#that’s a good enough send off to me man

[aureatelys]

nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, reader is kind of a brat and also very sexual and forward :), car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.  

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

-

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

-

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

 “Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.  

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

-

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.  

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

[gyaruhana]

I beg for more fic of Nam-gyu (player 124) specifically yandere and smut idk it fits him

Nam-gyu/Player 124 - Yandere headcannons nsfw

Synopsis: Yandere Nam-gyu headcannons !!

A/N: this may be quite dark I'm ngl so tread with caution..

Warning: smut content, yandere themes, drugging, manipulation, noncon

NSFW:

➠ nothing sane about this man especially since he's high 90% of the time.. ➠ From the moment he saw you, he immediately claimed you as his ➠ very very touchy !! always has a hand on your thigh or around your waist blah blah blah ➠ likely laces your drink if you met at a club ➠ not to kidnap you (yet) but just to take you to his place ➠ The moment you're drugged out and all your words are slurred, he's speaking to you with a baby voice ➠ He'll say he'll drive you to his house and you can't even say no bc ur too out of it to realize what's going on ➠ does absolutely fuck you the moment he gets home ➠ groans and starts praising about how you're soo good for him and you always will be ➠ the day after you have a pounding headache and don't even remember what happened so he acts all innocent before sending you home ➠ Bad idea letting him drive you home because now he knows where you live ➠ he'll start driving by your place a lot more often and you find yourself bumping into him constantly ➠ The moment you become good enough friends and invite him over to your house- his behavior escalates ➠ sneakily places cameras in your bathroom so, when he gets home, he'll have something to jerk off to that night ➠ if he's feeling bold enough (high enough), he'll steal your underwear ➠ He does take his time with you at first and do his freaky shit in private but, after seeing a guy make a move on you, he drops the act ➠ he just stalks you to a quiet place after you finish work and then knocks you out ➠ Ties you up to his bed and sits there till you wake up with a smirk ➠ Gets straight to the point and admits he just wants you for himself ➠ probably gets turned on by your fear and jerks off in front of you as you cry ➠ fucks you every single day it's insane the stamina this man has ➠ sometimes he does panic though when he's not high and realizes that he's literally kidnapped a girl and made her life a living nightmare ➠ his response is to just to get more high ➠ if you ever tried to escape, he'd highkey get so nervous when he didn't see you tied to his bed ➠ the fear was presented with anger so, when he found you, he was VERY rough ➠ made a decision to try get you pregnant so you wouldn't leave because he knew you'd be too afraid to raise a child alone ➠ developed a breeding kink because of that ➠ He does have a choking too i feel like that's worth mentioning !! ➠ Overall, he's high as fuck all the time so he never plays nice ➠ Do expect to be trapped with him forever and ever..

"Fucking cunt. Did you really try to leave me?" he spoke with a hand around your throat as he pinned you to the wall. He was not happy at your attempt to leave him here. He needed you to stay. He wasn't in love, no - he knew that. Yet he was absolutely obsessed with the way you smelled and tasted. That's why he couldn't let you go and also why he had to punish you for trying. "I guess i'll have to teach you a lesson and breed your fucking pussy,"

[hd-erised]

Thank you so very much to all our amazing writers, artists, pinch-hitters, readers, commenters, and reccers who once again made this fest such an amazing success!

If you haven't had time to make it through all the fantastic works here yet, we hope that you'll still read and leave some love for our writers and artists! Comments are appreciated all year round! ;) As are commenters—like you amazing readers and participants, including the phenomenal 440 people who have left an incredible total of 1898 comments on H/D Erised works this year—thank you for all you do to make this community what it is!! And a special shout-out, again, to our ever-expanding list of all-star commenters, who have commented on more than half (and sometimes way more!!) of this year’s works: blueheart_V, @sorrybutblog, khalulu, @nv-md, and veradubhghoill!! Thank you!!!

We'll be going through the works today, revealing the authors on AO3, removing the mod account as a co-author, and adding the creator names to the tumblr headers. We'll be sending the participants a wrap-up email when we've finished with all the final admin things on our end.  

Thanks again for making this another brilliant round of Erised! We hope to see you all again next year! <3 @epitomereally @honeybeet @nv-md

Art:

@elizah321 drew Brewed Awakenings for @jessixaluci [T]

@bicholsdrarrysideblog drew The Case of the Mysterious Baker for @sorrybutblog [G]

@discessio drew Ceilings. for @karamelised [M]

@threading-fate drew Us, again? for @nv-md [M]

@frm9pm drew Unemployed and On Guard for @makeitp1nk [T]

@legendrarry drew No One but Me for justlikewriting [M]

@faiell drew Stolen Glances for @dodgerkedavra [T]

@sharperthan drew Hauntingly Familiar for @moonflower-rose [T]

Fic + Art:

@fantalfart wrote & drew A Dragon to Call Mine for @annanother-thing [E, ~24,000]

Fic:

@agentmoppet wrote Where Starlight Falls for @citrusses [E, ~33,700]

The magic concealing Sirius’s Last Will and Testament doesn’t reveal the full extent of Harry’s inheritance until two years after the war. When it does, it turns out that Harry has inherited more than just the Black Family vault—he’s inherited the family’s magic, too. He just has to find it first. And he needs Draco Malfoy’s help to do it.

@sorrybutblog wrote Runaway Train for @lqtraintracks [E, ~18,100]

Harry was already keen to figure out what’s been causing a series of disturbances in the London Underground before Draco Malfoy showed up acting suspicious. Two explosions, several very confused Muggles, and a cloud of mysterious sticky powder later, Harry and Malfoy can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Can Harry shag his way to the answer to all of his questions? Seems unlikely, but what can a man do but try?

veradubhghoill wrote At Night All Birds Are Black for IzRoan [E, ~51,800]

Harry loves being an Auror—the long hours, adrenaline-fuelled chases, and even the paperwork. But when a haunting leads to his suspension, he’s forced to continue his investigation in secret. As he unravels the murder of a young girl, he turns to the one person he never expected he’d need: Draco Malfoy.

@oknowkiss wrote The Melting Point of Wax for @vukovich [M, ~10,500]

Harry Potter is many things: captain of the Chudley Cannons, the fun uncle, a good enough friend, comfortable in the life he’s built for himself. Comfortable, that is, until a risque broom advertisement and a rumor about a fellow athlete come together to send him spiralling into the world of high-stakes broom racing, high-flying turtles, and the chaos of falling in love.

justlikewriting wrote Body and Soul for @a-sentimental-man [M, ~22,200]

When the headaches became worse and it got more and more difficult for Draco to work, he was left with no other choice but to recognise his stupid problem exactly for what it was. Even if that meant realising that the best, or perhaps even only, solution could solely come from one person: the one person he hadn’t seen for months, the one person he was still in love with. The one person who should never know. Because, clearly, Harry would never be able to give Draco what he needed anyway.

@citrusses wrote The Pain From an Old Wound for @sharperthan [T, ~31,100]

Getting hit with a mysterious blood curse is all in a day’s work for Harry Potter. Having to work with his former colleague, rival, bully, and boyfriend, is not. Harry’s not sure which is going to do him in first: the curse sucking his magic dry, or Draco Malfoy, as frustrating, condescending, and painfully attractive as he’s always been.

@lqtraintracks wrote The Most Splendid Thing for @sleepstxtic [E, ~61,200]

Star Quidditch rivals Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter become accidentally bonded. They still hate each other, but now it’s untenable to leave each other’s sides—and my, but it feels oh so good to touch. They’re either going to murder one another, or fall in love. OR: A story in which Draco finally allows himself happiness, and Harry finally learns that he deserves to be whole.

xErised wrote Borealis Green for @faiell [E, ~47,200]

Draco left Harry on the night of their first kiss, when they were eighteen. Ten years later, Harry, now Deputy Lead of the Norwegian Aurors, barges back into Draco’s life at the Ministry, seeking his help—both personal and professional—for a case, to re-capture Rodolphus Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood. Turns out that Draco couldn’t really get over Harry, either.

IzRoan wrote Don’t Fear the Reaper for @thehoneybeet [E, ~36,900]

Harry anticipates it’s Luna or maybe Hermione at Grimmauld Place, here to rouse him out of purgatorial listlessness once again. Instead, Harry finds an opinionated crow, a scroll with his name on it, and one exhaustingly persistent Draco Malfoy, who insists that Harry is his latest soul to Reap. The only problem is…Harry’s still alive. Or so he thought.  Quote: Learning how to live takes a whole life, and, which may surprise you more, it takes a whole life to learn how to die. - Seneca

@tessacrowley wrote Sub rosa for @hoko-onchi-writes [E, ~37,100]

After the tragic and unexpected death of his mother, Draco Malfoy’s quiet life as Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts professor gets upended—first by the manifestation of mysterious and inexplicable magic, and then by the revelation of an inheritance deliberately hidden from him his entire life.

@thecouchsofa wrote Bare Moon Rising for xErised [E, ~15,500]

Potter moved towards him, sticking his hand out. “If that’s the case, we’re both doing it. You do the nude Tornados calendar, and I’ll do the Auror one. Most sales wins.”  Oh no.  “Are you backing out already?” Potter leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Finally admitting that mine’s bigger than yours, then? Or do you want to cop a feel first?”  Charities could bugger off. Nothing good ever came of them, really.

@jessixaluci wrote Fighting the Chill for @bicholsdrarrysideblog [M, ~25,400]

What should have been an average and dull day for Draco Malfoy, turned rather south when he’s attacked in the middle of Diagon Alley.

@garagepaperback wrote palindrome for @threading-fate [E, ~25,800]

“Why did you let me kiss you?” Potter smirks.  “That’s not how I remember it. Why did you let me kiss you?”  “I’m stuck in a time loop. You’re not going to remember, so,” Draco’s tongue drags, calcified around the words. “Why not.”  Potter’s brows furrow but the smile stays intact. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

@amomorii wrote A Soft Place to Fall for @epitomereally [E, ~142,500]

When Harry arrives for his first year teaching at Hogwarts and is struck with a bizarre malignance, how on earth is he supposed to react when Draco Malfoy suddenly cares?

@starquestingfordrarry wrote All These Winding Threads for @amomorii [E, ~35,400]

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat.  He needs a solution. Unfortunately, that solution looks an awful lot like Harry Potter. 

@annanother-thing wrote Second Chance Resort for @elizah321[E, ~42,800]

A holiday forced on him by his friends after the latest in a long string of failed relationships might be a chance for Harry to relax, but all that is thrown up in the air by the appearance of one newly divorced Draco Malfoy. Mainly because they had been together almost fifteen years ago before Draco broke it off to marry the woman his mother chose for him… Feat. a matchmaking hotel, a spa day, an all-knowing Weasley, and friends who do try their best, but can get a little distracted.

@jtimu wrote Seven-and-sixpence for @oknowkiss [E, ~35,700]

The entire plan of Harry’s life had been defeat evil, become an Auror, marry Ginny. Not necessarily in that order, but it seemed to be going that way, the first two managed and the third in easy limbo. He can be better, though. He can be more. Draco will see to it.

khalulu wrote Slip Slidin’ Your Way (In a Land of Fire and Ice) for @frm9pm [T, ~9,800]

How does a war-scarred young wizard recuperate and create a new identity? Harry opens himself to the magic of the land. Draco learns to wonder at the humblest of creatures. Years later, Magigeologist Evan Jameson and Malacologist Derek Black begin an enthusiastic correspondence. They’re in for a shock when they finally meet. Or: Science nerds go to Iceland and fall in love. Or: Why should kelp have all the fun?

@epitomereally wrote Pillar of Salt for @agentmoppet [E, ~62,200]

From the lake in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knows three things: 1. Mirror universes exist, and he’s going to find the best one—the one where he did the right thing. 2. Harry Potter and him are awfully cosy in some of these other universes, whereas Potter in real life is starting to act very odd around him indeed. 3. Draco’s reflection—the mirror version of him, the worst version of him—seems to be growing crueler. And stronger.

@a-sentimental-man wrote Prescription for @fantalfart [G, ~2,600]

Draco couldn’t say he hated his job, not really. In fact, he loved it⁠—and wasn’t that something surprising, a Malfoy being a Healer, when most of them hadn’t worked a day in their lives?—and most of all, he loved knowing that he was helping people heal, above anything else. (And if there was a part of him that craved the normalcy of something that helped instead of what he had been taught to do his entire life? Well. That was between himself and his journal when he remembered to write in it.) (And maybe there was another reason too.)

@traylalascrisis wrote Old love don’t rust for @drarrydoodles [E, ~20,600]

“Why do you keep coming?” Malfoy asked at last. Harry mulled over the question. For a moment he debated trying to turn the tables and asking Malfoy the very same thing. But this time he didn’t want to hold back. “Because I can’t stop,” Harry said.

@karamelised wrote Equipoise for khalulu [T, ~88,200]

Ten years of peace have settled over the wizarding world, leaving Harry Potter feeling strangely adrift. Teaching Defense at Hogwarts is fine and all, but when mysterious magical blackouts start sweeping across the country, he can’t help but jump at the chance to investigate. It would be the perfect outlet for his restless energy - if he didn’t suddenly find himself tangled up in an elaborate charade, pretending to date the Prophet’s most illustrious journalist, Draco Malfoy. Between hunting down the cause of the blackouts and maintaining their ruse, Harry’s beginning to think that peacetime might actually be trickier - and far more surprising - than he’d bargained for.

@vukovich wrote Victory Lap for @traylalascrisis [E, ~4,700]

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat first.” For emphasis, he pinches the skin at my waist. I want to cover myself in him. I want to roll in him like a dog. I want to devolve on top of him. And he wants me to sit nicely and use a knife and fork first?

@maraudersaffair wrote My Mate for veradubhghoill [E, ~26,300]

Harry is a new Alpha and Draco is his Omega Healer. Draco wants to help Harry but Draco struggles to control himself whenever he is around. And Harry wants to breed Draco. Desperately so. Things come to a head when Draco and Harry become trapped with one another. Draco doesn’t have his suppressant and it sends them both into heat. While they wait for help, will Draco be able to avoid being claimed by Harry? Does he even want to avoid it? Harry is gorgeous and strong, and Draco would love to have him as a mate. He just can’t fathom a world where Harry Potter willingly chooses him.

@smehur wrote Just a little liquid luck for @shiftylinguini [E, ~5,400]

Tracking the movement of Potter’s eyes, Draco runs a greasy finger over the thickest of his scars. “You like them, don’t you? Pervert.” Potter tosses his head back, jostling the mass of his curly fringe from his forehead. “I bet you were into scars long before you had any of your own, Malfoy.” Yes, Draco wants to say. I want to lick yours. What he says instead is, “Fuck you.” “Fuck you,” Potter echoes, putting the same pregnant emphasis on the F. Draco bites his lower lip, wrestling down the rise of euphoria. “Your turn,” he says. “Take that off.”

@sleepstxtic wrote As Luck Would Have It for @smehur [E, ~12,800]

In Sixth-Year, Harry and Draco both win a vial of Felix Felicis from Slughorn and, under its influence, have sex in the Room of Requirement. In the aftermath, can Draco and Harry navigate their respective roles in the war, while grappling with their burgeoning feelings for each other?

@hoko-onchi-writes wrote In a Year’s Turning for @maraudersaffair [E, ~89,400]

It’s been nine years. Surely, Harry can handle Draco being back—for Teddy’s sake.

@shiftylinguini wrote Storm’s Eye for @jtimu [M, ~12,400]

Harry’s surprised that Draco didn’t have wards up preventing mortally wounded former school mates-turned-ghosted work fellows from bursting into his house. In Harry’s addled mind, this seems like a great opening line to say to Draco’s gobsmacked face. He doesn’t get that far, though.

Or: Harry gets hurt, Draco is a vanishing alchemist who may or may not be able to save the day, but under no circumstances are either of them willing to talk about Their Feelings. Well. Maybe "mortal peril" circumstances will do it, actually.

@thehoneybeet wrote housewarming for @garagepaperback [E, ~6,000]

First, they had to decide where to live. It worked, until it didn’t.

@dodgerkedavra wrote Go Up to Gilead for @tessacrowley [E, ~106,700]

Harry Potter’s sense of purpose drops dead with Voldemort. So does Draco Malfoy’s freedom. Nine years later, Harry’s still a soldier. Draco’s still a sacrifice. Harry’s going to die in his Auror uniform, and Draco doesn’t deserve to live. But when the clock runs out on Draco’s sentence, a new one starts ticking. As it was, so it will be: they’ll survive together, or not at all.

@makeitp1nk wrote do you (one) better for @legendrarry [M, ~4,200]

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter abruptly loses his Favourite Hogwarts Professor title to none other than Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. He swears it’s fine, really, but the feelings boiling within him say otherwise. Until Poppy Longbottom, Pansy and Neville’s hellion daughter, forces Hogwarts faculty and staff to engage in a very controversial Pureblood family tradition.

@doingthechachaslide wrote Of Stolen Glass and Burning Clover for @saintgarbanzo [E, ~27,800]

A week long international conference. A political scandal? A Malfoy beside the fruit tarts.

@saintgarbanzo wrote Baker’s Modern Wands for @starquestingfordrarry [E, ~43,600]

At Baker’s Modern Wands Lavender Brown is starting a revolution, Draco Malfoy is trying his best, and Harry Potter is really annoyed about it all.

@nv-md wrote Kiss Me, Fuck Me, Love Me for @doingthechachaslide [E, ~5,100]

Harry and Draco are running very late—they’ve got shirts to find, puppies to save, and champagne to buy. They’re also terribly, ridiculously, extraordinarily in love.

@moonflower-rose wrote Equally Cursed and Blessed for @thecouchsofa [E, ~18,200]

Harry’s back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he’s sure there’ll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there’ll be a few.

[420days]

HALL OF FAME | JEY USO

Summary: An extremely shy Brianna accompanies her husband to Hall of Fame for the first time

Warnings: none

“Mommy looks so pretty!” Brianna’s youngest son, Jeyden gasped into the phone once the FaceTime call connected.

“Wow, she does! I like your new hair mommy.” His twin brother, Jeylen nodded his head in agreement.

“Thank you my sweet babies. Are you guys being good?” She asked and before they could respond her oldest child intervened.

“No they’re not! They’re here acting a fool. You wanna show mom and dad what you learned?” Jeyla nudged her five year old brother.

Jey peeked his head into the camera letting this kids know he was still very much in the room and present. His kids knew they had a little lead-way with Brianna but he wasn’t having it at all.

Jeylen giggled before shaking his head and and moving away from the camera.

“What’s he doing Yaya?” He called his oldest by her nickname.

“Sticking up his middle finger.” She spoke and Brianna’s mouth went agape.

“Oh yeah? Ima deal with him when I get home cause he knows better than that shit.”

“Mmhhh anyway, mommy let me see what you’re wearing because the makeup is eating.” Jeyla clapped her hands.

Standing up from the phone she stepped back just enough to show her daughter her full outfit. Her cherry red dress with a tail in the back that hugged hourglass figure. The pointed gold heels her daughter helped her pick out went perfectly with her dress and gave her a height boost showing off her toned legs.

“Period mommy! Look at the body! My mom is such a baddie!” Jeyla gassed up her mom as she took FaceTime photos. Jey listened to his daughter and couldn’t help but to laugh because she sounded just like him.

Although she was sixteen she knew her mom was shy but she couldn’t understand why. Her mom was beautiful inside and out and that was exactly why her and her father reminded her every chance they could.

“Thank you love. You and your dad want to make me cry tonight.” She glanced up at her husband who was already smiling down at her.

“I hear you gassing mom but where’s dad? Cause I know he got it on.” Brianna heard her son’s voice after a door closed.

“Dad looks handsome. I told him that.” Jeyla sucked her teeth as her brother took the phone from her.

“Son, ou know I do!” Jey said as Jeycon took the phone from his twin sister and began gassing his father.

Brianna laughed at the two of them before telling the kids they had to head out or else they would be late.

“Okay, I love you guys! Take a lot of pictures and send them to me.”

“We will, love you too!” The couple smiled at their kids before hanging up.

-

“Oooouuu sis! You finally came out the house! You look so beautiful.” Trin smiled as she walked over to her sister and brother in law.

“Thank you.” Brianna smiled shyly as she held onto her husbands hand. It was Hall of Fame night and Jey was able to convince her to come with him.

He knew his wife was extremely shy and didn’t like the media’s attention so she refrained from coming to a lot of the events.

However, his parents agreed to keep the kids so he basically begged his wife to come and spend the next couple days with him.

“She look good don’t she? I told her that earlier.” He tucked his lips and looked over his wife’s hourglass figure in her red dress. He was ready to say fuck the show and take her back to their hotel room.

“She really does. It’s giving very much slim thick and the boobies are sitting just right.” Trin smiled.

“Naturally at that.” Jey added making Brianna push his arm lightly.

“Babe stop.” She smiled as her butterscotch face turned cherry red. After all the years they’ve been together this man could still make her feel shy and have her blushing.

“Ima leave you alone.” He smiled knowing he was lowkey embarrassing her by he didn’t care. He loved showing his wife off and that’s what he planned to do tonight.

tags: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana @tian-monique

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[stuffeddeer]

Idk if your like still taking asks since your last one was 2 whole weeks ago but i really just wanted to talk about 15!Dazai cause i miss my pookie and i reread your first kiss hc’s and ughhh being Dazai’s first ever crush, hes so smitten with you and doesn’t even understand why, maybe also forces Chuuya to be his unwilling wingman because he deadass uses cringey one liners on you and chuuya is sick and tired of it.

15!Dazai deserves to be a giddy infatuated teenager and kicking his legs like a schoolgirl when you give him your attention 🤧

Smitten 15!Dazai needing a wingman | Bungo Stray Dogs | Dazai x reader

nearly 8 months later i am here to complete this request!!! hope this is what you wanted (and was maybe worth the wait lol)

Chuuya doesn't really get the whole "Demon Prodigy" thing. Oh, Dazai is just soo smart and soo scary - what a joke. Chuuya has seen him spend ten minutes trying to figure out how to open a cereal box. Sure, the ginger didn't know either, but he figured it out quickly once the brunet gave up.

On the battlefield, Dazai can be quick-witted and ruthless, a foe worthy of his title. Yet right now, Chuuya watches with his arms crossed as the man beside him stumbles over his words while trying to talk to you about the weather of all topics.

It's sickening, almost - seeing the "genius" Dazai so blatantly ignore every signal you're sending. It's true, of course, that the brunet teen is exceptionally off-putting and non-socialized. The bandaged kid with unruly black hair and one emotionless eye (the other bandaged up and hidden away) is the type of weird befitting a title such as Demon Prodigy. While he is a mere 15 year old, his presence rouses unease wherever he goes.

Or so Chuuya was told. With him, the 15 year old is just that: a 15 year old. Dazai is bright but childish, boisterous and witty, ready to spar verbally until Chuuya has to walk away to calm himself down. The Dazai that Chuuya had come to know during their relatively recent partnership would never falter like this around someone his age - someone of equal standing. He isn't one to falter with those of higher standing, either.

Lackeys fear him, new recruits find him off putting and so on. But there are a few in the mafia - Chuuya and yourself - that are privy to see what he can really be like. Or, Chuuya, more exclusively. You... get an interesting version of him, to say the least.

“So that’s why it’s actually bad that it’s sunny out,” Dazai finishes, cheeks dusted an embarrassed red and hands wringing together. Is that… sweat? Dripping down his forehead? The man is always annoyingly cold, usually shoving a freezing hand onto Chuuya’s neck just to laugh while watching him recoil.

Jeez. Chuuya already knows how smitten Dazai is for you, but this is a new low he wasn’t expecting.

You politely smile, trying to act like his rambling made any lick of sense. “Well, I suppose I like flowers enough to concede. A little rain is good now and again.”

“We both like flowers!” Dazai points out. You idiot; everyone does.

Chuuya takes one hand out of his pockets to readjust his hat. “Dazai’s been tryin’ to get me to go to some flower garden on the other side of Yokohama,” he decides to lie. As if it wasn’t clear before, you pretending Dazai’s argument held any merit only proves that you like him back. Helping you is all he’s trying to do, because that stupid mackerel will never make a move on his own. “But I keep tellin’ him I’m not interested. Would be nice if you took my place.”

Eyes widening ever so slightly, you turn to Dazai with a timid expression. “I didn’t know we had one.”

“Wait, I— “

“It’s free admittance. Paid for by the government to clean up our city or somethin’ - Kouyou told us about it,” which is true, minus the part where Kouyou told Dazai as well.

The excited smile you give causes Dazai’s usually-controlled heart to leap into his throat. “That’s super cool! I totally wanna go, if you’re still up for it, Dazai.”

He doesn’t reply. The stupid, idiotic strategist that supposedly has been bolstering the Port Mafia’s defenses is left defenseless by a pretty smile. Seriously? This is what Chuuya has to put up with? He should just smack Dazai and take it all back. He’s never helping this lost cause again.

With one gloved hand, Chuuya slams it against Dazai’s head to force it into a nod. The slam is hard enough for Dazai to snap out of his stupor, but soft enough that you don’t notice how rough the ginger is being. “Say yes, idiot.”

And Dazai quickly follows through. He swats Chuuya’s hand away with an “I was gonna do that,” before clearing his throat. Looking back at you clogs it up once again and he gives an awkward smile back and a nod of his own this time. “Y-yep! I wanna go. With you. Well! Not like with with you, but like, with you. So, not like a date, just— I wanna go and you should come.”

Chuuya did his part. Can he leave yet? God, remind him to never help Dazai ever again. This was embarrassing for Chuuya and the short man is just a bystander. Though, the flush on Dazai’s face and the excited grin on yours helps to keep Chuuya’s annoyance at bay. At the very least, now the two of you can finally move on from this awkward crush stage and he won’t have to see Dazai metaphorically drown himself in every conversation with you.

And when the two of them got back a week later out of breath from running, Dazai’s hands covered in dirt and you holding an uprooted bouquet of fresh flowers, Chuuya realizes that maybe he chose the wrong location.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 5

it really was a coincidence that you already had his number saved in your phone when he texted you.

jack: hey

one of your best friends, jenny, had another friend who came along with you all that night. she was a loud woman with blonde curls called anna and she was, you had now learned, engaged to a hockey player in the local nhl team. you'd never cared much for sports in general, and especially not hockey. anna was quick to catch up on that fact the morning after you met jack, when you were supposed to go out for brunch with jenny and anna happened to tag along.

the boy you were chatting to last night, jack, she had started, sipping her orange juice before continuing. you did get his name, right? he's a good friend of my fiancé, a great player too.

you had thought and hoped that she would be able to read from your uninterested expression that you wished for the conversation to end as soon as it started. however, she had not been the quickest to pick up on your hints.

i've never seen jack look at someone like that before, you should totally hit him up! he's single, you know.

you'd sure hope so, considering the things you were up to in his apartment.

you had told anna that you didn't want anything to do with him, but she had insisted; at least save his number, you never know!

jenny had agreed, going off for a moment about your (empty) love life and how you haven't really looked happy since you broke up with that boyfriend over a year ago. the whole conversation had made you nauseous, and you had eventually agreed to add his number to your contacts just to shut them up.

since then, you'd forgotten about it, until the moment he texted you. you spent about fifteen minutes trying to figure out some kind of response – what even do you say to "hey"?

you: how did you get my number? lol

you felt a little guilty right after sending it, the tone maybe a little harsh; you usually greeted people back when they texted you. but maybe it was for the best. you didn't want him to get any false hopes.

your phone pinged again just a minute later.

jack: from anna! she said you two talked abt me, that i should hit you up

jack: well, i WANTED to hit you up also. :)

it kind of scared you how quick your heart was to flutter in your chest. this was not supposed to happen. before you could even answer, yet another message appeared in the chat.

jack: you free for dinner tonight?

a man not afraid of a triple text should've excited you. instead you shook your head and typed a quick response.

you: dinner?...

jack: i want to take you out for dinner, is that okay?

you shouldn't even have considered it. you never before even considered meeting a one-night-stand again, especially not for dinner. maybe it was because the other part was never interested in it, maybe it was because you thought it was against all and any code of conduct. either way, it was just easier like that.

so why did your fingers suddenly live a life of their own? why was there a message from you saying yes to his request when you looked back down at your phone again?

he surprised you that night. you knew from the first time you met that he was a good listener – though, you had assumed it was just because he was trying to woo you enough to go home with him – but he was a great talker, too. not in the sense that he talked a lot, but in the sense that whenever he did talk, you found yourself realizing he was more complicated than you initially thought. he wasn't just trying to win you over; he was trying to let you see him, piece by piece, each one carefully chosen.

you didn't know what the procedures or rules were when it came to this kind of meeting. was it a date? was it just a pre-hookup meal? was it something more? nonetheless, you weren't surprised that the dinner ended with you following him home to his apartment.

he wasn't just good at listening and talking, but at making you feel good, too. you knew you were already walking on the fine line between a regular hookup and something else – not that you were sure what the other thing would be. friends with benefits (could you even be friends with benefits if you weren't friends to start with?), fuck buddies (is there even such a thing these days?), or something completely different?

curled up into his side with a duvet lazily thrown across your stomach, you distracted yourself from your many thoughts by drawing shapes into his chest. little stars, quirky stick figures, ugly cats. "something on your mind?" he asked, a chuckle rumbling beneath his chest at the sight of you cuddling closer to him.

"this... hockey thing," you started, gazing up at him for the first time in a long while. "you're pretty good, aren't you?"

there was a shrug of his shoulder, though his expression stayed plain. "i guess so."

"you have your own wikipedia page. and you were some kind of first pick, whatever that means." this, however, forced his lips into a grin. "that's not just pretty good. that's amazing."

"i guess so."

he yelped at the feeling of your hand slapping his chest, a groan slipping past his lips. "why didn't you tell me? when we first met?"

"you didn't seem like you cared," he said honestly, and you pushed yourself up a little on the bed to look at him better. "so i didn't think it was necessary. besides, it's a job like any other."

"i told you all about my studies, and you just said that you work with hockey!" you exclaimed, fingers forming quotation marks in the air. "that's hardly fair, and it's not a common job!"

"i was wearing a team cap! i assumed that if you knew, you'd say something!"

you merely shook your head, pausing for a few moments to just stare at him. "i'll forgive you for now," you say, puckering your lips. "for the low price of five kisses."

"taken."

the thing that surprised you the most was how much you enjoyed spending time with him, how easy it felt. he was handsome and had a sweet smile and he was a great lover, sure, but you still hadn't expected to have this good of a time with him. it was almost enough to make you spend the night.

almost.

[formulawolff]

time off — t.w.

pairing -> sick toto x reader

word count -> 1.1k

warnings -> toto is sick, lots of hurt + comfort, slight cursing, mostly fluffy stuff

a/n -> i am finally working through fics that are lined up in the garage. i believe this one was a request from an anon! i hope you guys enjoy! <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the blaring of an alarm pulls you from your slumber.

stirring, you wrinkle your nose, fighting a yawn. there's a swath of comforter to your left, the fabric rising and falling. carefully, you nudge the bundle, your voice thick with exhaustion.

"toto, it's time to get up love."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

there's a groan that rises from the comforter, the figure rolling over. he wraps an arm around your frame, bringing you in close.

"f-five more minutes."

you can't help but notice that his voice is deeper. significantly deeper. there's a bit of a rasp to it, almost as if it pained him to speak. he nuzzles his head into your shoulder, coughing ever so slightly.

arching your brow, you purse your lips. this sort of behavior in the morning was unlike toto. he was a man who structured his mornings around a strict routine. each day, without fail, he woke up to his alarm, getting out of bed with ease. typically, you were the one who struggled to get up, as he had to lure you with breakfast.

shifting your body, you turn over, a tender hand connecting with his cheek. almost instantly, you feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"are you feeling okay?"

an eye opens, forming a slit. he exhales, shaking his head, "i'm fine. just want a few more minutes of sleep. that's all."

"are you sure?" your brow furrows, "you feel warm."

letting out a grunt, toto snuggles closer to you, sniffling, "i was just underneath the covers."

almost instantly, it clicked.

he wasn't feeling well. he must have came down with something. after all, it was the start of winter. everyone was spreading around a menagerie of illnesses and viruses. it was just customary with the change of the seasons. due to the nature of his work, he came into close contact with dozens upon dozens of individuals nearly every day.

it could have been anyone who was sick, but he was around them long enough to contract something. what it was, you weren't quite sure. hopefully it wasn't anything too serious.

pressing kiss to his temple, you engulf him in your arms, resting your chin on top of his head. you can feel a smile form against your chest, the team principal murmuring words you can't quite decipher. there were more than likely in german, his native tongue.

"you probably need to get going soon," you murmur, grateful for the coziness of the morning cuddles, "don't you have a presentation to look over?

"mmm," he hums, "probably."

"so why aren't you up yet?"

"not feeling well," he grumbles, "i think one of the interns gave me something."

"those damn interns," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, "what are you going to do with 'em?"

"send a letter to their university filing a complaint," a hoarse chuckle flows from his lips, "i should really get up, though. i do need to look over that presentation."

"maybe you should take the day off," your hand delves into his hair, playing with the soft brunette locks, "you should really get some more rest. i could make you some tea and some soup later on, if you're feeling up to it."

"you make it so damn difficult to leave," he counters, squeezing you in his embrace, "i just can't stay away from that pretty face."

"then why haven't you called in yet?"

"you know why i haven't."

reaching over to the nightstand, you pick up his phone, "i could always do it for you."

raising his head, toto tilts his chin upward, his gaze twinkling with amusement, "i would pay good money to watch that. why don't you go on then, love. call in for me?"

"i will," the words are barely a whisper, "you know i would do anything for you, right?"

licking his lips, the team principal readjusts, scooting up so that your faces were eye-level. he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. fingers grasp your chin, pulling you in even further.

you would more than likely get sick as well, but that was a risk you were more than willing to take.

especially when he was so fucking irresistible, admiring you with those beautiful mocha depths. his lashes flutter as your lips collide with his, a rumble brewing in his chest as your tongue trails along his lower lip.

"c-careful schatzi, i don't want to infect you."

"you can do more than infect me," fingers tug at his roots, "infect me, kiss me, fuck-"

"maybe i do need to take that time off then," his tone is brimmed with lust, and you can't help but feel a firmness pressing against your inner thigh.

"go ahead baby," you cock your head, batting your lashes, "call in. for me."

before you know it, he's out of the bed and on his feet, pecking your forehead, "i'll be right back. give me five minutes, love."

as he strolls out, pressing his phone to your ear, you wait until you hear the steps dissipate. cautiously, you slink out of the space, tiptoeing down the stairs.

your poor, pathetic man.

all riled up over a few kisses.

toto wolff taps his screen, relief rippling as he makes his way back toward the room. he was able to successfully call in, just take a day off and fight whatever illness this was. he could stay with his love, all cuddled up and drunk off bliss.

however, when he pokes his head into the bedroom, his heart skips a beat.

you weren’t there.

yet, a scent wafts into his nostrils. one that he knew all too well.

the aroma of tea. and something else he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

as toto clambers down the stairs, he makes a right, entering the kitchen. once his eyes fall on you, his knees buckle.

you’re at the stove, brow knit with concentration as you flip something in a skillet. there’s a cup of tea waiting for him at the island, steam billowing from the mug. padding over to you, he peers over your shoulder, curious to see what was in the skillet.

“oh hi,” you flinch at first, yet relax as his arms wrap around your waist, “i figured i’d make you a nice breakfast so that you could take some medication.”

so that’s what you were up to.

the team principal presses a swift peck to your temple, “thank you, schatzi. i adore you.”

“of course! i love you.”

“and i love you,” toto’s breath is warm as it fans against your earlobe, the words thready with need as he continues.

“we’re going to make this day off worthwhile. okay schatzi? once we’re finished here, you’re mine.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[unfriendlies]

garam moaned, sending vibrations down the other's shaft the moment his own entered angel's mouth. the muscles in his lower abdomen tightened, a shiver traveled up his spine that ultimately caused his whole body to flinch. in turn, he unintentionally took more than what he was prepared for down his throat causing him to gag and release angel's cock from his mouth. it was only a matter of half of an inch that was pushed further down his throat but taking into count it's width, it was enough to choke him. "fuck," he breathed out as he pulled his hand away to wipe the trail of saliva that connected his lips to the tip of angel's dick. he looked down to watch angel go to work on his own member, letting his hand return to continue stroking the other. he'd forgotten just how good it felt to be consumed by something so warm, so wet. garam was so focused on watching the man laying beside him work that he hadn't even noticed the tears that had made their way down his cheeks from choking on the other's length until he felt them drip off of his chin and onto his the arm that was supporting himself up. garam was quick to wipe his eyes, his body shifting as he tried to find a more comfortable position that both hid his face from the other's view without making angel's own actions uncomfortable for him. it was a choice made partially from his own selfishness as he didn't want angel to stop but he also worried how angel would react if he saw garam and thought he was crying. garam didn't want angel to get the wrong ide, he truly was enjoying himself and the tears were only from the unexpected expansion in his throat. as his lips welcomed angel's dick once again, he began to bob his head up and down, continuing to take only what he could comfortably fit. his actions were slow and deliberate, wanting to hear angel moan and groan in both frustration and pleasure. garam wanted to see if angel would make any attempts at taking the lead in regards to his own pleasure, if he'd move his hips to push more of himself down garam's throat or if he'd lend a hand to the back of garam's head. just anything, he was curious to see the other's habits in a situation like this. before giving him the chance, however, he replaced his mouth with his hand again, continuing to stroke the man slowly, but only so he could speak. "you can touch me," garam granted permission, though he was unsure if angel would actually proceed. he assumed this was as far as they would go in terms of sexual progress, garam was convinced they wouldn't have penetrative sex, but that didn't mean angel couldn't use his fingers if he wanted to. "your hands are so big, your fingers..." he paused to lick his lips but his teeth ended up sinking into his lower lip as if to stifle a moan, "put them in me, please." he begged, tightening his fingers around angel's shaft with each upward stroke. "only if you want," he added in only to have another moan interrupt him.

Seeing the other man smile put Angel at ease. Not knowing what was going on in Garam’s head worried him. He had a great poker face and hid things well he was finding out. As Garam’s cheeks flushed as he shook his head Angel grinned. “It can be daunting if never done before. But I promise it’s nothing insane” his cheeks turned a slight tint of pink as he spoke on the position. He wasn’t an expert or anything. But he would be lying if he said this was his first time. As Garam climbed on top of him his hands instinctually rested on his hips and squeezed. Angel let out a sharp breath. The man felt so soft in his hands. His mind began to wander but hearing the other’s voice made him focus, “Baby, do not hold back. If you finish quickly you will just have to cum again” Angel said teasingly as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to the man’s lips. He wasn’t enjoying the kisses Garam was granting him. “I’m joking of course. If you can’t finish again don’t sweat it. Also don’t worry about me.” And he meant every word. He had no idea if he would finish simply from oral however it was Garam. Someone he had been admiring for years now. Angel let out a moan that he didn’t know was in him. The minute the man grabbed his cock and stroked it. “S-shit” Angel let out a chuckle licking his lips, “damn I might be the one finishing quickly” his length was already leaking just from the strokes. The sight of Garam just holding it was driving him crazy. His mouth-Angel chose to look away and cleared his throat. “Since this is your first time we can lay beside each other.” Angel wasn’t ready to admit he couldn’t have anyone on top of him. No matter the situation. It was still difficult for him to hug people, but someone hovering or laying on top of him sent him into a panic. The last thing he wanted was this moment to be ruined. Since he told Garam what happened he felt their moments together were continuously ruined by that night. Like a looming dark cloud following their every move. And together the darkness swallowed them both whole. Now, they were both about to take a step neither of them seemed sure of. But in this moment Angel knew he wanted it. No matter what it was as long as it was with Garam. As Angel positioned himself he felt his best friend’s tongue. He froze for a moment grabbing at the blanket beneath them. “F-fuck…okay..wait a minute” Angel started to chuckle with a moan that followed. He didn’t know what to expect. But just knowing it was Garam his body was reacting rather sensitively. His toes curled as he was close which shocked him. It typically took a lot more than what Garam was doing. But it had also been a while for Angel. If he was remembering correctly it had been almost a year since he did anything. With anyone. Angel began to jerk Garam off. Moaned loudly as he tired to hold himself up. “I-I will..just keep going…holy shit…” a breathless moan followed as Angel just gave up and took Garam into his mouth. He had to focus on pleasing the other man or he was going to finish early. Angel was slow as he bobbed his head keeping a steady pace as his hands slipped up the man’s thighs to his ass. He grabbed at Garam’s ass pushing him further as he deep throated him. Moaning around the length in his throat.

[arliedraws]

Can I ask why you read those queer books about white young man for reasearch? Like for real research or was it a joke? Because I did that too, same as watching movies and series about men/boys falling in love.. And I was wondering if I might be a little weird, also considering that I'm a straight woman. I have no urge to read books about lesbians for example. But apart from that, though of course I know what I like about stories like that, I'm still wondering why it's so appealing to me u know

I’m writing a book that takes place between 1918 to the late 1960s, and it’s about men falling in love during that time, so I’m consulting fiction about that time/theme from contemporary authors.

Maybe queer lit feels good to read because there are secret, beautiful parts of ourselves that we feel are dangerous to share with others? Idk, just a thought. Queer lit has been helpful for me because I’m understanding my bisexuality more and more and realizing how much internalized homophobia I’ve held on to for most of my life (the sort that’s like ‘it’s fine for people to be gay! i’m not gay though. also, i’m weird enough already’), so reading about others going through the same thing is really cathartic.

For me, I also like exploring hypermasculinity. I am really fascinated by it (kicked off by several books we study at the school where I teach), and I’m particularly interested in how men are terrified of looking “feminine” (whatever that means) because femininity is perceived as weak. I am also really interested in the way society drives men crazy in the way that they’re expected to achieve masculine ideals while suppressing their “softer” feelings and using aggression/anger to sift through them. I love how cis men believe they are so powerful, but they know how quickly that can turn and how quickly they can lose their power.

A problem I have with some lesbian romances is that the characters aren’t emotionally stunted enough for me (usually). I want idiots in love. Total dumbasses. Like, I was disappointed in The Warm Hands of Ghosts slightly (even though I love it) because I thought that Laura and Pim were going to get together—it was exactly the setup I wanted, but it never went there. Then I read, Learned by Heart and I thought, “Great! Anne Lister! That’ll be fun!” And for a little while, it was, but I was just so unsatisfied with that one. Granted, I haven’t done a ton of digging. I’ve just been reading what people suggest when it comes to queer books.

Actually, legit, if you have “two emotionally stupid women fall in love but don’t realize it BUT ALSO THEY HAVE SEX” suggestions, please tell me. (Please don’t send me the “space lesbians” book series as a suggestion because I’m not interested.)

Anyway, that’s my two cents. TL;DR - I like reading about people who are terrified of themselves. Because that’s me.

[sharkyisashark]

A Little Help

Decided I wanted to write some more about young teenager Jinx; Sevika helping her perfect her little bombs! <3 my requests are always open, so if you have a certain idea you want written, send it in, and i'll do my best :)

The room was quite, besides the small clinking and clanking noises that came from Sevika and Jinx as they both quietly worked on a little bomb together. Sevika didn't particularly like the idea of Jinx making such weapons at her age, but Silco seemed to encourage it, he found some.. sort of satisfaction seeing the girl's eagerness towards the explosives; so who was Sevika to turn against him? He was the "big man" after all. "Pass me the scissors," Sevika opens her hand, fingers curling around the tool as Jinx quickly passed it to her. Peering over her shoulder to watch her tinker. "Do you think I can use these soon?" Jinx whispers eagerly, legs swaying over the chair she was sat at. Her blue hair draped over her right eye, and she pouted at Sevika's delayed response. Sevika just sighed, looking at the kid, before back down at the explosive. "I doubt you'll be doing more than shadowing for a good couple years, kid." She reminds, catching a glimpse of the girl's frown through her peripheral vision. Jinx's shoulders slumped, and her eyes hardened as she tugged her knees to her chest. She was more than old enough now! She wasn't scared, she could do it...! "But I'm ready now!" Jinx whines, head cocking to the side with irritated confusion. Sevika refused to carry on the conversation, so it remained silent as Jinx's protests trailed off... and she eventually just rested the side of her head against the desk; her hands grabbing a blue crayon and scribbling random lines and figures into the wood. "Look, I'll talk to him, maybe you can watch, or something..." Sevika gave in, though she was tough, and usually couldn't care less. Something about the girl's desperation made her crumble a little. "Really?" "Sure..." Jinx's expression rose quickly back up, discarding the crayon as she chucked in elsewhere. Standing up and wrapping her arms around Sevika's bigger frame. Sevika froze for a brief moment, looking around awkwardly, before ultimately deciding to pat Jinx's back. Her movement was unsure and hesitant, not usually this touchy with anyone. Especially, not kids. "You're the best!" Jinx beamed, over and over. Skipping around the circular desk a couple times before grabbing one of her gutted out bombs, holding it up and then swivelling it around to look at it's silly scribbled on face. She could finally show them.

heyy! hope you liked this! sorry if this was a little short, I do plan on making longer stories in the future! <3

- sharky 🦈

[allthedamnlove]

AQUAMARINE: RAFE CAMERON X SOFIA FANFICTION: CHAPTER 3, PART 1

Previous Chapter

Face claim for a new OC, Victoria Ramirez: Sofia Carson

WORDCOUNT: 7.5K

Radio for the chapter:

Sofia's POV:

“Well, to wear blue or not to wear blue ‘tis the question, what do you think?”

Merrp Merrp

“Oh my God, Sofia, are you still talking to the cat?”

I heard my cousin Victoria Ramirez's voice boom through Facetime. She appeared on camera with a bowl of cut-up fruit on her hands, and I could feel her amusement radiating from miles away. 

“Shut up, Vic. Mishmish is a good and fair judge of character and also has an impeccable fashion sense, aren’t you, my niñita?” I concurred as I threw a sideways look at my tabby ginger cat, Mishmish, with her irresistible chubby face and snow-white neck adorning a cute blue ribbon, positioned suavely in her loaf position on her cat bed as she peered at me with observant eyes. I found this cutie when I visited here for summer vacations four years ago and she was just a lone kitten, probably left astray by her mom, shivering on our family’s porch. My sisters and I felt so bad for her and thought we would send her to the adoption center the next day after we bathed the poor kitten. 

That didn’t happen at all. And now I am a mom to the most adorable, chatty cat ever. 

“I wish I could aww at you but I am just sad that you have no social life and that all you do is bartend and yap to your cat which by the way, doesn't even understand what you’re saying”

“Well, you can stop feeling sorry for me ‘cuz I-” I shot back as I twirled around, clutching my possible outfit for the party by its coat hanger, “-am going to a Kook party. With a special invite” 

“Uh huh, now I am invested.” she came closer to the camera, keeping her food on the table, “whose party is it, anyway?”

“Rafe Cameron invited me to go to his party, Vic. Yesterday night. After I embarrassed myself in front of him by going to a prohibited beach”

“OH! Now why didn’t you tell me that crucial piece of info before, missy? Wait. Hold up, you went swimming in a prohibited area, Where? How? What happened? Oh my God, did you die? Am I talking to Sofia's haunted soul?” 

“Yup I did, and before you start bombarding me with questions again, I’ll just say what happened: basically I was sick of working. Again as usual. And then I wanted to do something out of the blue, something fun and spontaneous. And so I saw the beach and no one was there which I should have thought that through and then I just went in, mind you, I literally stripped my clothes off and was about to dive and then I felt two hands literally pulling me and then I went autopilot mode and then I screamed and guess who it was who grabbed me…” I threw my hands in the air as I recollected that painful memory, “Rafe. fucking. Cameron.” 

God, that was in my top ten moments of Sofia Ramirez being an absolute dumb dumb.” I might not have died from the water, but I sure did when I turned around and saw him. 

Funnily enough, I was thinking about the flirty-not-flirty conversation we had in the bar a week ago. That night when I lay in bed, sleep didn’t even befriend me as I stared at the night light all night, thinking about the teasing smiles he threw at me and my heart shaking as I quipped back at him, the pink light emanating fresh bits and pieces of memories as I mindlessly stared it for hours. For the town’s certified cokehead, he was charming to the T. 

And god I would be lying if I said I didn’t find him attractive. 

When he asked me if I could come to his party after seeing me in my most unattractive set of underwear that had been used for a year, my mind just went circuit. I just said “Yes” I knew that I had met him only twice, that too, never had a proper conversation but this flicker of attraction and child-like curiosity about this guarded man is gnawing me alive. And the way our eyes can’t stop talking to each other in a language I couldn’t even understand, it’s like whenever we both look into each other, my brain just stops its blood flow and the immaterial part of my muscled heart, and my eyes just race to find his eyes and just, stare at him. 

I should probably choose a dress for this damn party. 

Victoria’s voice cut through my reverie, “Ok, so now you’re going to his party, and then what…you just gonna stand there and wave at him…or…” she arched her eyebrows as she said,” You’re actually doing something there…or…someone there, huh?”

I picked up my phone from my table and I narrowed my eyes at her, her jet-black straight hair reflecting light on her screen “Ok, first of all, shut up. And two, I’m going there because he asked me to, okay, and yeah, I’ll probably stare at the wall and drink some wine or probably some beer and say hi to him. I am not going to “do” anyone, so can it!”

“Be real for a second. How long has it been since you actually got your back blown out?” I opened my mouth to make her stop but she continued, “Wait, never. So why don’t you actually get sum by a guy who presumably has fucked half of the Kook’s female population, I mean, he may have some STD but you can still ask him if he’s clean-”

“BYEE, VICKY. REMIND ME TO NEVER CALL YOU.”

“SUA VADIA. And DON’T FORGET, WRAP IT BEFORE YOU-”

The call got disconnected with a soft PLOP.

I threw the damned phone, my outfit, and then myself on my bed, the bedspring squeaking as my body hit the lavender comforter.

I cupped my hands on my face as I groaned as quietly as I could. I hate that she’s right. I hate that my thieving mind wanted to make out with a guy I just met. 

Am I ovulating or is this how it really feels to have a crush on a guy on the daily?

In my twenty years of living and breathing oxygen, it is a joy and a slight humiliation that I have not had a proper sexual experience. I know I am way too young to even utter that sentence and I have all my life to experience “bodily pleasures” but the one time I made out with a guy was not “pleasurable” at all. It turns out that when you’re both eighteen, virgins, and have known each other for three years and then try “explore” each other, it becomes really awkward at some point when the other person can’t do a proper handjob and then you’re unsatisfied. Still, you can’t also tell that person cause you don’t wanna shame him. 

Then the worst part comes. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes the next day without turning beet red or wanting to sprint away from him yet you are stuck with him since he was your dance partner. Yeah, that technically means I am still a virgin. 

However, a dark cloud passed over my memory as I thought about the implications of baring my body and soul if I give myself to a person. Murky thoughts. No, not thoughts but memories.

"Sofía, tienes un pecho perfecto… Para bailar, por supuesto"  (Sofia, you have a perfect chest. For dancing, of course)

"Sofía, te ves muy gorda. No puedo creer que realmente te hayan dado permiso para estar aquí" (Sofia, you look so fat. Can't believe you actually got permission to be here)

"Veamos de cerca el cuerpo perfecto que mi papá nos dijo que tienes" (Let's look at the perfect body that my dad told us you have up close)

“SOFIAAA, I NEED HELP!”

I shot up as I saw Isabella, my youngest sister standing in front of my room, her walkman in one hand and her teddy bear, Beans in the other. The pink plastic tic-tac clips with charms shimmered as the light hit her hair; an adorable pout situated on her face that mirrored my features. Out of my twin sisters, Isabella “Ines” Ramirez has been endowed with my features: her oval face,  chestnut brown eyes, and wavy black hair that curls around winter; my ma always says that she even smiles like me, eyes crinkling, dimples and all. She tumbled towards me and accompanied me on the bed, crashing beside me, sitting cross-legged amidst the mountain of all the clothes that I own.

“Sof, I need you to change this song, it keeps replaying. I wanna listen to Night Changes, not Kiss You.” 

I take full responsibility for introducing Isabella to the best boyband ever, (yes, it is my subjective opinion but also it's a fact, get over it) when she was seven. It’s been three years yet she loves that band to death. Her side of the twins’ room, like any other fangirl, is filled to the brim with 1D merchandise; from her school bag, and pencil pouch to the spoon that she uses for cereal, she has been obsessed with those boys and I, for one, am ecstatic since I can sing along to One Direction in the car when I pick her up from school when Alejandra side-eyes both of us. 

Both Isabella and Alejandra are ten now so my ma and pa are very stringent on using mobile phones or even any electronic devices. Isabella and Ajendra have second-hand walkmans that they can listen to music with headphones for 2 hours, (they can blast music on speakerphone anytime but my ma fears that they may get deaf by twenty-five if they excessively use headphones). Other than that, they can use a common laptop for one hour for “entertainment” purposes and only and only if they finish homework. Theo is sixteen now and so shamelessly uses the excuse “Pa, my homework is in the laptop, so just get me a new one” Well, he got a laptop but again, a secondhand one. We haven’t got the funds to buy him a new one but Theo was happy with what he got. 

Isabella is not as tech-savvy as Alejandra and Alejandra has probably run to the neighbor’s house to do quilling with Brianna, her best friend. Alejandra is the “people’s princess” and befriends people in seconds; she is an extrovert to the core and spends her time folding colored papers into cranes and other crafty shapes, quilling, and being a Girl Scout. Meanwhile, Isabella is not as boisterous as my other sister; sure she is also pretty friendly and has a tight friend circle of five (I don’t even have that many people to call as “friends”) but sometimes she just likes to blast One Direction and Taylor Swift on full sound, dote on my parents, Theo and mainly me; and read books. But obviously, Alejandra is her favorite person in the world; after all, she is her twin. However, being #2 in her favorite list (I love it when she bashfully smiles and says “I love you all” when we joke about who’s her favorite) means she just likes to barge into my room when she’s bored or is confused about her walkman not working. Or sometimes she just comes into my room with the most random questions, expecting an answer from me when I am deadbeat from work.

“Sofi, where do fish go when they die in the sea?”

“Sofi, I wanna go to the big place in my  geography book where there’s so much snow and bears that look white” (she’s talking about the Arctic and the polar bear by the way)

“Sof, why do people call taco, “taco?” (this question haunted me for nights cause same)

But I love to sit and answer her questions as much as I can since I know that time runs as fast as light does and I may regret not spending time with my siblings when they’re scrolling through TikTok ten years later and go non-verbal when I ask them, “How’s life?”. 

The kook kids that I see at the restaurant in the country club make me feel scared for the sake of humanity, let me tell you. Unavailable parents combined with unfettered access to all the riches in the world, I feel so bad for those kids who try to fill the void their parents create but then they get rude with the waiters, and then I immediately lose my shred of empathy for them. 

“Oh, Isa. Gimme your walkman. You probably might have clicked the replay button. Lemme disable it.”

Her hands tenderly gave me her device, the edges of the walkman smudged, losing its nude pink color. The harsh white light of the screen hurt my eyes for a second as I changed the settings in her Walkman, her chin resting gingerly on my shoulder. As I fidgeted to give her device back, she took a once over to my another possible outfit for the party; a spaghetti strap baby blue slip dress, flowery lace patterns stitched at the hem; the scooped up neckline accentuating my decolletage. 

“Sofi, where are you all dressed up and going?”

I am going to a guy’s party to probably drink myself to the point of no return or flirting back at him while he just ends up hooking up with some other hot Kook. 

“Oh, just to see a friend”

“Well, I hope you have fun, Sofia. I never see you going out that much since you came home from Mexico” her innocent voice airing out the pathetic state of my social life

Gosh, that’s a low blow and, that’s coming from a kid. 

I knew her comment was innocent so I had to be the bigger person and say, “I will, thank you, Isa. By the way, stop clicking that button if you wanna listen to the whole playlist” It’s not she’s never been given a phone at all but the big sister part of me can’t help it. 

Still, she listened and shook her head vehemently, “THANK YOU SOFI, YOU THE BEST” she screamed as ran back to her room. 

Kids. 

My attention went back to the task at hand as I helplessly stared at the gargantuan pile of dresses, hoping that an impeccable, show-stopping outfit would just magically appear out of thin air. 

Should I just call Rafe and tell him that I am not coming to the party because I have periods…which I don’t. 

I can just dip out of this very rare occasion of me socializing with people and I can spend my weekend like any other, munching on Takis as I watch YouTube compilations of ballerina dancers or a movie on an illegal website and, pester my ma as she cooks dinner at night and then I crash out on the bed, pensively contemplating about what could have been, should have been. 

Or maybe I could face the music, stop feeling sorry for myself, and, go see Rafe at his party and try being a normal twenty-year-old girl, chat up a pretty boy, try to get sloshed, and maybe dip my toes in his pristine pool that he totally has. And maybe, maybe he’ll keep his word and be my tour guide and show me this “spot” that he was raving about. 

Most importantly I am slightly enamored by his overall demeanor, the air of casual indifference seeping with his mysterious, almost quizzical lore surrounding him rendered me curious. The two times we met, the aquamarine-eyed boy’s ridiculous charm and, smiles and sugary words made me dissolve my barely-existing conscience. 

Screw it, I am going to see what’s all the hype about a Kook party. 

And the fact that I even thought of telling practically a stranger that I have periods…I gotta get better at being a socially functional human. 

So with all the strength I had, I bundled all the clothes lying on my bed and crammed them into the unkempt wooden cupboard which already looked like it survived a hurricane with all of my underwear mixed with my work uniform with my other old clothes. As I closed it with my back facing the cupboard, my eyes caught the makeup box half opened on my vanity, the various shades of blushes, lip stains, and the half-finished concealer tube taunting my mind. 

I walked over to the mirror, my eyes catching every blemish and dull spot on my face. There’s a new minute red spot on the apple of my cheeks and the crease underneath my eye is more prominent. 

Ugh, why do my eyes always linger on the faults and why do I always wanna cover up the imperfections with caked-up makeup till the point that my tears wash away all the hard brushing I do over my face every day when I go to work? 

I wish I would have said I didn’t let my insecurities win over my heart but my fingers grabbed the cherry red lip stain and, slathered it along my chapped lips and then fluffed the excess on my cheeks, hoping that the blush would cover my blemishes. 

Ok, now I look…presentable. I twirled myself in front of the mirror, giving a final look at my ensemble, hoping that I wouldn’t change my outfit again. I took my brush combed the unkempt baby hairs and left my room, hastily climbing down the stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t regret the decision to say yes to Rafe Cameron’s party tomorrow.

That’s when I remembered. I forgot my phone and my purse. 

Yikes. We are off to a good start. 

************

A few hours ago, I promised myself that I absolutely wouldn’t change my dress, right?

That was a lie. I changed my mind and wore another dress. 

As I took a peek of myself in the car mirror, I thought to myself for the millionth time, “How the hell did I end up here?”

My blue dress was replaced by a breezy coral red dress reaching up to the flesh of my thighs, the fabric littered with pink, orange, and yellow floral prints all over it. My red colored bra was playing peek-a-boo underneath the outfit, making my insides feel pretty sheepish. My makeup and hair were completely frazzled now, stray hairs having a party over my forehead and the lip stain lost its magic, leaving me with a very light pinkish-red hue on my lips. My blush was completely smudged off with a bare face and my mind spinning in excitement and anxiety, 

As I parked my car over the spacious parking space adjacent to the lush gardens with trimmed grass and perfectly cut trees, I hoped that I didn’t look like my jaw was on the floor as I gawked at this mansion of a “house” 

Goddamn, this guy’s place looks massive. 

Tannyhill, in all its glory, stood tall and huge. With a capacious balcony and mint green paint radiating sunlight, the mansion screamed wealth and old money. I grabbed my purse tight as I leisurely walked into Rafe’s supposed “home,” hoping that I bump into him. I was in awe as I went in, the interior baffling me more. High ceilings, a chandelier with twinkling glass beads twinkling in the sun, a grand staircase with thick white marble railings in the middle, and a large wooden table in the center of the room with a large fireplace at one corner, the furnished shelf above it housing a plethora of photo frames. 

The house was packed too, unknown faces crowding my view as they walked into the house with beers or solo red cups on their faces, bikini-clad bodies shimmying their hips and bobbing their head to Young Thug rapping on the enormous JBL speakers situated at one of the corners of the massive room. 

I drudged around the crowd, too situate myself near the fireplace where the photos were there. Before I walked over to silently snoop at them, I felt a towering presence behind me. 

“See something you like, Miss Sofia?”

I turned around at lightning speed, his baritone tone made me spin and there he was, the man of the hour, Rafe Cameron walking down the stairs, hands in his cornflower blue trousers and beige polo shirt, gold-lined aviators hiding those cheeky eyes and that smug smirk gracing his berry lips. 

“Oh, I was just looking around, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I’m actually surprised that you showed up” he stood in front of me, his looming energy enveloping my vicinity. 

“Well, I’m not the one for turning down polite offers. And I wanna see for myself how you party, so…” I wanted to thank him for inviting him but I stopped myself short. If we are going to play this back-and-forth game of flirty comments, he better start the serve. 

“Now that you are here, lemme show you how we actually do things in Outer Banks. Follow me,” he beckoned me to join him as his long legs led me upstairs, my feet trying to catch up with his speed. The first floor looked more grand if that even makes sense. The walls were adorned with hand-painted lush flora, green leaves, and blue hydrangeas, and another smaller chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that led to the balcony on one side and four other rooms on the other. 

We both crossed the threshold, now with a solo cup in my right hand as he turned towards me and said, “Now if you kindly follow Miss Sofia, the VIP Section.” he pointed towards the huge balcony overlooking the sea, two big brown sofas encircling a round table and multiple white chairs littering the area. It was so spacious that it could fit a party of thirty on that singular floor. 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Yeah, only very very very special people are allowed in here, as you can see,” he said as he put his hands on my shoulder and in turn, made my legs and arms into jelly. 

 He just casually put his hands on my shoulder and I just want to faint. 

I could have just let my hands go limp but no, instinctually my arms went up to his clothed, chiseled shoulder blades, and smirked at his shameless flirting. 

“Uh huh…” I shot back a teasing smile as I looked up at him.

He led me to the wooden railing; the view in front of me taking my breath away again. A horde of partygoers were just swaying to Drake booming on another speaker on the veranda down below with the DJ throwing random signs at the crowd, and a spotless beach situated just a few meters in front of the colonial mansion. Rafe caging me on one arm, pointed his other hand holding a solo red cup like me, toward the line of trees, its leaves crowning like it was the entrance of a fairyland, azure waters, frothy white waves jumping from a faraway distance. The golden ring, with some indescribable engraving, glimmered as he showed me around his place. 

I was nearly smushed to his chest as he said, “As you can see, there’s the water,” I, too, looked around towards the directions he pointed as he continued, “Then there’s the beach. The next neighbor lives like a mile away from mine, it’s that private.”

Then his eyes went to the ongoing raucous at the party and he howled at the party under the balcony. He looked like he was having the time of his life, with everyone hollering at him, calling his name, and high-fiving him before we even reached upstairs minutes ago. Rafe Cameron seemed he was holding the world in his hands and I was witnessing it. 

“Hey, that’s no Jim Beam Bullshit, alright. That’s Pappy Van Winkle, that’s like a day’s salary bro. AND IF YOU HAVEN’T GOT A DRINK IN YOUR HAND, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE” 

I can’t help but openly laugh at his caveman-esque antics. Rafe was buzzed from alcohol and a flush to his cheeks. His hands were off of me now, leaving a gaping space that I never thought I felt before and then he took off his sunglasses and threw another smirk at me as he took off his sunglasses and slinked them on the collar of his polo.

I couldn’t help but say, “So, this is the VIP life, huh?”

His smile was soft as he said, “Yeah”

“Cool.”

We just looked at each other 

“You wanna see some more?” he suggested. He’s all in for being my gracious host today, isn’t he? I didn’t wanna leave him and his infectious company so I was completely fine with him taking anywhere with me. 

“Yeah, I’m down.” 

His hands found purchase on my body once again as he said, “GREAT NEWS! THAT’S GREAT NEWS. Lemme show you the grand tour.” As we both started leaving the crowded room, a flash of blue nylon appeared on our side, stopping us.

“Don’t go runnin’” a buzz-cut man with harsh brown eyes and blue sneakers mentioned towards Rafe. He abruptly stopped for a minute and let go of me, now gently placing his hands on my shoulders. 

“Hey, give me five minutes, I’ll come see you soon.”

I didn’t want to seem like a clingy pest but I was slightly down that our plans were cut off. 

Stop it, Sofia. It’s only five minutes. Calm down, geez.

I played it safe and just said, “Okay.”

Both men now wore taut expressions as I walked out of the place, but then I heard the other guy screaming, “COUNTRY CLUB!!!”

Feeling explorative, my feet carried me downstairs to the veranda, planning to scout around the party as well as the mansion. They were playing Playboy Carti now, and everyone was slurring their words as the partygoers were all absolutely sloshed or probably coked up or high and it was only 6:30 pm.

Dazed and confused, I saw a girl eating Cool Ranch Doritos in the middle of the dancefloor, bobbing her head as the bass hit her eardrums. 

Now that’s something I can vibe with. 

If I am stuck in a party where I don���t know anyone but the host, might as well have some fun alone I guess. Fun, meaning finding the pantry or snack stash. 

This is going to be a long day.

**********

I’m on my second pack of family-sized Red Hot Cheetos. And still on my first can of some random root beer. 

And, I think most of the people here are mentally floating in some other dimension while I am observing them like some scientist but with toxic red dust on my chin. 

It’s 8 pm. 

Why am I still here, you may ask? Well, it was not like I was completely alone for an hour and a half, Rafe checked in on me every twenty minutes while I was sitting cross-legged on his kitchen counter. He actually came back ten minutes after I left him on the balcony 

“Look who found the secret snack drawer.”

I indeed raided it just two minutes after going downstairs. 

“Oh, is it ok? I don’t drink that much, not when I am alone at a party and don’t know anyone.”

“Yeah, go for it. Hey, I wanna apologize if I don’t stay with you at the party. I really want to but I-” he got cut off by another random person coming up at him and bumping chests with him, “HEYY RAFEE, MAN YOU’RE BACK!” 

His attention diverted to the person in front of him but, his eyes stayed with me, apologetic as he got dragged again by that bleached blonde head who was accompanied by a throng of men who nearly trampled and took him away somewhere else. 

That was an hour ago. He did try his best to come up to me once in a while but in a minute, he got approached by someone and he would bare his teeth for a minute and then switch up to greet them and then get yanked by his Kook friends. However, his vision was always on me even when he was knee-deep in another conversation, both of us playing a silent game of who would peel off their gaze first and, both of us were not backing down. We were both like two ends of a rubber band stretching out incessantly, anticipating when the band would snap, the tension creeping up over Rafe and me. 

I was actually planning to leave fifteen minutes ago but, then Rafe came up to me, trudging through the horde of people across the room, panting and all, eyes glossier than ever, and rushed over his words, “Hey, I am so sorry that I didn’t spend enough time with you when I literally invited you. Just give me…fifteen minutes. I promise I’ll come back and really show the place around and, be with you.” 

He looked so desperate that I couldn’t help but say, “Ok, I’ll wait. But it’s ok. I’ll leave if you are busy, clearly, you seem like the life of the party. And I don’t wanna impose…”

“No! Please, I…I’ll be back. Just stand here and look pretty like you have been doing for the past hour.”

Now, I’m here, hoping that he keeps his word or otherwise, I’m leaving in five minutes. 

I sipped on my root beer; my feet dangling on the counter. If I am leaving without having fun, I’m at least taking this pack of root beer for funsies.

But as per his words, I saw Rafe stroll in my direction with a whiskey glass in his hand; all his attention centered on me. Once again, I felt bashful under his piercing gaze. 

“Finally,” he breathed out, “now…where were we?” he downed his drink in one long gulp.

“I don’t know, it’s your rave, Mister Cameron”

“Well then, I promised you to show you around, right? Before that, let’s have a toast, shall we? Since it’s a party and all,” he maneuvered around the tight space; and took a tequila bottle and two shot glasses from the top shelf above the counter without even trying, his height towering over my relatively shot frame. His biceps bulged as he held the bottle poured two shots into the glasses and offered it to me while sporting a small smile. 

My mind is spinning in circles over his tall frame. And I haven’t even gotten drunk yet. 

He was near me now, his hands inviting me to get off the counter and I took it, the ground underneath me withering for the third time today as he held his hands in mine. His hands felt comfortably warm in contrast to my ice-cold ones. 

“Bottoms up, Miss Sofia"

I was heavily invested in his game now, his risque charm pulling me in at a dangerous speed. 

“Bottoms up, Rafe” We both clinked our glasses, downing our drinks in one go at the same time. 

Game on, I guess. 

************

I lost count of how many shots of neat tequila I had, how many lime wedges my teeth bit into, or even the consecutive gulps of gin I guzzled. All I can comprehend is the calloused fingers digging into my hips as my body is glued against Rafe Cameron who, indeed gave an extensive tour of the house but my conscience was all up in the air. He took me to every room of the mansion and gave a one-line description of each room but I was invested in his booming voice, the way his eyes glimmered underneath the soft lights (which were hurting my eye now, cuz I am so close to getting pissed as hell) and the way he never let go of my hands.  All I did was nod vigorously and throw in some flyaway comments like, “That’s nice,” and “Hmm…interesting.”

We were on the dance floor now, the DJ blasting “Often” by the Weekend, and, both of us stood at arm's length, our inebriated bodies slowly staggering to the beat. The sober me would have been appalled of me throwing my head back and staggering from side to side but here I am, dancing my heart out with Rafe watching me over like a hawk. His eyes were piercing as he stood with a red solo cup, looking at me like he was ready to pounce on me. And I was enthralled by the attention he was showering on me. 

Fuck, for the first time in my life, my twisted heart is carnally desiring something. 

At one point, the minuscule distance between us was reduced to nothing, as he tugged my tipsy self to his chest, his arms seizing my waist and we both started to sway to the sultry beat drops, basically grinding on each other. My arms crept up to his nape, my head discovering my latest favorite place to rest; his chiseled, clothed chest. Air became precious when I could hear our breaths blend in, our chests heaving in insurmountable tension. 

His voice shook me to my core as he deliberately whispered in my ear, “Do you wanna go swimming in the pool?”

No, I want to keep feeling your skin on mine but I was too stunned to say no to his out-of-the-blue proposition. 

“Yeah, ok,” I murmured like no one was present when the party was going on in full swing

I thought I would wobble my way to the pool outside but Rafe Cameron had other plans. 

Effortlessly, he picked me up by my waist and placed me in my his arms. 

Not just anyway. 

Bridal style. 

I was being carried by Rafe Cameron bridal style. 

If I didn’t faint then, I was going to fall into an unshakable stupor now.

My heart weighed as a cloud; his hold on my body was light as a feather. My body softly thudded with each step he took toward the glimmering swimming pool and with it, my adrenaline slowly spiked. My back could feel the chlorine emanating from the water as Rafe neared the pool, his face reflecting the scintillated shine; cerulean blue eyes turning aquamarine in the warm July night. He let me down gently near the steel steps directed towards the pool; the cold tiled floor causing shivers in my feet. 

With no time to waste, he peeled off his polo shirt leaving me no imagination of his sculpted chest; abs chiseled and, a prominent V-line trailing over his limbs. 

Holy smokes. 

“Like what you see, Miss Sofia”

“I’ll let you know later, Cameron,” I shot back as I bared off my excuse of a dress, leaving me with my red bikini. Rafe who witnessed me taking off my clothes in the most unsexy fashion shamelessly stared at me, wandering eyes trying to capture every part of my body.

“Now do you like what you see, Rafe?”

“Very much”

Fuck, he ain’t slick. 

“So what now?”

“Now,” he took a once over at the pool and started to run towards it, body curling into a cannonball as he went airborne and hit the water with a big SPLASH, “we swim. I thought that was obvious, Miss Sofia. I wanted to show you the beach but hey, we both are way too tired to walk till there and swim so why not bring the beach experience, here?”

I just shook my head from side to side, drunkenly giggling and went near the stairs to go into the pool, Rafe also swimming along with me. As I climbed down into the chill waters, Rafe rushed towards me, grabbed my hands, and pulled me into his side for the second time tonight. His body felt warm against the cold swimming pool. My arms found home in his nape again, my nimble fingers softly grasping on the matted buzzcut. A tingly sensation flared up on the inside of my thighs and my heart. 

Space was a foreign concept between us as we both clung to each other, Rafe holding me by the flesh of my thighs and hoisting me up to his level. I was putty in his hands, both of our bodies floating in some random flow like two leaves gliding in a river. 

“So, how was the premium Rafe Cameron experience?”

“It was satisfying, to say the least. But I wish the host was more sober…”

“Heyy…”

“Kidding, kidding. No, but really, thank you, Rafe. This is the most fun I have ever had in a very very long time.”

I have never seen him smile that shyly, eyes downcast as he said, “Well, I’m glad to tell you that the fun has just started, Miss Sofia…” he let go of me as he had a sinister look in his eye.

“What are you scheming…Rafe…”

“Oh…nothing,” his lips turned into an upward chuckle as he started to push the water in my direction with all his might and splashed it in my direction, the buoyancy of the water making me lose my balance; and I slipped into the water. 

“AHHH! RAFE, YOU SNEAK!” 

“HAHA,” his cackle cut through the combined hum of the party as well as the silent night. I staggered for a moment and held my breath for a moment inside the pool.

If he wants to play with me, might as well give him a run for his money.

He caught on to my disappearance and panic slightly flooded his features. I felt the water sloshing as Rafe looked around, silently called me, “Sof, you ok? Hey, Sof. SOFIAAA…”

Poor guy must have thought I drowned or something. Well, I might if I keep staying like this for a few more seconds, 

I rose out of the water, my bangs completely drenched and my face splotched red as I took deep breaths and tackled him, the water swishing in ripples as I latched onto his body. 

“BOO!”

“JESUS SOF, My God, I thought you drowned or something.”

Worry was etched onto his face now, regret filling into those eyes that I can’t stop thinking about for no reason at all. I felt bad now and immediately cradled his head, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you properly, ok. I just wanted to get back at you for splashing water at me. I’m ok, Rafe.”

“Well, don’t do it again, ok”

Fuck, I ruined the mood. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s another nameless entity in my brain forging the most horrible decisions ever. 

I snaked my arms around him, hoping that my hug would at least emulate my regret. He didn’t hesitate to hug me back, his arms imprisoning me in a sweet deadlock. We stayed in that position for a few minutes, nothing but silence speaking our thoughts out into the ether. As much as I loved being intertwined with the blonde who had been afflicting my dreams, I started to shrivel from the freezing cold pool water and let out a small ACHOO. 

He was the one who pulled away, noting my incessant shivering and pruning body, “Come on, we should leave. Shit, you’re trembling.”

We both waggled our way back to the edge of the pool and got up the stairs, aware that Rafe ogled at my drenched body as I left the pool. The bikini lost its opaqueness, the translucent flimsy red material sticking on my body like second skin. He got out of the pool after me, head dripping with water but held a burning fire in his eyes. Rafe wasted no time and began rushing me inside the mansion through the backdoor; I was worried that I would be exposing my body to a bunch of drunk teenagers. However, Rafe quelled my rising insecurities when he snatched his polo shirt and draped it on me when we reached the threshold, quietly putting my hands on the sleeve holes of his shirt. My skin burned whenever he touched, making me shiver in heat. 

“I have some towels in my room, dry yourself off,” he muttered as he took me in the direction of the staircase, bypassing the party which was slowly dwindling down, the DJ playing a very random song in some unknown language and only a few people littering the living space, slowly sipping on alcohol, the stench of weed and cigarette infiltrating my nostrils.

We entered a peacock-blue room up the stairs, a massive bed with a long mahogany bedframe  occupying the space front and center, lustrous teal blue sheets covering the pristine crisp white bed springs. The sofa and chairs was cluttered with clothes and other stuff and a tall sliding door situated right infront of the bed hidden by coffee-colored curtains with a bathroom attached to its left. 

As he shut the door, leaving only the two of us in the confined space; breathing itself became a chore, my lungs caving in and heart thrumming with anticipation and pure desire. I was standing near his wooden drawer as he went in to the bathroom to get two towels. The stretch of the rubber band felt excruciatingly painful; the tension melting my soul every second. My thoughts started to jumble into one mess that craved for his touch on me, my mind wanting him to cross the distance and end my arduous yearning for a kiss from his lips or even, a graze from his hands. His stormy eyes and alluring body rounded on me as he ambled towards me, his walk having a sure purpose; two cotton towels on his hand. His presence cornered me, my back hitting the drawer. I can sense his body heat radiating off of him, the mix of his perfume and natural musk making me heady with want. 

He gingerly gave me the towel, my hands sizzling with current as my hands lightly grazed his. We both looked into each other, square in the eye as we started to dry our bodies by ourselves. I threw the towel on my hair, feeling the dampness of my chlorinated hair transfer onto the soft towel and slowly rung my hair on the towelletel; my vision cut off by the piece of cotton blocking my eyes. When I felt sure that my hair was more-or-less semi dry, I took off the towel from my head and found Rafe heavily breathing down on me, his angled nose nearly plunging into my hair. 

It felt like life rolled in slow motion as he threw the cloth away from my hands, and put his hands on the door behind me. Rafe’s voice purred in my ear as he said, “You look so pretty, Sofia. Fuck, I can’t stop looking at you all night,” he breathed into my hair as he spoke, “You even smell good, you know how hard it was for me to focus on other shit when all I think about was you in those little white bra and panties with the bow. It’s all I have been thinking about since yesterday with kissing you senseless, and fuck, I can’t even erase the memory of you in your uniform. ”

I looked upto him and saw that his eyes were feasting on my picked on lips, my breasts with his digits digging into the flesh of my hips. I was stupefied too; I couldn’t stop memorising every detail of him; the curve of his Adam’s apple, the defined planes of his face, the sharp ears, the matted blonde strands of his buzzcut, the small freckle under his left eye and those eyes. 

Those cereaulean blue eyes glimmering like sapphire; I knew from that moment that they wouldn’t stop haunting me till I am dragged down to my casket. 

I couldn’t even slip out a coherent sentence to his confession but my heart was on fire, but all I could muster was, “Rafe?”

“Hmm,” his voiced with laced with pain as he spoke to me. 

I knew that this was the moment that my life was going to change forever. 

I felt possessed as I said, “Can you kiss me, please, Rafe? I want to stop playing this game.”

The rubber band snapped and recoiled. 

“Thought you would never ask, Miss Sofia” 

Inches of space got reduced to nothing as he crashed his lips onto mine; his mouth lapping mine up with urgent fervor almost as he was worshipping me by pressing his lips on mine with undulated passion. The kiss felt earth shattering, the earth beneath me felt like it was going to break into pieces and take me away and Rafe’s lips and wandering hands were the only thing keeping me sane and tethered to reality. His lips swallowed my mouth, pouring all his fervor onto me, and my lips couldn’t get enough; chasing his lips like we’re both running from a disaster.  The world went utterly still with only the sounds of  our kiss, hands cradling each other hips and heads and mouths nearly gnawing each other with such intensity and devotion. 

I never thought kissing someone would feel heavenly. Well, I wish I told that girl I was about to get my world rocked by Rafe Cameron. 

Forever. 

AN:

My brain and my fingers after typing this chapter:

FINALLY DUN DUN DUN! THEY KISSED. YK WHAT IT MEANS FOR NEXT CHAPTER, your girl is going to try writing mid ass smut...Pls dont stone me to death for this chapter, the next one and the futures ones too.

THE AMOUNT OF LOVE YOU GUYS GIVE ME IS AMAZINGGG. KISSES TO EACH SINGLE ONE OF YOU. MWAHHH. Any comments or likes or reblogs are absolutely appreciated.

The next update...I genuinely don't know when it's happening but I am always thinking about this story so hopefully within this month.

Hope you guys have a good new yearr...BYEEEE

Taglist:

@lostsyren @araybiaaa @cherubfille @didddii589 @popou61 @rafecameronsfavourite @rafesofiapalomo @me-ig1 @beautyinsteadofashes

[algrenion]

ok, i will post one☝🏽(1) Graduation Photo 👩🏽‍🎓

27 years in the making, 10 of them in higher education — through literal near death experiences, a value pack of disabilities, and a high school attendance of 6% because of them… somehow…

…you’re looking’ at a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Design babieeee let’s freakin goooo 💪🏽😭💕

[justablah56]

wooo made some toast and fed my dog evey bodey should be soso proud of me

[the-acid-pear]

Also while Jack and religion posting these lyrics from Belle's Palsy by Reverend Glasseye just felt so him.

[tortoisesshells]

burke for character bingo please <3

Burke Devlin

Character Opinions Bingo