of light is synonymous to his identity and it’s nothing he’s ashamed of. But it's rare to have someone beautiful and intelligent be into the same niche interests that he has. Spencer only has one shot on not coming on as weird and it’s not going well, so he elaborates.  “I got it from Gideon’s pile. I picked it up on a whim but your writing is spectacular! I read through it in 12 mins!”

“Wait, you read through my 250 page dissertation in under 12 mins?” You questioned, looking around the team to check if you’ve misheard. 

“Affirmative. It would have been faster, but I was jotting down some notes.”

“Notes, huh?” Crossing your arms, the paper had gone through multiple reviews from your professors before submission. It should be damn near perfect. “Alright, Doctor Reid. I’m interested, how about you show me your notes over coffee?”

“Actually…” Spencer raised his finger, interjecting. “It might take a bit longer than an hour and I would love to dig into your brain. Perhaps we could go over it at dinner?”

“Name the time and place.” You grabbed the nearest post-it and quickly wrote down your phone number. “Now will you excuse me, I believe I’m late for my introductory meeting with Agent Hotchner.” 

With that you broke away from the make-shift team circle and headed you to Hotch’s office, leaving the team still frozen in their spot.

Derek was the first to speak. “Did pretty boy just ask out the new girl without stuttering and succeed?”

“Good, so everyone else witnessed that too right?” Added Penelope. 

JJ nodded in agreement, too stunned to speak as if it would break the illusion.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked. “I simply asked if we could compare notes!”

“No. Technically she initiated it.” Elle clarified.

Shaking his head, Spencer eyes trailed to the now closed Hotch’s door. 

“Yea, to which you effortlessly turned from coffee date to a dinner date!” Exclaimed Derek, earning Spencer a pat on the back. “The boy’s got game!”

“It’s not a date! At least I don’t think it is - I bet she doesn’t see me that way. Nobody does.” Spencer sighs, sulking back down to his seat. Reality catching up to him by the second, erasing any hope that a woman like you would have any romantic interest in a nerd like him. 

“Trust me kid.” Come a voice, effectively cutting Reid’s thoughts. Gideon nonchalantly walks up to the empty desk marked “Agent y/n y/m/n”, moves the box of your belongings to make space for  what seems to be a plastic bag of takeaway. “You're her type.” 

“What?” Spencer asks, more confused than ever. The looks across the team’s face reflect his own reaction. “And how would you know that?” 

“With all due respect, sir.” Added JJ, careful not to overstep. “You haven’t seen y/n and you got all that from her untouched desk?”

“Yea Gideon, we know you’re good but you can’t be that good!”

Gideon brushed off Derek’s brassiness and smirked. Proceeding to head up to his office, finally addressing the group only halfway up the steps. “I know, cause she's my daughter.”

“WHAT?!” exclaimed the BAU team, who once again found themselves frozen by a member of the Gideon family.

[revelboo]

Rev's been inactive for 15 whole minutes, everyone panic! Call the honor guard! The navy! Superman even!

/LH /J

Pffft

I’m just hiding out over here writing TF stuff because the Twitter writing community seems to be actively on fire right now and I don’t have the energy to deal with it

Broken Arrow Pt 10

TFP Megatron x Reader

• Curling an arm around you when you go limp against him, it’s almost impossible to let go of your wrist and shatter that connection tethering him to you, but he finally manages to let go, feels your fingers slide through his spark, the pull as he loses contact urging him to curl himself tighter around you. Instead closing the plating protecting his spark, his servos unsteady as he stares down at you where you’re slumped against him, cheek against his shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, though he’s not entirely sure what he was thinking. Only that he’d wanted to feel someone touch him, he’d wanted to feel warm fingers stroking over his spark, holding and seeing him. All of him.

• Gripping your chin in his claws, he tips your head back. Your eyes are still closed and your pulse is slow when he strokes along the line of your throat, shifting your leash. Thinking about how you’d felt tangled in him, feeling you still, the connection new and fragile. Frightening. It’s not too late to end it, servos curling loosely about your throat even while knowing he won’t. He can’t when you’re all he really has that’s real, not plotting against him or scheming. That reminds him that he hadn’t always been the ruthless gladiator that had been born in that pit from pain and spilled energon. Staring up at the autocracy gambling on lives because everyone else had mattered so very little to them. Hating them and learning to be so much worse than they were just to survive. To throw them down.

• There’s a warmth coiled inside you, the thrum of something achingly familiar under your cheek and an arm curled around you, servos in your hair. That feeling is safety and home. Eyes opening at the soft clicking of a claw sliding back and forth over the length of your leash in Megatron’s fist, you try to figure out why you feel so exhausted. And then remember his servos gripping your wrist too hard, forcing you into contact with his spark, optics flickering that fitful purple from that crap he keeps taking. Everything after that kind of gets confusing as you flex your fingers and he looks down at you. Aware that he’s cradling you in his lap like a lover and of that scowl he’s aiming down at you. “Get off,” you mutter, trying to push against his chest and almost pitching backwards when he lets you. Scrambling out of his lap on unsteady feet, because it’s not just exhaustion, you feel off balance. “You jerk.” Because whatever’s wrong must be his fault. “What did you do?”

• Standing slowly to tower over you, he catches your upper arm when your legs almost fold under you and you slump against him. It’s not a full bond, not exactly. He can feel it in the way his spark is aching, wanting to reconnect. Needing more than a one sided bond, because he can feel the jarring wrongness of it. Knows that a spark bond is meant to unite, to twine two halves together. Meant to be between two willing sparks, not this mess he’s made. Your little hands are pushing at him again, trying to break away and he wonders what it feels like to you. Does it hurt you like it hurts him, a shard wedged in his spark?

• “Stop fighting me, pet.” That command isn’t his usual demanding tone or his teasing, it’s almost tired and very bitter as his arms press you closer despite your attempts to get away. Because the warmth and feel of him against you is suddenly too much, you’re overwhelmed with him. Needing him to back off, because you can’t think beyond the urge to be closer. Claws on your chin, forcing your head up to meet his optics again. Demanding your attention as he stares down at you, optics narrowing. “Primus.”

Previous

Next

[astrolovecosmos]

The 9th House and In-laws

The 9th House is associated with your in-laws. This house can describe your in-laws' personalities, some of the family dynamic, and your overall relationship with them. *Due to the 10th House's association with authority and parents' influence some may look at this House to reference in-laws as well.

Aries: Marrying into a highly competitive family, maybe a sports family, or maybe a military family. Passion, leadership, confidence, and self-focus may somehow be themes in the dynamics or personalities of in-laws. Aries is associated with separation and independence; this could indicate a more distant relationship to in-laws or even in a more literal sense with the in-laws being separated. Anger and arguments may be commonly caused by in-laws. In-laws could also be highly enthusiastic and encourage fun, assertion, risk, and being enterprising in your marriage or as a family unit.

Taurus: Marrying into a predictable, routine, unmoving or deeply rooted, maybe controlling family. In-laws may be dependable, huge foodies or materialistic, potentially may spoil their family, could be an artistic family, or a down-to-earth one. With Taurus's association with security this may mean they give their daughter/son in-law plenty of reassurance and stability OR they could see the new daughter/son as a threat as well. May be slow to form a relationship with. The in-laws will strive for peace and contentment in their family.

Gemini: Marrying into a family that highly values intellect and has high energy. Some in-laws could be flexible and others unstable. A highly communicative and social family. In-laws may be open-minded, easygoing, but potentially opinionated, may love debate or wild discussions, could seem detached as well. May judge their daughter/son in-law by their field of study, social standing, and how they hold themselves in conversations. Could have a lot to share and teach with their family. Some in-laws may be highly supportive and others two-faced, gossipers, and tricky.

Cancer: Marrying into a family that may have a great focus on family loyalty and tradition. In-laws could be very protective over their children and may not always be welcoming to spouses. Some could also be on the other end of the spectrum - highly understanding and kind to a son/daughter in-law. An in-law could be highly intuitive and frequently shares their wisdom. This family can have attachment issues. In-laws could be manipulative and possessive. This can also be a family one may easily be able to get close to, in-laws who embrace a spouse as one of their own. May be the type to show favoritism towards a daughter/son in-law.

Leo: Marrying into a proud family that focuses on honor, duty, and success. Can be warm, affectionate, and very generous in-laws. These in-laws may go out of their way to impress a spouse. But they can also be overbearing and arrogant behind their shinning gold. One in-law could stand out by playing the role of queen/king of the family. Can also be a lively, playful, and entertaining family. The married couple may feel as if they have to put on a performance when around the in-laws. Some may want to rebel. Some may fit in with the passionate and driven parent(s).

Virgo: Marrying into a hard-working, practical, intellectual, and potentially critical family. These in-laws may have high standards for their son/daughter in-law. May be very helpful and supportive in-laws who take on extra tasks, chores, and responsibilities for the couple. Could be rigid, potentially often complainers, and judgmental. These in-laws may try to contribute to the married couple's finances or health often in some way. May not be the best at sharing emotions and reassurance. In-laws appreciate a cooperative daughter/son in-law and may have a family dynamic that is all about striking a balance between teamwork, everyone contributing, and self-reliance.

Libra: Marrying into a family that has a very harmonious dynamic OR may seem like they do at first. There is pressure in the family one is marrying into to keep the peace. Maybe this family brushes issues under the rug, doesn't get too deep or passionate in their dynamics, or constantly pushes the importance of tact, manners, and grace. They could be kind, easygoing, and supportive in-laws but also potentially vain, shallow, and easily jealous. The individual with this placement may try hard to please their in-laws or the family they are marrying into. It is important for them to set healthy and realistic boundaries, and some may need to learn to stand up to their in-laws with their spouse. This can also indicate in-laws who have good judgment, admire their child's relationship, and help the couple with networking or even originally introduced the married couple to each other!

Scorpio: Marrying into an intense and passionate family. Potentially a highly competitive and combative family. This family may have many secrets, or many things might not be shared and discovered until long after the wedding and being part of the other family. Family loyalty may be important along with power and control dynamics. These in-laws could be overprotective, manipulative, and vindictive. But they could also be compassionate, motivating, intuitive, and filled with useful insight. Their protective nature could encompass their daughter/son in-law. But these in-laws may likely struggle with letting go of control and involvement. This placement can also indicate a deep, empowering, or transformative relationship with one's in-laws.

Sagittarius: Marrying into a gregarious, fun-loving, zealous, and active family. In-laws may give their adult child and their spouse a lot of space and freedom. Could also be unreliable, selfish, irresponsible, and dishonest in-laws. An in-law could also be boastful and dogmatic. They may not accept a son/daughter in-law unless they agree with their opinions or beliefs fully. In-laws could also be the type who refuse to acknowledge the marriage or relationship status, treating the son/daughter in-law always like a "stranger". Because Sagittarius is associated with luck, maybe a spouse has hit the jackpot and their in-laws could be very giving, open-minded, and friendly. In-laws may live far away or be part of a very different culture than the daughter/son in-law. Whether there is a good or bad relationship, the family dynamic is likely flexible, fast paced in some way, or maybe even exciting or wild.

Capricorn: Marrying into a strict, traditional, ambitious, practical, or potentially a well-known family. Reputation and work ethic may be important to the in-laws. These in-laws can also be reliable, patient, chill, and they watch out for their children, including the son/daughter in-law. These in-laws could be highly judgmental, negative, and rigid. Some may want to rebel against their in-laws or question their authority and judgment. Trust issues can be a big deal in the dynamic somehow. The in-laws could be workaholics or highly materialistic or even greedy and unexpectedly manipulative. Capricorn is associated with integrity, these in-laws may approach their married children with full trust and respect, at least at first. These in-laws could also help their son/daughter in-law with getting a job or career.

Aquarius: Marrying into an unconventional family or family dynamic. There are many ways the in-laws could be unique depending on your society. Maybe there are untraditional roles, large age differences, they could have a free-spirited lifestyle, are politicians, the list could go on. These in-laws could be separated, divorced, or not married at all. The in-laws could also be highly detached or estranged from the couple. These in-laws can also be conversationalist, highly value intellect, love a good debate, embrace quirks, and be open-minded or very friendly. There can also be a hypocritical, opinionated, or controlling nature. These in-laws could also be highly unpredictable and unreliable. In healthy and idealistic dynamics they can make a daughter/son in-law feel accepted, be a great teacher, and inspire the couple or individual.

Pisces: Marrying into a sensitive, emotional, maybe artistic, or maybe a touchy-feely family. This family and/or the in-laws may be easy to get along with at first, making a daughter/son in-law feel at home or at ease. But these in-laws can also be manipulative, elusive, and volatile. There can be an unstable and always changing feel to the family dynamics. An in-law or both parents may be highly intuitive and receptive to the married couple's relationship. A son/daughter in-law may conform to their in-laws beliefs and wishes or be highly sensitive to their wants OR the in-laws themselves may be quick to try to please or pacify a son/daughter in-law. Boundaries can easily be crossed in the dynamic. There can be a great opportunity for closeness, but this can come with plenty of pros and cons. Spiritual or religious beliefs may be a hot topic somehow. With Pisces strong association to healing, an in-law could become the mom this individual always wanted, or the daughter/son in-law could be the daughter/son the in-law always wanted. Or the individual may act as the family's therapist.

[marshallsgirl]

Marshall revealing his new song to Y/N

Pairing: Eminem x Fem¡Reader

Warnings: 🔞 MATURE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Recommended song: Remind Me - Eminem, In Too Deep - Eminem

Author's note: Hey, guys! I was so bored and I wrote this. I may delete it later or idk. Hope you all enjoy it. I love you guys so much! Sending all of you a warm hug🫂🤍

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■♡■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

"I have a surprise for you" Marshall said to me as he enter the living room. Inmediatly I turn off the tv and give all my attention to him. "Guess what" he said.

"What?"

"The song is complete!"

"Whoa baby!"

Here's the thing. He told me he was writting a song about us, but that's it. He didn't talk about ever again. Even if I asked him about it he had changed the topic. So, I was very nervous about it. Because this has happened before. It was with the Revival album. That one song called Remind Me. That one was for me. I still remember when he show me that song.

" did you...That's my fav rock&roll song!" I said when I heared the beat.

"Yeah, that's the song you kept singin' and singin' while you're cooking" he said wanted to laugh at me.

I loved that song. Perfect combination but it was crazy. I mean...he did that for me? He united rock&roll and rap that was so crazy.

"Damn, that's crazy babe" I said.

"See y/n, u make me do things I normally wouldn't do"

"Awww, I love it and I love you baby!"

So, this time I was really nervous because I've been singin' a lot and very different genres. And Marshall...Well, he is so crazy. I didn't know what to expect.

"Are we going to the studio?" I asked him ready to go change if needed.

"No, let's just get in the car". So, we got inside his car. "Are u okay?" suddenly he asked me.

"Yeah, I'm good! I need to hear your song!"

I got too excited and I get very excited when I'm nervous I don't know why, but It's like I got a lot of energy all of the sudden. Anyways, so he says:

"Okay, okay but you need to know that I just got the final mix and I haven't heard it. I mean I know the entire song but I didn't hear the final mix yet" he explained.

"Omg..."

"What?"

"Wait, let me just make myself comfortable" I said while adjustin' my seat a little bit.

At this point he doesn't even hide that he's laughing at me.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, ready"

"Wait, look at me" he ordered and I obey. "I love you"

"Okay, now play the song!"

"Yo, say it back!" he replied.

"I love you, babe!"

And so the music started and he is lip singin': "This could never work, " is what we said at first. But whatever this is, it's working. But we're in two different worlds and (yeah) I'm not your husband (nah), you ain't my girlfriend. All I know is that (what?) When I'm with you, I'm a different person, yeah. And I ain't never met a chick as perfect. Girl, you're a ten, so here I am (yeah)

I literely screamed and Marshall had to stop the music.

"No, keep it goin'!" I argue.

He laughed and let the music continue: ...Can't tell if I'm cheating on her with you or cheating on you with her. But really, nobody's at fault, can't help who you love. Hope they don't ever hear us talk

'Cause we both are getting sloppy. Probably subconsciously part of me's hoping we get caught 'cause I'm not happy here (nah)

With her. Rather have you (yeah) Rather have me too. 'Cause you're not happy there (you're not happy there) With him. Rather have me (I know, but) We just in too deep (I'm in way too deep)

Marshall started singin' it out loud and I was vibin' with it the whole time. It was a good damn song. Honestly, I loved it. It truly was about us, about the start of our relationship, but there were a few things that weren't true like me havin' a wedding ring. It should say: I got a wedding ring. So it's her instead of you.

"That's it. What do u think?" he said not being able to stop smilin'

"Please, play the song one more time"

And he started to laugh again.

"Marshall!"

"Are for real? Did you loved it?" he was surprised.

"Yes, I love it!"

"Y/n..." he laughs again.

"Marshall! You're being so freakin' annoying. Play the song one more time!"

"Yo, you are just sayin that. You didn't loved it!"

"What? I do love it! Marshall!"

"Okay, okay"

He played the song again.

"I'm gonna cry" I said.

"Yo, you're hillarious!"

"That song is good as hell!"

[movingmusically]

I am obsessed with your writing!!! I was wondering if you could write about the reader being a singer on tour and Austin being there to support her? THANK YOU!!

Author’s Note:

Thank you ☺️ I hope it’s what you had in mind!

Word Count: 11,915

Masterlist

Headliner

The roar of the crowd was deafening, their voices a single, electric wave that washed over you like a warm tide. The stage lights blazed, transforming the arena into a kaleidoscope of colour and energy. You could feel it—the magic of the moment, the kind that made your pulse race and your skin hum with electricity. This was what you’d dreamed of. This was the payoff for every sleepless night, every sacrifice.

As you launched into the final chorus, the crowd sang with you, their voices lifting yours higher. Thousands of people, united by a song you’d poured your soul into. Your heart swelled, the ache of exhaustion forgotten in the glow of their energy. This wasn’t just a job. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

When the last note faded into the air and the spotlight dimmed, you stood on the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. “Thank you!” you called into the mic, your voice ringing over the cheers. Your grin was wide and genuine, your heart still pounding with adrenaline as you gave the crowd one last wave before heading offstage.

Backstage was chaotic, but in the best way. Crew members offered quick congratulations, their hands clapping against your shoulders as you passed. Your manager handed you a water bottle, rattling off tomorrow’s schedule, but you barely heard her. You were still riding the high of the performance, your body buzzing with energy that wouldn’t let you stand still. You bounced lightly on your feet, your smile almost giddy.

“Hell of a show tonight,” one of the sound techs called, giving you a thumbs-up. You laughed, raising your bottle in thanks, your mind already replaying the best moments from the set.

In the dressing room, you peeled off your jacket and caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You were flushed, glowing, your eyes still sparkling from the rush. This was why you pushed so hard. This was the dream—the kind you’d spent years chasing. And tonight, it felt worth every moment.

The energy backstage after another successful show was electric, the buzz of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Your team ushered you toward the makeshift meet-and-greet area, a small room tucked just behind the stage where fans had gathered for the post-show event. You barely had time to catch your breath before the doors opened, and a group of wide-eyed fans entered, clutching posters, albums, and carefully crafted gifts.

Your cheeks already ached from smiling, but as the first fan stepped forward, the exhaustion melted away. She was a teenager, maybe fifteen, with a shy smile and a journal clutched tightly to her chest. Her hands trembled as she passed it to you.

“I—I wrote this for you,” she stammered, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of the others. “Your music got me through… a lot. Especially when things at school were… hard.”

Your throat tightened as you flipped through the journal, its pages filled with sketches, letters, and lyrics she’d written herself. The care and vulnerability in every word hit you square in the chest.

“This is beautiful,” you said softly, looking up at her. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Her eyes lit up, a mix of relief and disbelief. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course,” you said, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. “You’re so talented. And brave.”

Her shoulders straightened a little, her smile growing. “Your song—‘Rise’—that one’s my favourite. I used to listen to it every day on the way to school. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. “I’m so glad it helped you. That’s why I do this—to connect with people like you.”

She nodded, biting her lip to stop the tears from falling. “Thank you,” she whispered, stepping aside to let the next fan approach.

The meet-and-greet continued, each fan bringing their own stories, laughter, and moments that reminded you why this was all worth it. One fan even brought a small dog plush, complete with a hand-knitted bandana with your logo embroidered on it.

“It’s for your dog!” they explained, their enthusiasm contagious. “I hope it fits, but I can make another if it doesn’t.”

You laughed, holding the plush up for your team to see. “This is adorable. Thank you so much!”

By the time the meet-and-greet ended, your spirits were soaring. As you walked back to your dressing room, you carried the gifts and notes close to your chest, their weight a reminder of how much your music meant to people.

Your manager caught your eye, a knowing smile on her face. “Good crowd tonight, huh?”

“The best,” you said, your voice warm. “I needed that.”

The next few days followed the same rhythm. Each night brought a new city, a new stage, and a new crowd that screamed your lyrics back at you with an intensity that made your heart swell. You started every show with the same wide-eyed excitement, feeding off the energy of the fans and letting it carry you through the night.

Even the whirlwind pace didn’t faze you at first. Backstage meetings with fans left you glowing, their stories reminding you why you loved this life. On the bus rides between cities, you laughed with your bandmates, trading inside jokes and sharing snacks like it was summer camp. The exhaustion was there, creeping in at the edges, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the dream you were living.

One night, after the crew had cleared out and the buzz of the show still hummed in your chest, your phone lit up with Austin’s name. Grinning, you swiped to answer, your voice still giddy with adrenaline.

“Hey, rockstar,” he teased, his voice warm and familiar. “How many bras were thrown at you tonight?”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch in your dressing room. “Only three. A slow night, clearly.”

“Tragic,” he deadpanned. “Do I need to start sending decoys to up the numbers?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop smiling.

He chuckled, the sound like a balm to your nerves. “Okay, but seriously, how was it?”

“Amazing. The crowd was insane, and they actually sang the bridge louder than me. I think I could’ve just stood there and let them do the work.”

“Sounds like they’ve got taste,” he said, his tone mock-serious. “But don’t let them replace you just yet.”

You shook your head, biting back a laugh. “And how was your day, Mr. Hollywood? Please tell me something boring. I need balance.”

“Oh, absolutely riveting,” he said, his voice dropping into a faux-earnest tone. “I spent twenty minutes debating whether to have cereal or toast this morning. Then I stared at a script for an hour without reading a single word. Truly groundbreaking stuff.”

You snorted, feeling some of the tension in your body dissolve. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“What, to know that I’m a human disaster?” he teased.

“No,” you said softly, your smile fading into something gentler. “To hear your voice.”

His tone softened too, the humour giving way to sincerity. “Anytime, baby. You know I’m always here, right?”

“I know,” you murmured, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and longing. “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too,” he said quietly, the emotion in his voice matching your own. “But you’ve got this. I’ll be cheering from here until I can do it in person.”

The call ended a few minutes later, leaving you with a lingering warmth that stayed with you as you packed up and headed back to the hotel.

Austin was a constant presence, even from afar. He sent thoughtful texts before every show, little reminders to “breathe” or “kill it,” and FaceTimed whenever your schedules lined up. He didn’t have to say much—just hearing his voice steadied you, grounding you amidst the chaos.

But as the days stretched into weeks, the cracks started to show.

It was subtle at first. A missed meal here, a hoarse voice there. The adrenaline that once carried you through each night now left you jittery and drained, making it impossible to sleep. You found yourself staring at the ceiling in dark hotel rooms, your body aching and your mind racing with to-do lists you’d never have time to complete.

By the third week, you were running on fumes. The fans’ cheers were still exhilarating, but the feeling didn’t last as long as it used to. As soon as the stage lights dimmed, the weight of it all came crashing down. The early mornings, the constant travel, the pressure to give 110% every single night—it was starting to feel like too much.

That night, as you sang the second chorus of your most popular song, something unexpected happened. Your voice wavered—not enough for the audience to notice, but enough for you to feel it. The high note you’d hit effortlessly a week ago caught in your throat, forcing you to push harder to recover. For a split second, panic surged through you, your mind scrambling to stay in the moment.

The crowd didn’t seem to notice—they were still singing along, their energy undiminished—but the strain lingered in your chest. By the time the song ended, your smile felt a little more forced, your body suddenly heavier as you moved across the stage.

You shook it off as best as you could, slipping back into the rhythm of the set. But the small falter stayed with you, a quiet reminder that your body and mind were nearing their limits.

Backstage, the usual hum of post-show excitement felt quieter, the high of the performance dulled by the ache in your throat and the exhaustion creeping into your muscles. You plastered on a smile for your team, but the weight of the tour was becoming harder to ignore.

One night, after a particularly gruelling show, you collapsed onto the couch in your dressing room, your legs too heavy to move. Your manager popped her head in, clipboard in hand. “Quick debrief in ten, then we’ll head back to the hotel. Tomorrow’s packed, so try to get some rest.”

You nodded, your grin feeling a little forced now. “Got it.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time all night, you were alone. The silence was jarring after the noise of the arena, the weight of the night settling on your shoulders like a heavy coat. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to sleep for a week, to stop moving for just one day.

Your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with Austin’s name. You grabbed it instinctively, your heart lifting as you read his message.

Saw some clips from the show tonight. You killed it, baby. Wish I could’ve been there. ❤️

The tension in your chest eased slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. He always knew how to make you feel seen, even from miles away. You typed out a quick reply.

Wish you were here too. Miss you. ❤️

Setting the phone down, you leaned back, closing your eyes as the silence of the room pressed down on you. You missed him more than you wanted to admit. His presence, his laugh, the way he could make you feel like yourself when everything else felt overwhelming. But he wasn’t here. And that ache was starting to feel unbearable.

Touring wasn’t just a job—it was a lifestyle. Early mornings blurred into late nights, the adrenaline of performing keeping you wired long after the crowds had gone home. Your body was constantly on the edge of exhaustion, your voice strained from pushing it night after night. Even the days off weren’t really “off.” There were interviews, photoshoots, and endless planning for the next stop.

But the hardest part wasn’t the physical toll—it was the emotional one. You gave so much of yourself to the world every night, there was barely anything left by the time you were alone in your hotel room. And that’s when you felt it the most: the loneliness, the ache of being away from the people who made you feel like yourself.

Austin did his best to fill that void. While he couldn’t be there in person, he always found ways to remind you that you weren’t alone. Care packages greeted you at nearly every hotel room—thoughtful little surprises that made the distance between you feel smaller. Sometimes it was handwritten letters, filled with his familiar scrawl and quiet reassurances that he was proud of you. Other times, it was Polaroids from home: his favourite corner of the couch where the two of you would spend lazy afternoons, a sunrise from his balcony, or a snapshot of your dog curled up in a patch of sunlight. And then there were the snacks—your favourite chocolates, crisps, or that tea he swore tasted like dirt but always made you feel better.

The packages were like lifelines, pulling you out of the endless churn of days on tour and back to the comfort of what you’d built together.

And when the care packages weren’t enough, there were the late-night FaceTime calls. No matter how exhausted he was, he’d sit propped up in bed, hair mussed, his voice soft but steady as he listened to you vent. You didn’t have to sugarcoat anything for him. When the adrenaline had worn off and the weight of the day pressed down on you, Austin was your safe place to fall apart.

“Tell me everything,” he’d say, his eyes intent on yours through the screen. “The good, the bad, all of it. I’m here.”

Those conversations were your sanctuary, a reminder that even when the world demanded more than you felt you could give, there was someone who saw you—not the performer, not the polished version of yourself—but the real you.

But it wasn’t the same. You missed his touch, the way his hand would find yours without even thinking. You missed the quiet comfort of his presence, the way he could make you feel seen and understood even in your most chaotic moments.

Still, you pushed through, because this was your dream. And as much as it demanded from you, it also gave you so much in return. The fans who sang your lyrics back to you, the moments on stage when the world melted away, the pride you felt in building something that mattered—it all kept you going.

But some nights, when the adrenaline wore off and the silence closed in, you wondered how much longer you could juggle it all. And that’s when you’d reach for your phone, scrolling through old pictures of you and Austin, your thumb lingering on his smile.

The next morning, you woke up with a dull ache in your chest, the weight of the tour pressing heavier than usual. The care package waiting on your hotel desk brought a brief smile to your face—Austin’s handwriting scrawled across the envelope in messy block letters—but even that wasn’t enough to shake the exhaustion. You carried the unopened box with you to the bus, telling yourself you’d open it later, when you weren’t so tired.

By the time you reached the next venue, the adrenaline was harder to summon. You plastered on a smile during soundcheck, nodding along as your manager ran through the schedule. But even as you took the stage that night, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, How much longer can I keep this up?

The breaking point came two nights later, in yet another anonymous hotel room. You’d barely made it through the show, your voice straining to hit notes that usually came easily. Backstage, you’d smiled through fan photos and listened to your team’s endless plans for the next city. But the moment you closed the door to your room, the exhaustion hit you like a wave, pulling you under.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, fighting back tears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. The dream you’d worked so hard for had become a treadmill you couldn’t step off, and in that moment, you weren’t sure you had the strength to keep going.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of your suitcase, where Austin’s care package sat untouched. With trembling hands, you tore it open, revealing the familiar mix of snacks, letters, and Polaroids he always sent. But something else caught your eye—a small, battered USB drive tucked between the notes. Your heart twisted as you pulled it out, instantly recognising it as his.

Plugging it into your laptop, you found a single file. The title made your breath catch.

Demo – Y/N.

Your hands shook as you clicked play. The moment the melody filled the room, you froze. It was raw, unpolished—your voice accompanied only by an acoustic guitar. You remembered this song. You’d written it years ago, before the tours, before the arenas. It was a love letter to music itself, a song that had poured out of you in the quiet of your tiny apartment. You hadn’t heard it in years.

Attached to the file was a note, typed out in Austin’s words:

I found this the other day and couldn’t stop thinking about how far you’ve come. You’ve always had that fire in you, baby. Don’t let the noise drown it out. I believe in you. Always.

Tears blurred your vision as you stared at the screen, the melody wrapping around you like a warm embrace. For the first time in weeks, the weight pressing on your chest eased just enough to let hope slip through.

Without thinking, you grabbed your phone and dialled his number. It rang twice before his voice came through, warm and steady.

“Hey, baby,” he said, concern lacing his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I found the demo.”

There was a pause, then his voice softened. “What’d you think?”

“I… I forgot how much I loved it,” you admitted, wiping at your cheeks. “How much I loved all of this before it got so… overwhelming.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I sent it. I wanted to remind you of who you are, not just who the world thinks you are.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his words. “Austin, I don’t think I can keep doing this without you. It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “You’re stronger than you think. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, even if I can’t be there.”

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the ache you hadn’t been able to shake. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For always knowing exactly what I need.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like a lifeline. “That’s my job, isn’t it? Now, get some sleep. You’ve got another show tomorrow, and I want to see you kill it again.”

You smiled through the tears, the tension in your chest finally starting to release. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Now, close your eyes and dream big, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, letting his words wash over you.

As the call ended and you climbed into bed, the exhaustion still lingered, but it felt lighter now. You weren’t alone in this—not really. And as the melody of the demo replayed in your mind, you remembered why you’d started this journey in the first place.

The next evening, after another long day of interviews and press commitments, you found yourself back in your hotel room, phone pressed to your ear as Austin’s familiar voice filled the quiet space.

“Tell me again why you don’t just stow away in my luggage?” you teased, trying to keep your tone light despite the ache of missing him.

“Because I’d never fit, and you’d never make it through airport security,” he shot back, his voice warm and teasing. “Besides, I think your team might notice if I started hanging around eating all the snacks.”

You laughed, the sound genuine for the first time all day. “They’d probably thank you. I’m not very good at sharing.”

“Noted,” he replied, his voice softening. “How’re you holding up tonight, baby?”

You hesitated, the truth sitting heavy in your chest. “Better now,” you admitted, letting the sound of his voice wrap around you like a balm. “It’s just been a lot, you know?”

“I know,” he said, his voice steady. “But you’re killing it. I’ve seen the clips—they’re all losing their minds over you. I mean, I get it. Look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I know it will,” he said, his tone playful. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you.”

His words warmed something deep inside you, easing the tension that had been building all day. Before you could respond, a sudden knock at the door startled you, the sound cutting through the quiet.

“Hang on,” you said, frowning as you slid off the bed. “Someone’s at the door.”

“It’s probably room service,” Austin said, though there was an odd note in his voice—something almost… expectant.

You padded to the door, phone still pressed to your ear. “I didn’t order anything.”

When you swung the door open, your breath caught in your throat.

Austin stood there, his familiar lopsided grin lighting up his face, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He looked tired, but it didn’t matter. He was here.

“Austin?” you whispered, frozen in place. “What—how—?”

He raised a brow, his grin widening. “You gonna let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”

Without thinking, you dropped the phone and launched yourself into his arms, your heart racing as his warmth enveloped you. He chuckled softly, his hands coming up to steady you as you clung to him.

“You’re really here,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I thought you couldn’t—”

“I couldn’t not,” he interrupted, his voice low but steady. “You needed me. So here I am.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you shook your head, barely able to believe he was standing there. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiled softly, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Where else would I be?”

Your heart swelled as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours, filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “Every second.”

Without another word, his lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly deepened, all the longing and emotion from weeks apart pouring into it. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer as your heart raced. Without breaking the kiss, you stepped back into the room, tugging him with you, and he followed willingly, the door clicking shut behind him.

His hands slid upward, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping beneath it. His warm palms against your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you gasped softly into his mouth. The feeling of his touch, his presence, was so overwhelming you felt like you might break apart and piece yourself back together all at once.

“Austin…” you murmured against his lips, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and breathless. His hands smoothed over your back, his thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your lips, then your jaw, trailing down to your neck. Each touch felt grounding, like he was pulling you out of the haze you’d been trapped in for weeks.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your breaths coming in shallow bursts. His eyes searched yours, his gaze filled with so much tenderness and love it nearly undid you.

“You don’t know how much I needed this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I think I do,” he said softly, his thumb brushing along your cheek, wiping away the tear you hadn’t even realised had fallen. “I hated not being able to be here for you.”

“You’re here now,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing along his jaw. “That’s all that matters.”

He smiled faintly, leaning into your touch, before his lips found yours again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands roamed along your back, every movement deliberate and grounding, like he wanted to memorise the feel of you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt his hands shift, lifting your shirt slightly as his fingertips grazed the small of your back. A quiet hum escaped you, your body leaning into his instinctively. It wasn’t just the kiss or the touch—it was everything he brought with him. The warmth, the steadiness, the reminder that you weren’t in this alone.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths coming in shallow bursts, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the moment—an ache you couldn’t quite bury. “It’s been…” you whispered, your voice catching. “it’s been so hard.”

The confession hung in the air between you, raw and unguarded. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, steadying you as his eyes searched yours.

“I hate seeing you in this state,” he murmured, his brow furrowing. “You’re running yourself into the ground, baby.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability of his words making it harder to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m okay,” you said softly, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I just—”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he interrupted gently, his hands tightening on your waist. “Not here. Not now.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you felt the dam of emotions you’d been holding back for weeks begin to crack. His gaze was steady, his hands grounding you, as if silently telling you it was okay to let go.

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Trying to keep it all together. For the fans, for the team, for everyone. But it’s… it’s so much, Austin.”

His brows furrowed, and his thumbs continued their slow, soothing circles on your skin. “I know it is,” he said softly. “And I know how much you give. But you don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

Tears spilled over before you could stop them, and you turned your head slightly, embarrassed. But he was having none of it. He tilted your chin back toward him, his touch gentle but firm, his eyes locking on yours.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a mix of tenderness and quiet strength. “You’re allowed to feel this. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Your shoulders sagged under the weight of his words, the truth of them unraveling something deep inside you. “I just don’t want to let anyone down,” you confessed, the tears flowing freely now. “I worked so hard for this, and I love it, I do, but it’s—”

“It’s overwhelming,” he finished for you, his voice breaking slightly as if the thought of you struggling hurt him too. “And it’s okay to admit that, baby. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he held you tightly, his chin resting on top of your head. His warmth and steady presence made you feel safe, like you could let go without falling apart completely.

For a while, neither of you spoke. He just held you, letting you cry into his chest until the tears slowed and your breathing steadied. When you finally pulled back, his shirt was damp from your tears, but he didn’t seem to care. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “A little.”

“Good,” he said, his voice lightening just enough to make you feel like you could breathe again. “Because I didn’t come all this way just to make you cry. I came to remind you how incredible you are.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness in your chest. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He grinned, his hand dropping to your waist as he pulled you closer again. “It’s a talent.”

For the first time in what felt like weeks, you felt the weight on your chest ease, the tension in your body unraveling under his touch. As his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, you leaned into him, closing your eyes and letting the comfort of his presence settle over you like a blanket.

“You’re not alone in this,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m here. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

The next morning, the soft hum of traffic outside the hotel window pulled you from sleep. For the first time in weeks, you felt a kind of stillness in your chest—a reprieve from the constant hum of exhaustion and worry. The bed was warm, and Austin’s arm was draped over your waist, anchoring you in place. His presence was tangible, calming, and you weren’t ready to let it go just yet.

His breath stirred against the back of your neck as he shifted slightly. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice gravelly from sleep.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his as you closed your eyes again. “Morning.”

He tightened his hold on you, his lips grazing your neck. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admitted, the weight on your shoulders feeling lighter. “Because of you.”

He chuckled softly. “Good. That’s the plan.”

Having Austin with you changed everything. He wasn’t just there—he was present, quietly weaving himself into the rhythm of your days. When your schedule had you rushing from interviews to soundchecks, he was the one sneaking a granola bar into your hand or gently reminding you to drink water. At night, when the adrenaline of the day wouldn’t let you rest, he’d strum his guitar softly in the corner, humming a melody you couldn’t help but fall asleep to.

“You’re worse than my tour manager,” you teased one afternoon as he handed you a bowl of something that smelled suspiciously healthy.

He smirked, settling into the chair across from you. “Your tour manager doesn’t love you the way I do.”

That shut you up, the sincerity of his words settling over you like a blanket. You took a bite, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

His presence extended beyond just you, too. The crew had started joking about how he was the unofficial “morale officer” of the tour. When you caught him helping one of the techs carry equipment after soundcheck, you shook your head in disbelief.

“You know you’re not getting paid for this, right?” you teased as he walked toward you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

He shrugged, his grin lazy. “You think I flew across the country to sit in a hotel room? Besides, I like being part of the team.”

That was Austin—always willing to pitch in, always trying to make things better for the people around him. It was just one of the reasons you loved him.

*

For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a day off. No interviews, no sound checks, no schedule meticulously planned down to the minute. Just a stretch of hours that were completely yours. It felt almost foreign after weeks of constant motion, but Austin seemed determined to make the most of it.

He’d woken you up with a soft kiss and a whispered plan to escape the confines of the hotel. By late morning, you found yourself tucked into the passenger seat of a rented car, the windows down and the warm breeze tangling your hair as Austin drove with an easy confidence.

He drove with one hand loosely gripping the wheel, the other resting on your bare thigh. Your leg pressed lightly against his, the closeness a quiet comfort as the road stretched ahead of you. Your hand rested over his, your fingers tracing along the veins on the back of his hand absentmindedly. His thumb moved in slow circles against your skin, each gentle stroke grounding you in the moment. The warmth of his palm seeped into you, and every squeeze of his fingers felt like a silent promise. You leaned further into him, your knee brushing against his, the casual intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like the summer breeze filtering through the open windows.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “You’ll see.”

The radio played softly in the background, some mellow tune that perfectly matched the easy rhythm of the day. You turned, leaning your head back against the seat and watching the trees blur past. His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, the small gesture enough to send your pulse skipping. You glanced over again, catching the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“What?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “You just look... peaceful.”

You smiled, your hand still covering his where it rested on your leg. “That’s because I am.”

The destination turned out to be a quiet little town just outside the city, its main street lined with charming shops and cafés that felt a world away from the arenas and hotels you’d been living in. Austin parked the car and took your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he led you down the cobblestone sidewalk.

The day unfolded slowly, deliberately. There was no rush, no pressure to be anywhere or do anything in particular. You wandered into a quirky bookstore, where Austin immediately made a beeline for the history section while you lingered near the music biographies. He held up a book with an absurdly long title and read it aloud in a dramatic voice, making you laugh so hard you nearly knocked over a stack of paperbacks.

Afterward, he insisted on buying you an ice cream cone from a little stand on the corner. You sat on a bench in the shade, the sounds of the town’s quiet bustle around you, as he stole bites of your mint chocolate chip with a grin that made your heart flutter.

“This is nice,” you said softly, leaning back against the bench and letting the sunlight filter through the leaves above. “I almost forgot what it’s like to just… slow down.”

He reached over, brushing his fingers against yours. “That’s why we’re here. You deserve a break, baby.”

You smiled, your chest tightening with gratitude. “Thank you for this. For being here.”

His expression softened, and he leaned closer, his voice low and earnest. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

In the afternoon, you found yourselves wandering down a quiet trail near the edge of town, the sounds of nature replacing the usual hum of city life. The path wound its way to a small lake surrounded by trees, their branches forming a canopy that dappled the ground with patches of sunlight. Austin stopped abruptly, pulling you to a halt with him.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

He grinned, his gaze darting to the water. “How do you feel about getting your feet wet?”

You raised a brow, already knowing where this was going. “Austin…”

Before you could protest, he was tugging you toward the edge of the lake, his enthusiasm contagious. You kicked off your shoes and followed him into the cool, clear water, the sensation oddly grounding after weeks of nonstop movement.

He splashed you lightly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when you gasped in mock indignation. “You did not just—”

“Oh, I did,” he said, his voice full of laughter.

It wasn’t long before you were splashing him back, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. By the time you finally retreated to the shore, your clothes damp and your feet muddy, your cheeks ached from smiling.

Austin flopped onto the grass beside you, his damp shirt clinging to his chest. “Worth it,” he said, his hair sticking up in unruly strands.

You leaned back on your hands, the sun warming your skin as you looked over at him. “Definitely worth it.”

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as his gaze traveled over you. “You look happy,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your arm.

“I am,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady.

His touch grew bolder, his hand sliding up your arm to your shoulder, then tracing the curve of your neck. You shivered under his touch, your heart skipping a beat as he leaned closer.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours in a kiss that started slow and gentle but quickly deepened. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he shifted, his body pressing against yours. The warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the heat building between you, his touch igniting something that had been simmering all day.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging slightly as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck. He growled softly against your skin, the sound sending a rush of need through you.

Before you could think, you pushed him back gently, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as you straddled him. He fell back into the grass with a quiet laugh, his hands instinctively finding your hips. The look on his face shifted as you leaned over him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent than before.

His hands roamed over your thighs, his touch setting your skin alight as you pressed your body closer to his. Your own hands slipped beneath his shirt, running over the hard lines of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. The weight of his gaze, the heat of his hands, made the rest of the world blur into nothing.

“Austin,” you breathed against his lips, your voice filled with a mixture of need and desperation as his grip on your hips tightened.

He let out a low, quiet groan, his lips trailing along your jawline as his hands slid up your back, under the thin fabric of your shirt. His thumbs brushed against your sides, the deliberate movement sending shivers through you.

But just as the kiss deepened, his hands paused. He pulled back slightly, his chest heaving as he met your gaze, his lips curling into a soft smile. “We’re in public,” he murmured, his voice a mix of heat and restraint, though his eyes were still dark with want.

You blinked, the words grounding you back into reality. Glancing around, the quiet isolation of the lakeside suddenly felt far less private than it had moments ago. You let out a soft laugh, burying your face in his shoulder to hide the flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Right,” you mumbled, your breath warm against his skin. “I got a little carried away.”

His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he kissed your temple. “Trust me, I’m not complaining,” he said, his tone playful but still thick with desire. “But I’d rather not have an audience.”

You laughed again, sitting up slightly but still staying close, his hands lingering on your hips as he watched you. The smile on his face was soft now, the heat tempered by a warmth that made your heart swell.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you murmured, “Then you’d better get me home before I do something really scandalous.”

Austin's grin widened, his hands tightening on your hips as he let out a low chuckle. “Home it is,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face with a heat that made your pulse quicken. “But don’t think for a second I’m keeping my hands to myself when we get there.”

You bit your lip, your heart racing as his words settled over you, thick with promise. Sliding off his lap, you smoothed your shirt, the warm flush on your skin still lingering from the intensity of the moment. He stood up a moment later, and the two of you slipped your shoes back on.

The walk back to the car was quieter but no less charged. His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours as he gave it a squeeze. Every touch, every glance he cast your way, was electric, leaving your nerves alight with anticipation.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, his palm grazing the small of your back as you climbed inside. Settling into the driver’s seat, he shot you a sly grin before starting the engine, his hand immediately finding its place on your thigh as he drove.

The ride back to the hotel was filled with a teasing tension that had your stomach fluttering. His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, his touch steady but deliberate, and every so often, his eyes flicked to you, his smirk growing wider at the flush that deepened on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but reach out, your hand resting over his as your thumb mimicked the same soothing circles, the quiet intimacy between you making the air in the car feel charged.

By the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot, your heart was hammering against your ribs. He parked quickly, his movements efficient yet somehow still languid, the kind of calm control that only made you more eager. As he cut the engine, he turned to you, his gaze sweeping over your face like he couldn’t decide where to look first.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, his voice thick with restrained urgency.

The walk through the hotel lobby felt like a blur. He kept a firm but gentle grip on your hand, his strides purposeful, and you matched his pace, your breaths quickening with every step closer to your room. By the time the door clicked shut behind you, the tension finally snapped.

Before you could even turn, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you gently against the door. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was hungry, impatient, the soft restraint he’d held onto all day completely unraveling.

Austin’s hands were on you, his lips crashing into yours with an urgency that sent your head spinning. He pressed you back against the door, his body flush against yours, his warmth and the sheer force of his presence stealing your breath.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, clutching at his shoulders, but before you could pull him even closer, his hand came up to capture both of yours, pressing them above your head. The slight roughness of the movement sent a shiver racing down your spine. His strength was overwhelming yet intoxicating, his grip firm but never harsh.

The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His free hand roamed down your side, sliding over the curve of your hip to the bare skin just beneath the hem of your shorts. His fingertips grazed your thigh, teasing, as you arched into him, desperate for more.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips as you twisted slightly in his hold, trying to press closer, but he held you in place, his control unyielding. The weight of him against you, the way he commanded every part of the moment, left you dizzy with need.

His lips trailed down your jaw to the curve of your neck, each kiss a brand against your heated skin. The hand on your thigh slipped higher, his thumb brushing against the inside, igniting a trail of fire in its wake. “Austin,” you whispered, the word barely audible, more plea than name.

He released your hands suddenly, his arm looping under your legs as he pulled you up against him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively, your legs circling his waist as he carried you from the door. His lips found yours again, his kiss urgent and consuming, as he moved toward the bed, every step steady despite the tension radiating through both of you.

When he reached the edge, he laid you down with care, his body following yours as he braced himself above you. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it higher, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. His lips left yours, but only to trail downward, pressing heated kisses to the curve of your stomach, each touch urgent and full of need.

He moved with a singular focus, his mouth following the hem of your shirt as he pushed it higher, kissing and nipping at the exposed skin. The rough scrape of his stubble against your stomach made you gasp, your back arching into him as his hands gripped your sides to hold you steady.

With a swift, fluid motion, he tugged the shirt higher, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ribs before he sat up enough to pull it over your head. The second it was gone, his gaze roamed over you, dark and searing, his breath coming fast as though he was barely holding himself together.

You didn’t wait—your hands flew to his shirt, tugging at it with urgency until he leaned back just long enough to yank it over his head. The sight of him, bare and flushed, only fueled the fire burning under your skin. Your hands found his shoulders, pulling him back down to you as your lips crashed together, the kiss hungry and wild, all restraint forgotten.

His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough, sliding over your sides, your hips, and then lower, his fingers toying with the edge of your shorts. He broke the kiss, his lips moving down your neck, over your chest, and further still. His kisses were rougher now, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue leaving trails of fire as he worked his way back down your body.

When his lips reached the waistband of your shorts, he paused, his hands already unfastening them as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. The heat in his gaze was enough to steal the air from your lungs, the raw need there matching your own as he finally moved lower, his mouth pressing against the sensitive skin of your hips. Every touch, every kiss, felt like he was pulling you apart piece by piece, leaving you breathless and craving more.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and finally he pulled them and your shorts the rest of the way down. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as he worked his way upward, his lips and tongue leaving trails of fire against your skin.

Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping you as his mouth moved closer to where you wanted him most. His kisses grew slower, more deliberate, as though he was savouring every inch of you. His hands slid under your thighs, spreading you slightly, and the anticipation alone sent a shiver racing up your spine.

When his lips finally brushed against you, your whole body jolted, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. His tongue moved with precision, teasing and testing, until he found the rhythm that made your back arch and your breaths come in short, broken gasps.

He murmured something against you, his voice low and thick with want, but the words were lost in the haze of sensation as he continued his slow, torturous exploration. His grip on your thighs tightened as he drew you even closer, his mouth working you over with a hunger that made your head spin. Each flick of his tongue, every gentle scrape of his teeth, sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building you up higher and higher.

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tugged him closer, your body instinctively moving against him. He groaned in response, the vibration sending a jolt through you that had your thighs trembling around him.

“God, yes...” you gasped, the words breaking on your lips like a plea.

He looked up at you briefly, his eyes blazing, before diving back in with renewed urgency, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony. Your breaths turned ragged, your body tightening as the pressure inside you built to a breaking point.

The sound of your moans filled the room, unrestrained and raw, as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally fell, it was with a sharp cry, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumed you, wave after wave leaving you shaking and breathless.

He didn’t stop, not immediately. His movements slowed, his kisses gentler now, easing you through the aftershocks until you were left trembling and spent. When he finally moved up your body, his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was soft and almost reverent, his weight settling comfortably against you as you tried to catch your breath.

But then you felt him, hard and straining against his jeans, pressing into you with an urgency that reignited the fire simmering just beneath the surface. A soft gasp escaped you as your hips instinctively arched into his, the friction sending a fresh wave of heat spiralling through you. His breath hitched, a low, ragged sound escaping him as his forehead dropped to yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands slipped between you, reaching for the button of his jeans, fumbling slightly in your haste. He groaned softly, his head tilting back as he shifted to give you room. The sound alone sent a rush of desire pooling low in your stomach, and the feel of his muscles tensing under your touch only spurred you on.

When you finally freed him from the constricting fabric, he moved quickly, kicking the jeans off the rest of the way and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The sudden closeness, the feel of his bare skin against yours, made you dizzy with want.

His lips crashed against yours again, the kiss deeper, hungrier now. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed you into the mattress, his body aligning perfectly with yours. The heat of him, skin to skin, was almost too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver racing through you. Without a word, his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting one leg and guiding it over his shoulder. The shift made your breath hitch, the position sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you as his lips brushed the inside of your knee.

His gaze stayed locked on yours as he kissed his way up your leg, his touch deliberate and teasing. Your heart pounded, your body trembling beneath him, as he brought your other leg up over his shoulder. His hands settled on either side of you, as he leaned forward, his body pressing into yours.

The sensation of him filling you in this position was overwhelming, the depth and intensity stealing the air from your lungs. Your head tipped back against the mattress, your hands gripping the sheets as he moved, slowly at first, every motion deliberate and precise. The angle sent shocks of pleasure radiating through you, your body arching instinctively to meet him.

He leaned forward, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself above you, the movement pressing you further into the mattress. The weight of him, the way his body fit perfectly against yours, was almost too much to bear, and yet you craved more.

Your hands instinctively reached for him, finding his forearms and gripping tightly, the muscles there flexing under your touch as he held himself over you. His lips dipped to yours, capturing them in a kiss that was hot and urgent, muffling the soft sounds spilling from your lips.

As his pace quickened, the pressure built steadily, your legs tensing against his shoulders, your fingers curling tighter around his arms. The angle amplified every movement, sending waves of heat radiating through you, your body helpless against the tide of sensations he was pulling from you.

The sounds escaping your lips were soft and breathless, matching the rhythm of his movements as he drove you higher and higher. His breaths were ragged, his groans low and guttural, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

When your release hit, it was like a floodgate opening, the sensation so powerful it left you gasping, your entire body trembling as it crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his movements carrying you through every wave of pleasure, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was desperate and consuming.

Moments later, his pace stuttered, his grip tightening as his head tipped back, a deep groan ripping from his throat as he followed you over the edge. The intensity of it left him shaking, his body pressing into yours as he came undone.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your heavy, uneven breaths. He carefully lowered your legs from his shoulders, his hands brushing along your thighs as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Then he shifted, settling beside you and pulling you close, his arm draping over your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The quiet that followed was full of warmth, connection, and a sense of belonging that made everything else fade away. You didn’t need words; his touch and presence said everything you needed to hear.

The warmth of Austin's body pressed against your back and the quiet stillness of the room were the first things you noticed as you stirred awake. The curtains were still drawn, the soft light of morning barely peeking through the edges. You blinked sleepily, stretching against the sheets as the events of the day before slowly came back to you.

A strong arm curled around your waist, anchoring you, and the familiar warmth sent a quiet flutter through your chest. You shifted slightly, and his hold tightened instinctively. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice soft as you turned to face him. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and yet he looked unfairly perfect.

He smiled lazily, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could stay here forever,” you admitted, your voice muffled against the pillow.

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I’d let you, but I think your team might have something to say about it.”

You groaned, the thought of schedules and meetings already threatening to drag you out of the cocoon of warmth you’d built with him. “Don’t remind me.”

His hand brushed up and down your side in soothing strokes. “Let’s not think about any of that yet,” he murmured. “Just stay here with me a little longer.”

And for a while, you did. The world outside could wait.

The quiet peace of the morning eventually gave way to reality. Austin sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in hand, as you pulled on one of his shirts, letting it fall loosely over your legs. His expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he read the message on his screen.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before meeting your gaze. “It’s my manager. They’ve confirmed my next project, and I need to be back in LA next week.”

The weight of his words settled over the room like a cloud. You’d known this was coming—his career was as demanding as yours, if not more so. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. “That’s soon.”

He reached out, his hands finding your hips as he pulled you to stand between his knees. “I hate leaving you,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I wish I could stay longer, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile. “I know. I just… I’m going to miss you.”

He rested his forehead against your stomach, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. “I’ll miss you too. But we’ve still got time, and I plan to make the most of it.”

*

Glastonbury. The word alone was enough to make your chest tighten, both with exhilaration and nerves. Headlining the Pyramid Stage was the kind of milestone artists dreamt of their whole lives. It wasn’t just a show—it was a statement, a moment that cemented your place in history.

The days leading up to the performance were a whirlwind of preparation. But it wasn’t the usual grind of endless rehearsals or meticulous sound checks—it was something more. Each moment felt charged, as if the very air around you knew the weight of what was coming. Your band was buzzing with excitement, the crew double-checking every detail, ensuring everything was perfect.

Austin had stayed by your side through it all. He blended seamlessly into the background when needed, offering quiet support during meetings and cheering you on during rehearsals. But it was in the quieter moments, away from the bustle, that he truly shone.

“Are you nervous?” he asked one evening, his voice low as the two of you sat on the grass near your trailer, watching the sun dip below the horizon.

“A little,” you admitted, your gaze fixed on the fiery hues of the sky. “It’s Glastonbury. It feels… massive.”

“Because it is,” he said simply. “But you’re ready. You’ve worked your ass off to get here. And tomorrow, you’re going to show everyone exactly why you’re headlining.”

His confidence in you was unwavering, and it settled something deep in your chest. You leaned into him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

The morning of the show was a blur of activity. Your team bustled around you, going over every last detail: the setlist, your wardrobe, the press schedule. The Pyramid Stage loomed in the distance, a symbol of everything you’d worked toward.

Austin stayed close, his quiet presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. While your manager fretted over timing and logistics, he handed you a bottle of water and whispered something ridiculous in your ear, making you laugh when you needed it most.

The morning passed quickly, but the excitement truly hit as you and Austin wandered the festival grounds together. It felt surreal to be there—not as a fan, but as the headliner. The crowd was already building, and the energy in the air was electric.

Austin held your hand as the two of you wandered through the bustling crowds, the sun warm against your skin. The atmosphere was electric, a blend of laughter, music, and the scent of food stalls offering everything from wood-fired pizza to vegan curries.

“Where to first?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looked at you with a crooked smile.

“Let’s just explore,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in days.

For a few hours, you managed to forget the pressure. With Austin by your side, you blended into the crowd, stopping to watch a few sets from other bands and grabbing drinks from a vendor. He kept you grounded, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as the two of you laughed and joked like it was any other day.

At one point, Austin dragged you to the edge of a smaller stage, insisting you needed to see the up-and-coming indie band he’d discovered months ago.

“They’re incredible,” he said, his eyes lighting up as the band launched into their set. Watching him get lost in the music, his head bobbing along to the beat, made your chest ache with affection.

As the afternoon stretched on, you found yourselves back near the artist’s area. You were mid-sentence, laughing at one of Austin’s terrible jokes, when you spotted them—your mum, your siblings, your best friends, all standing there, waving and grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

Your breath caught. “What…?”

Austin’s hand on your back grounded you, his voice soft in your ear. “Surprise.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you turned to him. “You did this?”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I knew how much you wanted them here. It’s a big day, and you deserve to have your people with you.”

You threw your arms around him, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.

He held you close for just a moment longer before nudging you toward your family. “Go say hi.”

You turned back toward your family, their excited grins making your heart swell. Your mum’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she clasped her hands over her mouth as if trying to contain the emotion bubbling inside her.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she finally managed, stepping forward to pull you into a tight hug. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

Your throat tightened as you hugged her back, the familiar scent of her perfume grounding you in the moment. “I didn’t know you were coming,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This means everything.”

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world,” your older brother chimed in, stepping up with a wide grin. “It’s not every day our little rockstar headlines Glastonbury.”

Your best friend nudged him playfully. “Excuse me, our rockstar. I was her first fan, remember?”

The teasing broke through the emotional haze, drawing a laugh from you as you turned to hug each of them in turn. The joy and pride radiating from their faces were overwhelming, a reminder of the support system that had carried you to this moment.

Finally, your mum stepped back, her hands resting on your shoulders as she looked you over with a mixture of awe and love. “You’ve worked so hard for this,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re so proud of you.”

Austin’s hand found the small of your back again, a steadying presence as you blinked away tears. “I can’t believe you all came,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion as you turned back to your mum.

She smiled, her own eyes glassy. “It was Austin’s idea. He made sure everything was perfect.”

Your chest tightened as you glanced at Austin, his expression soft but steady. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of meaning.

His lips quirked into a small smile, his hand squeezing yours. “Anything for you,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on yours before shifting back to your family, giving them a polite nod.

The rest of the afternoon flew by in a whirlwind of hugs, laughter, and stories. Your mum fussed over you, your siblings teased you mercilessly, and your best friends gushed about how amazing the festival was. Having them there made everything feel real in a way that nothing else could.

The moment finally arrived. Standing backstage, you could hear the distant hum of the crowd, thousands upon thousands of people waiting for you. Your heart pounded in your chest as your team made their final checks, and Austin leaned in close, his hands on your shoulders as he searched your face. “You ready?”

You took a deep breath, nodding. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Go show them why you’re here.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd hitting you like a wave. The lights were blinding, the sea of faces stretching as far as the eye could see. But as you launched into the first song, everything else melted away. This was where you were meant to be.

Each song flowed into the next, the audience singing along, their energy lifting you higher with every beat.

When it came time for the acoustic section of the set, you stepped forward, your guitar slung over your shoulder. The crowd quieted, their anticipation palpable as you adjusted the mic.

“There’s a song I want to share tonight,” you began, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “It’s one I wrote a long time ago, in a tiny apartment with no idea if anyone would ever hear it. It’s about why I started, and why I keep going.”

The first chords of the demo song filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped. The audience hushed almost instantly, the sheer intimacy of the moment drawing them in. The notes carried over the crowd like a gentle tide, and as you sang the first verse, you could feel the weight of the lyrics settle over everyone.

In the VIP section, your mum clasped her hands over her chest, her lips moving silently as if singing along. Your siblings leaned closer to each other, their faces a mixture of pride and quiet awe. And then there was Austin—his expression raw, his eyes fixed solely on you as if the entire world had narrowed to this moment.

The words came easily, each one laced with the emotion you’d poured into the song years ago. The melody wrapped around you, pulling you back to that tiny apartment, to the late nights spent dreaming of stages like this. As you reached the chorus, your voice steadied, confidence blooming in your chest as the crowd swayed gently, their phones lighting up the night like stars.

When the final note faded, a beat of silence hung in the air, the moment suspended in time. Then the cheers erupted, rolling over you in a wave so powerful it left you breathless. You glanced back at your bandmates, who wore matching grins, their energy feeding into your own.

But your eyes found Austin’s again, and the look he gave you—a mixture of pride, awe, and love—made your chest ache. He pressed a hand to his heart, mouthing, You did it.

The rest of the set was a blur of energy and emotion, each song building toward the explosive finale. As the last chord rang out, fireworks lit up the night sky, the crowd’s cheers reaching a fever pitch.

You stood at the edge of the stage, soaking it all in. This was your moment. Your dream.

Backstage was a flurry of hugs, congratulations, and champagne. Your family and friends surrounded you, their faces glowing with pride and excitement. They pulled you into hugs, their words tumbling over each other as they tried to express how incredible it had been.

Your younger sister was the first to break the silence as you walked off the stage, her voice cutting through the post-show chaos. “That. Was. INSANE!” she shouted, throwing her arms around you. “You were on fire out there!”

Your brother grinned, clapping you on the back. “I don’t think Mum’s stopped crying since the second song.”

“I’m just… overwhelmed,” your mum said, her voice trembling as she hugged you tightly. “You were phenomenal, darling. Every note, every word—you owned that stage.”

Even your best friend, who rarely got emotional about anything, looked teary-eyed as she handed you a bottle of water. “You didn’t just headline Glastonbury,” she said, her voice shaking with pride. “You owned Glastonbury.”

Their words filled the space in your chest that had felt so heavy for weeks, each one grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed. When you turned to Austin, his quiet smile said everything your family couldn’t—that he saw not just the performer, but the person behind it all.

He waited until the chaos died down before pulling you aside. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked at you with a mix of awe and love.

“You were incredible,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.”

Tears stung your eyes as you smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shook his head. “This was all you, baby. I just got to watch.”

Leaning up, you kissed him, the world fading away for just a moment. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

As the celebration began to wind down, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the stage, the crowd long gone but their energy still lingering in the air. The fireworks had faded, leaving the sky a quiet, inky blue. Austin sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of his presence grounding you.

“Crazy night, huh?” you said, your voice soft as you looked out over the empty field.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You turned to him, your smile faint but full of meaning. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just tonight—all of it.”

Austin’s expression softened, his hand finding yours. “You could’ve, but I’m glad I got to be here. Watching you… it’s like seeing someone touch the stars.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just hope I can keep going,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This dream… it’s everything, but sometimes it feels like it’s too much.”

“You will,” he said firmly, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Because it’s who you are. And when it gets too heavy, you’ve got me. Always.”

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. For the first time in weeks, the pressure didn’t feel so overwhelming. You weren’t alone in this—not on stage, not in life. And as the two of you sat there, the Pyramid Stage towering behind you, you realised that the dream wasn’t just about the music. It was about the people who made it worth chasing.

[harrytheehottie]

JUNO

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST this is a part of the short & sweet fic challenge @harry-on-broadway let me know what you think 💘 hope you enjoy!

The sun was casting a warm golden glow through the windows of your living room as you sat on the couch. Harry was in the kitchen making your nightly tea as you rested on the sofa. It was a peaceful evening, like many that you have shared over the last three years. This familiar feeling and routine was something you cherished especially with the hectic schedule Harry’s life could bring.

A year ago, he finished his two year long world tour. It was an incredible feat and one that was an emotional roller coaster since it began. He had his entire life planned from the minute we all went into lockdown to the final show in Italy and these last seven months were spent just making up for lost time. He was always home when you came back from work, he was the one that was traveling on your schedule and your terms. It was a great change from how your relationship was before. You didn’t have to anticipate the day that he was going to go away for weeks at a time because you were a part of that decision making now and it only made the two of you stronger as a unit. 

You glanced at the framed photos on the mantel: you and Harry in various stages over the last three years--goofing around backstage at Coachella, the night he turned his green room in MSG into a home theater and begged security to let you two spend the night after you just got off a six hour flight to surprise him for his last show. It was the simple moments that were your favorite, the picture of you walking through the Heath, a cup of coffee and pastries in tow for your favorite weekend tradition of a Saturday morning picnic. 

This was the first year that you were able to think about the future just as it pertained to you and Harry. You didn’t have to think about how your life decisions factored into anyone else's. You always knew you wanted to have a family. He was always going above and beyond for the children in his life not just by spoiling them with gifts but checking up on them and making sure they knew that he was always there. And this became more apparent when he became an Uncle. He was always the first to offer up babysitting so his sister and her partner could enjoy some quality time, even making the trek up to Cheshire to watch his cousin's children if they asked.

So, when Harry walked back into the living room with a cup of tea for you and snacks for himself you sort of blurted it out before you had the chance to second guess the right time for this conversation. 

“I’m ready to have a baby.”

Harry’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard, “What?” almost second guessing what you just said. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing realizing that you are not going to be able to take those words back. “I’ve just been thinking, we have talked about the future a lot as this far-fetched idea but we’re here now and…” you paused looking up at him, his expression shifting from the initial shock, he leaned closer, taking your hands in his. You knew how Harry worked and the subtle shift in energy was all you needed to continue, “I know not to think, I know I’m ready… for that next step.” 

A moment of silence stretched between you as he processed your words “You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you admitted, looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine going through that journey with anyone else. And it just feels good right now, us, we are so good right now and there is just no reason to wait.” 

Harry’s expression softened, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “It’s a big step, probably one of the biggest steps we will ever take together.” 

“Will we ever truly be ready?” You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Life is unpredictable, but I want this with you.I want to build a family together.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. “I’ve thought about it too,” he finally said, turning back to you. “I want that. I’ve always wanted it honestly. I remember the first time you met Ruby and the way she was instantly drawn to you. S’probably when the thought first crossed my mind.”

You remembered that day. You were so incredibly nervous to meet Harry’s close group of friends. It was Ruby -- his God daughter’s 4th birthday. You had only been dating for around three months at that point. You remember stressing about what to buy her as a gift and even though Harry promised no one would think twice if you showed up empty handed. You still scoured the internet looking up every list of ‘best gifts for a 4 year old girl’ and settled on a Peppa Pig Camper Playset with all the characters. And to say it was a hit was an understatement. The two of you still joke about how as soon as Ruby opened her present she demanded that you stay after to set up the toy and play with her. 

Harry remembers watching the way you were interacting with Ruby and how her father, Ben made a comment about how he had never seen Harry so fixated on someone before like he had you. It was still early days but he always went back to that moment and how it led you to where you are now. 

“So, are we ready to do this?” You asked with a mix of excitement and nervousness in your voice. 

“You know, if we really want to be serious about this. We’re going to have to start practicing.” Harry teased pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his body against yours as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative like he was emphasizing the importance of the moment you just shared.  

You pulled away first, a smirk on your face, “Hmm.. practice? I’m feeling a little tired right now,” You teased with a wide yawn stretching your arms over your head. The playful banter that you know drives him crazy. Harry moves his hands to cup your face, his thumb glazing over your lips again, “C’mere” he whispers. He begins kissing down your neck, leaving small kisses along his path from his lips. You move your hands through his hair, as he scoots back on the couch, pushing your shirt up in the process and you help to take it off.

The kisses continue. He’s moving down your neck, between your cleavage and he stops right at the top of your stomach. His hands that were holding yours moved to touch your belly — picturing what was going to happen next. The commitment to a family and how you would be the home for his future baby. You were almost tearing up at the sight of him and just how careful he was already, always putting your needs first and making you his priority. 

“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby,” You whisper as Harry moves his hands to the waist of your pants. You are already ready for him and he knew it just by how much you were wiggling under him trying to get him to move faster.

“I want you,” he says in a low breathy tone before helping you get your pants off. You move your weight onto your forearms to get a good view of him. You watch as Harry slides your underwear to the side, a rush of pleasure washing over the both of you. “So wet for me…” leaving his lips as he moves his fingers up and down your slit. The juxtaposition of the sexyness and tenderness of the moment right as he slid one and quickly two digits in pushing his fingers in and out. The pleasure washing over your body, the whimper of ‘Oh yes’ and ‘Baby’ a moan escaping your lips as you rode out your first orgasm. 

His lips are immediately back on yours as you slide your hand into his pants pushing his joggers off trying to keep every part of your body touching. After being in a relationship for three years you still periodically used contraceptives especially when you are in the thick of it with his work never wanting anything to come in the way of jeopardizing this unspoken tension between the two of you. And tonight, was going to be and feel different, no more trying to locate the last spot you left condoms going on stretches of time of just trying the process. This was intentional and you felt the mutual giddyness as you slid your hand down his length pumping him once, twice, three times before Harry is ready for you. 

“M’not gonna last very long,” he says before aligning your hips before pushing in deep. Taking a couple of deep breaths as you move your hips along with Harry as you adjust to the familiar feeling of him inside you. Harry leans his head toward you leaving kisses all over him, your nails dragging up and down his back. 

“Tell me it feels good,” You whispered the sounds of your mutual pleasure echoing in the room. 

“Feels so fuckin’ good, always s’fuckin good” Harry was moving faste and harder meeting your gaze right before letting himself go inside you. His body collapsing on top of you as both tried to catch your breath from the pleasure. You had your arms wrapped around his body wanting to keep the warmth of his body on you forever. 

You cleaned yourselves up and spent the rest of the night thinking about your future and how you were going to take that next step forward. Harry was your safe space and you were his. You both knew that this next step forward would be unlike anything you’ve done before but you were both ready, as a team to make this next step. 

And one day, you will be in this same living room waiting for Harry to finish making a bottle for your future baby - and boy, could you not wait. 

[redsrooftopprincess]

Gravity (Part 2)

This may be becoming a thing. There will be at least one more chapter and I have no idea what to call this thing. Maybe by the end I'll know. 😅

Gn reader x Raphael

Warnings: Hypothermia, language (but I think that's a given in a Raph fic?)

Part 1 Part 3

It had been one week. One week since he'd slipped. One week since the fever carried him to your rooftop.

You haven't spoken. More specifically, he hasn't spoken. Apart from texting you when he made it home like you insisted he did every night, it had been radio silence. You texted him before his patrol like you always did, and he stared at his phone, expressionless, before putting it back in his pocket.

What could he say?

He'd already had the conversation a thousand times in his head, and as far as he was concerned, it didn't need to be said. He didn't need you to let him down easy.

Because you'd mean it. Every damn word. You're sorry. He's your best friend. Nothing has to change.

But it would change, there was no way it couldn't. Things were different now.

That night had been the worst of it. He'd left not long after his confession. At that point, just the sound of your voice was enough to make him weep, and he didn't want to make things worse. Not that he thought they could *get* worse.

He made up some excuse about Leo calling it early, and ran.

He was running now, through the freezing rain, a sudden cold snap in the middle of spring, and hoping that between the temperature and the downpour hammering into his coat, he could think about anything else.

It wasn't long before he was considering ditching the coat. It was already soaked through, and weighing him down, which was hard to do.

That gave him pause.

He stopped, ducking under an overhang, and opened his coat, pulling the fabric back to expose his side. He twisted and looked at the small device mounted onto his shell just under his shoulder blade. There was supposed to be a little red light. There wasn't.

Shit.

They each had them. One of the first inventions D had come up with after they'd started doing patrols as kids.

A blizzard had suddenly torn through the city one night, and they were woefully unprepared with only winter coats. The cold dropped their body temperatures, and then them. Splinter had to hunt across the rooftops until he found them, asleep and hypothermic, huddled behind a construction dumpster.

Donnie didn't leave his lab for days. He blamed himself, he should have known the blizzard was coming, that their gear was insufficient, he should have had *some* kind of backup heat supply. No matter how many times his family told him otherwise, it was his fault, and he would never let it happen again.

So he built something to fix it. Raph didn't really get a lot of the specifics, but the overall was that the small devices "converted kinetic energy into heat that was then stored and distributed throughout the inside of their shells." Or, as Raph understands it, as long as you keep moving, you won't die.

One night a few weeks ago, someone had gotten lucky and he had taken a rusted rebar to the chest that had shattered on impact. His regulator had been damaged by the shrapnel, but the weather had already been warming up, and then the season hit and it was forgotten about.

The rain must have been the final nail, only the exterior was watertight. It was dead. He could already feel the cold and damp setting in. He needed to get home. Fast.

He set off, the only sound other than the roar of the rain was the gradually slowing heartbeat that pounded in his ears.

*Fuck* it was cold.

It wasn't long before his waterlogged coat became too much to carry. He ditched it behind an air conditioning unit, and kept moving.

Hailstones felt like bullets as they pelted bare skin, and through the sheets of rain, the haze of cold and exhaustion that had started at the edges was encroaching. It wasn't long before he was too tired to think.

He was moving on pure instinct, without even the presence of mind to pray he could make it somewhere safe. Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny Leo was lecturing him for not hitting his emergency signal.

He stumbles. He is so, so tired. The soft darkness of sleep is pulling at him like a rip tide. He drags himself to the next rooftop, barely touching down before he collapses.

[kayewrite]

Swear it again

(bsn ending #6)

Bang chan x reader !! Christopher Bang x reader !! word count: 2.8k

bsn alternative ending #4 wherein; chan.. is what your heart wants

an: any team chan here? coz babe! i wasnt in any team but i can say that.. i love chan here!! (and seungmin */sobs)

part 1 and part 2 first

Bang Chan was the most mature person in your circle.

He was the one who would scold everyone for their wrongdoings, always making sure they understood the consequences of their actions..

He gave advice like a big brother, offering guidance that was both thoughtful and practical, always with your best interests at heart..

He provided help whenever he could, going out of his way to make sure no one felt left behind, even when it meant sacrificing his own time or energy..

And he protected your friendship in the best way he could, often stepping in to mediate conflicts, always striving to keep the group united and strong.

He wrote songs, pouring his heart and soul into every lyric and melody, creating music that resonated with everyone who listened..

He wanted to become a singer ever since he was a kid, because he loved making people happy..

He sang well..

He produced beats..

He got his driver's license at an early age..

He was gentle, his kindness evident in the way he treated everyone around him, always with a smile and a reassuring word..

He was a good cook..

He liked sunny days more than rainy ones..

His hobby was playing sports..

He thought his charming point was his dimples when he smiled, a feature that made everyone around him smile too, his happiness infectious..

He could rotate his hand 360 degrees, a quirky talent that never failed to amuse you, just another thing that made him unique..

He was handsome..

And cute at the same time.

—Wait. Were we still talking about how mature he is?

Well, no! You were talking about how much you knew him.

And why did you know him that much? Because, yes indeed, you liked him.

But—

"I swear to God! I would never fall in love with someone like Chan!" It was just a teasing moment as you lifted your right hand, as if pledging an oath.

You were playing truth or dare with your friends one time. And then you picked truth, and they teased you, asking if you liked Chan—where you immediately denied it by swearing.

And you thought you would never.

But then there was him, always taking care of you, asking How are you after your major exams.

Asking what your cravings were for the day so he could buy them for you.

Asking what you were eating in your apartment. If are you just eating cup noodles again.

Patting your back and giving you a hug when you cried after failing your physics subject, holding you close as you let the tears fall.

The first one to greet you on your birthday, warm and cheerful as he wished you all the happiness in the world.

You felt like… you didn’t understand.

Yes, others cared about you, but Chan… there was something about him you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

And when the way he slowly placed a pair of headphones on you and then played a song he had written and composed by himself, his eyes watching your reaction…

You finally admitted it to yourself—yes… you liked him.

"I swear to God…" Now, you couldn’t continue your words as the others looked at you, waiting for your answer.

"I'm tired of playing. Let's sleep." Then you stood up, leaving them with confused faces.

Well, don’t overthink it. They were just wondering if you really knew how to play truth or dare.

When he wrote that blue sticky note song… you thought he was the one who sneakily slipped it into your binder.

"We helped in making that song," he said as you faced him, "but Changbin wrote the title and most of the lyrics."

That answered your question—it was Changbin who really did put it there.

Not gonna lie, you really hoped it was him. But knowing that another friend did it, you felt anxious. If you were to tell everyone you liked this man standing in front of you… what would their reaction be?

After that night at the party, when you got home and cried, you knew now that Bang Chan liked you. But you didn’t know what to do.

It was because of your stupid swear to yourself!

Why did you pledge something when you couldn’t even handle the consequences?

You continued your life after that, but things felt different. You started putting up barriers between yourself and your friends, especially Seungmin and Changbin, who you always saw in class.

Thankfully, they seemed to understand, giving you the space you thought you needed.

But deep down, you hoped that everything would go back to normal. In just a few days, you already missed the closeness, the easy laughter, the sense of belonging that came with your friendship. And so, you made a promise to yourself that you would fix this—no matter how difficult it might be.

You were about to take a different path home when you spotted Seungmin walking in your direction. He caught your eye, and for a moment, you considered slipping away before he could reach you. But before you could decide, he stopped you.

"Wait. Let's talk."

Even though you weren't ready to face him, there was a pull, a longing to reconnect. You missed Seungmin—your best friend, the one who always understood you without needing many words.

As you both sat down, sipping on your favorite coffee, an awkward silence hung between you, thick with unsaid words.

"I know this is hard for you," Seungmin began, his voice gentle and steady, as if he had rehearsed what to say a hundred times before. "But I hope you won't go through with your plan of distancing yourself from us. We don’t want to lose you."

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of his words sink in. That wasn’t what you wanted either. They were all precious to you. You were just trying to give yourself some space, to sort out your feelings before they got even more complicated. "It’s not that I want to leave…" you mumbled, struggling to find the right words. "I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this right now."

Seungmin nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "But we’ll give you the time you need," he said softly, taking a small step closer, as if he wanted to bridge the gap that had formed between you. "Just know that we're here for you. We're friends, and we should be with each other, especially when things get tough."

It was as if he could read your mind—he knew exactly what you were thinking, even though you hadn’t said a word. The unspoken understanding between you was comforting, but it also made you feel guilty for even considering pulling away.

"I’m sorry," you finally spoke, your voice trembling with emotion. You weren’t entirely sure why you were apologizing, but you felt it deep in your heart. Maybe it was because you were about to break his heart, to put a crack in the foundation of your friendship. "I… I just…"

You wanted to tell him everything, but the words were stuck, lodged in your throat, as if admitting them out loud would make everything too real to bear.

Seungmin looked at you, his expression softening with concern. "Hey," he said gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "It’s okay. You don’t have to say it all at once."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. "I just don’t want to hurt anyone," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You like someone, but you're afraid to choose because you don’t want to hurt the others, right?" Seungmin’s words hit the mark, once again proving how well he knew you.

You didn’t nod, but you didn’t deny it either. Instead, you lowered your head, unable to meet his gaze. How did he always know what you were thinking? How did he always manage to say exactly what you needed to hear?

"Don’t be sorry, you silly," Seungmin chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. His laughter was warm, like a blanket on a cold day, wrapping around you and making you feel safe. It was as if he wasn’t hurt at all, like this was just another one of your usual conversations. "Why would you be sorry? It’s not like this is all your fault."

"But it is," you insisted, your voice cracking as you finally met his eyes. "It feels like it is. I never meant for this to happen, but now… now everything’s so messed up."

"Well it was your fault to be pretty.." He mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite catch—But then before you could ask what, he spoke up again, louder this time, "Don’t be sorry!"

You were thankful for his words, but the anxiety gnawing at you only grew worse. What if Seungmin was just saying this to comfort you while he was hurting inside? What if he was pretending everything was fine just for your sake?

"Who is it, by the way?" he asked casually, as if he were asking about the answer to a quiz question. His tone was light, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes,

"It’s--" your heart starting to race,

"It’s Chan, right?" He slapped the table, a triumphant smile on his face as if he’d just solved a puzzle. "I knew it! Ever since we played that game years ago, I had a feeling. You swore you’d never fall for him, and you think I’m a fool to believe that?"

You blinked at him, startled. "How… how did you--"

Seungmin grinned, leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence. "Come on, it’s not that hard to figure out. You’re not as good at hiding your feelings as you think." He paused, his smile softening. "And honestly? I’m glad it’s Chan. He’s a good guy. Just… I didn’t expect it to happen so soon."

Seungmin’s laughter was infectious, and despite the situation, you found yourself smiling. "I mean… I didn’t want this to happen, but--"

"But you—"

"Wait, let me finish talking," you interrupted 'cause he was always cutting you off, laughing at his eagerness Seungmin joined in, the tension between you easing with every shared laugh.

As you continued to talk, the comfort and ease you always felt with Seungmin returned. He had a way of making everything feel right, even when it wasn’t.

"What I want to say is… go for it! Go get that Chan!" He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But if he ever hurts you, I swear to God, he won’t be able to walk again."

You laughed at Seungmin’s playful threat, feeling a warmth in your chest that only a friend like him could bring. In the end, you sent him a grateful smile, and Seungmin returned it, understanding exactly what you meant without needing to say it out loud.

You hesitated for a moment before knocking on Chan's studio door. The silence that followed felt like an eternity. You knocked again, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. Still, there was no response. With a deep breath, you knocked a third time, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Chan, are you mad at me? Please… let's talk." Your voice wavered as you spoke to the door in front of you, desperation seeping into your words.

But there was still no answer. The lump in your throat grew as you fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. Just as you were about to give up, a voice behind you made you freeze.

"Why are you here?" Chan's voice was laced with surprise, as if he couldn’t believe you were standing there. He must have come back from somewhere, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. "I mean… I’m glad you’re here!" He quickly added, realizing how he might have sounded. "I’m sorry, I just went to get some coffee. Come on, let’s go inside."

You blinked away the tears that had gathered in your eyes and followed him as he unlocked the door and pushed it open for you. The familiar warmth of his studio washed over you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of equipment and the faint scent of coffee mingling in the air.

You took a seat in the extra chair beside his workstation, and Chan set his coffee down on the table. "Wait here for a second," he said, heading toward the small kitchenette. "I’ll get another cup so we can share this."

You nodded silently, watching him as he moved around. When he returned, he poured more than half of his coffee into your cup, leaving himself with only a small portion.

"Here," he said, handing the cup to you before sitting down beside you. "How are you?" he asked, his eyes searching your face for any sign of how you were really feeling.

You tried to maintain eye contact, but the weight of everything that had happened over the past week made it impossible. You looked down, your hands trembling slightly as you held the cup. "I’m… fine," you mumbled, knowing full well that Chan could see through the lie.

He didn’t push you, though. He knew you well enough to understand that you weren’t ready to talk about what was really going on. "I really wanted to come to your apartment," Chan said softly, his voice filled with concern. "But then I realized you might need some time alone."

His understanding, much like Seungmin’s, was both comforting and heartbreaking. You appreciated how well he knew you, but it also made you feel even guiltier for pulling away from him.

Chan hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Uhm, since you’re here… Can you listen to the song I’m working on?" His voice was tentative, almost as if he was afraid you’d say no.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you nodded. "Yes, I’d love to."

Chan’s face lit up at your response, and he quickly grabbed a pair of headphones. Even though you were perfectly capable of putting them on yourself, he carefully placed them over your ears, making sure they were adjusted just right. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it made your heart ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

He pressed play, and the music flowed into your ears. The first few notes were soft, an acoustic intro that was both unexpected and captivating. Then the piano joined in, followed by the steady beat of drums. It was unlike anything you had heard from Chan before—new, refreshing, and undeniably beautiful.

"Are you the one singing?" you asked, your voice full of awe as the song continued to play.

"Yeah," Chan replied, his voice barely audible over the music. He smiled at your reaction, a mix of pride and nervousness in his eyes.

You focused on the lyrics, trying to piece together the story they told. The words were tender, vulnerable, and they struck a chord deep within you. As the song came to an end, you slowly removed the headphones, letting the silence settle around you.

"What’s the title?" you asked, as you always did after listening to one of Chan’s songs.

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "I’ll tell you later," he said with a playful grin.

"It was amazing, Chan," you said sincerely, your voice thick with emotion. You could tell he felt the depth of your words, his smile softening into something more genuine.

For a moment, you simply looked at him, taking in every detail of his expression. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the warmth in his gaze, the slight flush on his cheeks—it all made your heart race. Before you knew what you were doing, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and kissed him.

Chan froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then he responded, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt both hesitant and eager. The taste of coffee lingered between you, warm and comforting, but it was the intensity of the emotions that overwhelmed you. Your tears, which you had been holding back for so long, finally spilled over.

You realized what the lyrics were really about. They were about you. Every word, every note—he had written them for you.

I swear I would never fall in love with you that was what I always told myself too, but every time I saw you, I couldn’t help but fall harder

Swear that you will like me too, just like how I liked you. I hoped you know it… Please swear again

and that was the title.

---

an: help