#this is a little embarrassing but it's fun

[petertingle-yipyip]

MISS POSSESSIVE - JOAQUIN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin x Reader // Word Count: 2,061

Summary: So what if you were a little possessive? No one got hurt. (fun fact: the biting story is a true story)

Your relationship with Joaquin was no secret.

You two didn’t necessarily shove it down everyone’s throats, but you didn’t hide anything either. You arrived at most trainings together, sat next to and against each other, went to lunch together, left together. The only time you were really apart was when he went on a mission with Sam and you went with your recon team.

You noticed the new set of eyes in the training center one day. You were doing your planned solidcore routine while Joaquin did weights on the other side of the center.

You saw her when you took a break between exercises. You sat flat on the machine’s pad and breathed deeply, glancing around the relatively empty center. You and Joaquin were there, as part of your usual schedule, along with Nat and Yelena sparring in the far corner. Kate was doing some yoga routine with the blonde that was actively staring at Joaquin, who was oblivious as he began a set of lat pulldowns.

You stared at your boyfriend for a moment as well. Admittedly, the blonde had a fair excuse to stare, and she was new. Or you hadn’t met her at least. Maybe she didn’t know.

You pushed a headphone aside, ready to snap at her, when Kate smacked her friend’s arm. You could barely hear her say to pay attention and that he was taken. Kate met your eyes a moment later and she offered you a thumbs up with a nod, a not-so-subtle confirmation that she had your back.

You smiled at her as you chuckled. Replacing your headphones, you went back to suffering through solidcore.

Later that week, in a more packed training center, Joaquin’s newest fan was watching him again. You two were jogging the track and conversating, and he decided to show off and jog backwards. You caught the woman over his shoulder and you fixed a glare in her direction. Her eyes met yours and she changed from basically undressing Joaquin in her head to daring you to stop her.

“Hello?” He waved a hand in front of your face and your attention slid back to him. “What was that?” He was smirking slightly.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gonna fall.”

“You’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not gon-“ He began before nearly tripping over his own feet.

His arms flailed slightly and you caught him, which caused you to stumble with him. You couldn’t help the laugh as he righted and you two resumed your easy pace.

“Don’t tell Sam.” He said quickly.

“I already saw!” Sam called from the other side of the track.

Joaquin groaned in embarrassment and you nudged him slightly with your elbow. He frowned dramatically at you and you giggled before jerking your chin, daring him to keep up as you increased your stride.

By the end of that week, his watcher had built up some courage.

You were at the cubbies near the door, rifling through your bag for your sparring gloves. Joaquin was leaning against the wall near the cubbies, casually mentioning how he had his already and you were putting your session behind. You mocked him quietly as you dumped the contents of your bag on the floor.

“You set me up.” You blamed him.

“Me?” He laughed. “I’d never do such a thing.”

“Yes you would, because you know I can kick your ass.”

He sighed dramatically and knelt beside you to help you look. You filtered through your scattered items while he checked the zippered pockets. He was the one to find them, which only added on to his guilt in your mind, and you shoved everything back away.

He offered you his hand to get up and you made a show of your reluctance as you took it. He laughed, pulled you to his chest, and kept you close with an arm over your shoulders.

She wasn’t there when you two began your session. You would’ve felt those baby blue eyes following. By the time you were taking a break, she was there, lingering at the edge of the sparring area. She pretended to be focused on her own workout  when Joaquin glanced in her direction but she didn’t hide her blatant stare when you looked at her.

You didn’t give a warning before storming over. You knelt to be at her level and she propped herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth but you cut her off.

“Funny how you think I don’t notice the way you undress him with your eyes almost everyday.” You said flatly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes.

“Look at the floor. Or the ceiling. Or anyone else in this place. Just keep your eyes off him.” You forced a smile that was anything but friendly. “Got it?”

“I’m so scared.” She said sarcastically, craning her neck to see around you.

“Listen. I can only be nice about this for so long. Some fights you’re not gonna win. And him?” You nodded towards him once. “No way.”

“May the best woman win then.” She shrugged and returned to her sit ups.

You kicked her braced feet away before heading back to Joaquin, earning a muttered “bitch” as you left. His brows furrowed but you waved him off. With a new anger in your veins, you knew you’d hit someone you shouldn’t soon, which made the next portion of your sparring more intense than necessary.

You were both covered in sweat by the time you were done. You had also both removed your shirts by then. Your muscles were burning with the effort and you assumed Joaquin’s were too, but by the way he was talking your ear off you wouldn’t have guessed.

“You’re pretty chatty.” You teased with a grin.

“You wouldn’t let me get a word in over there!” He sounded offended as he threw a hand towards the sparring area. “Anytime I tried to talk, you pounced.”

“I pounced?” You laughed. “What am I, a cat?”

“A feral one.” He muttered and you smacked his arm before you both laughed. “Definitely feral.”

“If I was feral, I’d bite.”

“You do!”

“I do not!”

“Didn’t you bite a kid in second grade?”

You whirled to face him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You know good and well that I had a good reason!” You defended.

His hands went up in surrender but the grin was still plastered on his face.

“I felt threatened.”

“And biting was the only answer?” He tried and failed to keep his laughter contained.

“Yes! I was playing my own game, he tried to make me the prisoner in his war game with some other kid. You don’t put your arm-“

“Around someone’s neck and not expect to get bit.” He finished and you glared lightly at him. “At least you didn’t get suspended.”

“I cried in the principal’s office because I was scared of getting in trouble.” You deadpanned. “I don’t think I ever apologized to the kid, though.”

“And you still went on that field trip.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “I’m so disappointed in you, Y/N/N.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do now?” You dramatically put your hands to your heart.

“Just don’t bite me.” He shrugged, which earned another smack to his arm.

“I left my water. Grab my bag?” You began backing away towards the sparring corner.

“Yeah.” He nodded and went towards your cubby.

As you were grabbing your bottle, Kate and Yelena were stepping into the square. Kate waved enthusiastically at you and Yelena held a fist towards you. You bumped your own against hers and smiled towards Kate.

“How’s it going?” You asked. “Feeling stronger?”

“Today’s the day.” Kate nodded firmly.

“Ha!” Yelena responded loudly and you turned. “You think you’ll beat me?”

“Okay, you say that like it’s a joke.” Kate frowned.

“Was it not?” Yelena laughed. “C’mon, Kate Bishop.”

“Why do you still do that? Stop saying my name like that!” Kate urgently whispered.

“I don’t know, Lena. She might.” You added. You gave Kate a once over glance and then nodded slightly. “Yeah, I think she actually has biceps now.”

“See?” Kate threw an arm towards you. “Wait a second.” She furrowed her brows.

“Staying to find out?” Yelena asked, bouncing side to side on the balls of her feet.

“No, Joaquin and I are gonna try to catch a movie.” You nodded towards where you left your boyfriend. “Just came back for my water.”

“Oh!” Kate announced. “That reminds me…”

“You’re stalling.” Yelena complained.

“It’s important!” Kate insisted then turned to you again. “Sorry about before. I tried to tell her.”

“The new girl?”

She nodded, almost looking embarrassed, but you shrugged.

“I told her today in the nicest way I could to back off.” You waved a dismissive hand.

“What if she didn’t get the memo?” Yelena asked, focusing on something over your shoulder.

“Oh shit…” Kate looked at the same thing behind you.

“What are you two-“ You mumbled and turned to see for yourself. “Oh.”

You crossed your arms and watched for a moment. Joaquin was sitting on the floor with the new girl kneeling beside him. They were involved in some sort of conversation and you were just glad he had put his shirt back on. She exaggerated a laugh and he was confused for a second. Apparently, what he said hadn’t been that funny.

“I think you should start planning your friend’s funeral, Kate Bishop.” Yelena said flatly as the blonde reached out and put her hand on Joaquin’s forearm.

“No, it’s…” You began.

You knew Joaquin. You knew his mannerisms and body language better than anyone. He didn’t care to be talking to this girl, not in the way she was trying to talk to him. He had his phone in one hand and judging by the way he kept looking down at it, he would’ve rather been scrolling than talking to her.

“You’re better than me.” Kate offered. “Two warnings and she still acts like that? Friend or not, I’d slap the hell outta her.” She laughed slightly.

Her other hand landed on his forearm and her other moved to his upper arm. Your brows rose and as if that expression sent a signal, Joaquin looked over towards you with wide eyes.

“Pray for her.” Kate said simply as you took long strides to get back to Joaquin.

He stood as you got closer and she bounced up beside him. She stepped closer, one of her hands on his shoulder and the other reached for his hand.

“Ready to go?” You made a point of only speaking to and looking at Joaquin.

“Yeah.” He sighed in relief and shifted to get away from her touch. “We leave now, we’ll have enough time to shower first.”

“Did you get the tickets already?”

“I thought you were going to stick around and spot me.” The blonde pouted.

“I’ve got ‘em.” Joaquin answered. “And your bag, m’lady.” He bowed slightly as he offered you your bag.

You laughed slightly and slung the strap over your shoulder.

“But Joaquin!” She cried, grabbing his hand with both of hers. He immediately pulled away and she pursed her bottom lip in another pout.

“He already said he’s busy.” You snapped. “Go see if Kate or Yel have time to babysit.”

“I didn’t realize you were his mommy.” She said sarcastically.

You turned to face her fully but Joaquin pulled on your bag to force you back a step. He tapped his knuckles against your thigh and you shifted your weight closer to him.

“Seriously.” You threatened. “Get your hands off my man.”

“Scared?”

“I’m gonna kill her.” You ground your teeth and looked to Joaquin.

Quickly, he put his arm around your shoulders and guided you out the doors. She called after him but you lifted your hand to give her the middle finger. After a string of curses were directed at you, Joaquin closed his hand over yours with a laugh.

“Told you.” Joaquin said proudly as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Told me what?” You raised a brow.

“Feral.” He grinned.

You opened your mouth to argue then closed it. Maybe he was right, at least where he was concerned.

Feral. Possessive. Protective. Same thing, right?

[ssa-dado]

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, smut (implied) Summary: Aaron, ever the strategist, decides that a little wine might help soften the blow of figuring out with you how to tell the team you’re dating. A solid plan - except for one tiny flaw: wine makes him a whore. Warnings: +18, MINORS DNI Hotch is a touch starved whore, a few cuss words here and there, wine gets a bit into both of your heads. Word Count: 5k Dado's Corner: Did I hallucinate this while working on one of the many requests still on my to-do list, only to realize halfway through that it was completely derailing from the main plot - but too cute to abandon? Yes. Is this fun? You tell me (pretty please).

masterlist(s)

One of the many rules you and Aaron had in your relationship was that if you cooked for date night, he was the one doing the dishes.

His idea.

You had been opposed to it at first - not because you minded, of course. You were actually a huge fan of grown men handling household chores without whining like toddlers about how it might somehow demasculate their poor, fragile egos.

No, you were opposed because you didn’t want him doing it out of some sense of obligation.

It took you a while to accept that Aaron wasn’t doing this because he owed you - he was doing it because he wanted to.

Because that was just… Aaron.

Ever the caregiver, always looking for ways to make life easier for the people he loved. He could give you the world and still come to you like a wounded dog, begging for forgiveness because he thought he wasn’t enough.

It was infuriating - for all the deep psychological reasons you could analyze for hours, but also for a much pettier one: when it was his turn to cook, instead of letting you do the dishes like the so-called rule dictated, he just… did them anyway.

And thus, the noble Mr. Clean - brave warrior of dish duty, his arms submerged in treacherous, frothy depths - found himself utterly helpless against the sudden, most dreadful buzzing of his phone.

A cruel twist of fate, indeed!

Stranded, defenseless, bound by duty to his porcelain captors, he could do nothing but stand there, a tragic figure of great importance, cruelly denied his right to immediately bestow his undivided attention upon whatever poor soul dared summon him.

Oh, the agony! The injustice! How swiftly the mighty are humbled… by a sink full of bubbles.

That was because, logically, if even a single drop of water touched his phone, he would instantly lose all of the very important, highly classified FBI secrets stored inside. Of course, phones couldn't possibly be waterproof.

Ha, imagine?! What a concept.

“Who is it?” Aaron asked, still scrubbing at your wine glass like he was trying to erase its entire existence.

Which – by the way - was completely pointless, considering that in less than five minutes, he planned on refilling it with some more. A different wine, yes. But for God’s sake, you weren’t going to die if the last few drops of white mixed with the red.

…What a fussy man.

“Penelope,” you replied, admiring the view.

What a view, really. That man was all legs and no ass, and you were finally learning to appreciate it. 

“Ignore it,” he said, not even turning around.

Unfortunately for him - and for the HR department still blissfully unaware that their most serious, by-the-book boss was fraternizing with a subordinate - you were a profiler.

The U.S. government literally paid your bills every single month because you were exceptionally good at reading people.

And the way he answered? Yeah, that wasn’t the tone of a man casually dismissing an unimportant text. No, that was the tone of a man caught red-handed, scrambling for plausible deniability.

Embarrassed. Secretive. Suspicious. Frankly, if you didn’t already know what he was hiding, you’d be halfway to slapping cuffs on him. Wouldn’t even be the first time.

And so you read it – out loud.

Penelope Garcia, 7:56 PM:

hotch sir hotch bossman sir, i am DYING please tell me if you found out who her mystery boyfriend is i am suffering!!!!!!!! i know you know. i know it in my heart. if you can’t say it just give me a hint. a tiny one. a cryptic riddle. a blink. i will take anything.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

By her, of course, she meant you - because despite a few months of keeping your relationship under wraps, you still hadn’t gotten around to telling the team. Your colleagues. Your friends. Your unwanted, overly nosy adopted children.

That their elusive "mystery boyfriend" was, in fact, your mutual boss.

You were going to tell them. Eventually.

Didn’t know when. But you would.

Then again, it wasn’t like you were surrounded by some of the best profilers in the country, trained to pick up on the slightest behavioral shift.

It’s not like the second two incredibly touch-starved people like you and Aaron started walking around with even a fraction of happiness, that wouldn’t immediately raise suspicions.

…Except, apparently, it hadn’t.

Because somehow, the team had only managed to land on half the conclusion: you were seeing someone.

But Aaron? Not even a blip on their radar.

It was almost impressive, really. The answer was so obvious that they had discarded it entirely, still wandering around in the dark, trying to piece together a puzzle that was sitting right in front of their faces.

Just like Penelope was doing now, so desperate for some reason that she was straight-up asking him outright - when not that long ago, she still thought twice before even making a dirty joke in his presence.

And so, you got up, walked over to Aaron, and held the phone directly under his nose. “What does this mean?”

He squinted at the screen, then at you. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. She always sends me that - I don’t understand what exactly equals the sign of integration”.

…What?

You were suddenly just as confused as he was.

He blinked at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised in that utterly sincere, slightly bewildered way of his. “That sign before it,” he said, completely lost. “It looks Chinese. Thought you knew Chinese, sweetheart.”

…What?

Oh, for the love of God.

If this man hadn’t already seen the absolute worst horrors the world had to offer, you would fight for his innocence with your nails, your teeth, and - if absolutely necessary - one of the worst shooting records ever logged in the Bureau.

You looked at the screen again.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

Oh.

Oh, that’s what had confused him.

“Aaron,” you said gently, doing your absolute best not to kiss him right then and there, “that is a cat.”

You sighed, then pointed at the message again. “By the way, the ‘sign’ in the middle is in Korean, not Chinese.”

He looked at the screen again - then back at you. “…Cat equals sign of integration?”

“No, honey,” you said, barely suppressing your smile, tapping the little text emoji. “It’s just a cat.”

He studied it for another second. “Oh.”

There. That did it. You gave in. Leaned in and pressed a loud smooch to his cheek.

At least your dignity was still intact - he had no idea why you’d done it, just assumed it was one of those spontaneous bursts of affection that came with being hopelessly in love.

Honeymoon phase truly did work wonders.

“Do you think I can have the cat too?” he asked, grabbing the bottle of red and a corkscrew.

That was a trap.

Because Aaron Hotchner still signed every single text he sent.

And while it wasn’t an issue when he was sending something standard -

Lawyer, 6:17 PM:

They found a new body, we’re gathering at the precinct in 30.

A.H.

- it became a lot more unsettling when he sent the filthiest, most depraved things you’d ever read, only to end them with that stiff little A.H. like he was dictating official Bureau correspondence.

Lawyer, 11:51 PM:

Sweetheart, if only these stupid walls weren’t so thin, I’d have you right here with me, bent over, face pressed against this mattress, making you come so many times you’d forget your own name. At least three. Maybe four, if I’m feeling generous.

A.H.

So now, standing in his kitchen, watching him pour wine like he hadn’t just permanently scarred you with his painfully bureaucratic approach to sexting, you knew that if you admitted he could simply copy-paste that ‘cat equals integration sign,’ it would only be a matter of time before you were subjected to something truly traumatizing, like -

Lawyer, very-late-office-hour PM:

It’s your fault I’m getting distracted with the paperwork, because I’m still thinking about how good you tasted last night while sitting on my face. God, I can still feel your thighs shaking, you were so sweet for me, honey, so fucking perfect.

P.S. How many reports do you still have left? Because I’ve been thinking about having you on my tongue again before the night is over. I think I’ve got about an hour or so left but then I’m all yours.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not.

That man could not be trusted with the cat.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades as your fingers brushed over his back. “I don’t think you can get it. She must have programmed it herself into her phone.”

You truly hoped you were as convincing as he was clueless about text etiquette.

“It’s a pity,” he sighed, both of your wine glasses in hand as he made his way to the couch. “I would have loved to send you the cat.”

…Of course he would. Smug ass.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted in him - just barely. A pause that didn’t usually belong there... weird.

Still, you followed, watching as he settled in, patting the cushion beside him with a half-smile. “Come here, sweetheart.”

A misleading gesture, considering his legs were very much spread - a much clearer invitation. At least, that’s how you chose to interpret it.

Because you could swear - those legs spoke to you. Called to you. So you slid right into your rightful seat - his lap.

…Would have been rude not to answer.

“Back to Garcia,” he said, resting a hand on your thigh as he handed you your painstakingly polished wine glass - so clean, so immaculately spotless, that the red wine inside looked redder than red. A real masterpiece, Mr. Clean. “She doesn’t seem to be letting up about finding out who you’re dating… This is the fourth message this week.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your wine. “Well, she’s second only to you when it comes to being nosy about gossip.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head, that same small half-smile back on his lips.

That particular smile.

The one he used when he was trying to convince someone he was fine when, in reality, he was not - when he was trying to reassure everyone else while simultaneously refusing to admit, even to himself, that something was eating him alive.

Oh, now you knew what this was about.

He had definitely practiced this conversation in his head - refined it down to the perfect phrasing. Measured. Logical. Reassuring.

A version so well-rehearsed, so carefully constructed, that he’d convinced himself first before trying to convince you - that this didn’t scare him.

That this was just another rational step forward.

That it was fine.

Because if he could make it sound easy, maybe it would be.

Maybe it would give you something solid to lean on, because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were standing on shaky ground with someone just as fractured as he was.

But in the end, even the best-laid words couldn’t withstand the weight of his emotions - whether he liked it or not, even rocks are meant to erode.

“I think it’s time we come clean to the team,” he admitted, completely veering off-script - though, of course, he still made sure to soften the blow with a kiss to your temple.

Not that it made much difference. You both knew this moment was inevitable, but somehow, you’d managed to delude yourselves into thinking that if you just kept putting it off, the perfect time would miraculously appear.

At first, you’d delayed it until things were official.

Then, because you needed to be sure this could work in the long run.

Then, because you wanted time to just enjoy each other.

Truthfully? If it were entirely up to the two of you, you’d probably keep postponing it indefinitely - at least until the day you were both retired, far away from any fraternization rules or painfully awkward team dynamics.

Unless, of course, your eyes had been deceiving you all along, or life decided to be cruel and rip this happiness away from you before you ever even got the chance. All you could do was hope not.

Aaron sighed, watching you carefully. “So, how do you want to do this?”

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his very specific plan of having wine while discussing this was still intact - especially since the very large sip you took the second he asked hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He huffed a laugh.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

“Are we sure we have to?” You groaned, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. It’s the only way to keep them from getting the satisfaction of figuring it out first and do this our way…”

It was his turn to take a long sip now… he surely wasn’t thrilled about the lack of an actual game plan.

“…Still need to figure out what exactly we mean by ‘our way,’” he admitted. “But, you know… that’s what these are for.”

He tapped a finger against his temple, then against yours, clearly implying that your very skilled, highly trained profiler brains would surely work this out.

You, however, were placing your bets on your problem-solving skills drastically improving after a few more glasses of wine, because right now?

“We are so fucked,” you commented.

Aaron clinked his glass against yours, deadpan. “Completely.”

You both took long, slow sips of wine like it might somehow provide divine intervention.

It didn’t. You were indeed left pretty much alone in this.

You sighed, setting your glass down on the coffee table. “Well, you definitely have the face of someone who already has a plan...” You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “...a very handsome face.”

Cheesy. But deserved.

Aaron chuckled. “I believe…” He kissed you on the cheek – twice - before setting his own glass down too. “…We should tell them directly. Get ahead of it. Lay it out as matter-of-factly as possible.”

“Matter-of-factly?”

He nodded, all serious, like he hadn’t just suggested the worst possible approach.

“Sweetheart…” You pinched his cheek, making him scrunch his nose, hoping – more like praying - that it would snap him out of whatever fantasy land of logic, reason, and good intentions he was apparently living in.

“If we tell them directly, Penelope will throw an actual partypersonally design matching t-shirts, and have the entire team wear them.” You paused, leveling him with a look. “And you know it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I know.”

“Emily and Derek will immediately start making jokes like two middle schoolers who just learned what sex is and will not let us breathe.”

“I know.”

“JJ will be quiet but then ask all of a sudden, ‘So when’s the wedding?’ which will restart the chaos all over again.”

“I know.”

You turned to face him, deadly serious. “Spencer-”

“-Will hit us with a full statistical analysis of workplace relationships,” Aaron finished, exhaling sharply, already bracing himself.

Because there was only one team member left to account for - the worst of them all.

“And… oh God… Dave…”

And with that horrifying realization, he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do - he face-planted directly into your chest with a dramatic, muffled groan of pure defeat.

You blinked down at him, amused. “Honey…”

Why was he even so touch starved like that?

“All I ask,” came his muffled voice, still very much nestled between your breasts, “is five minutes of peace.”

You snorted. “You do realize this isn’t exactly discouraging me from making fun of you, right?”

He sighed again. “You do realize that if you keep laughing, you’re just shoving them further into my face?”

…Damn him and his irritating ability to state the obvious.

You sighed, fingers absentmindedly combing through his short spikes of hair. “…So we’re back to square one.”

Aaron exhaled, still very much face-first in his chosen safe haven. “Unfortunately.”

You hummed, “Okay, hypothetically, if we just… never tell them, how long do you think we could get away with it?”

That was so absurd that it actually made him lift his head. He blinked at you, utterly offended by the suggestion.

“I am not spending the next decade pretending I don’t stare at your ass every time you walk away.”

…Alright. That was definitely the wine talking.

In vino veritas, as the Romans said. Wine makes people say dumb shit: the truth.

“Wow. Didn’t know you were a poet, Hotchner.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t pretend you’re above it, because I catch you every time you drift off during briefings just to stare right at-”

“Alright, alright,” you cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could fully call you out... he was not happy about it. “We’re both shameless…"

You needed an exit strategy. Fast.

You reached for his wine glass over the coffee table. “Well, at least the bright side of telling them is that we won’t have to schedule our coffee breaks in advance anymore and pretend to look surprised when we see each other.”

And all of that was just for one single moment.

The fleeting brush of fingertips as you handed him the cup you always poured for him.

The way his hand was always warmer than yours, despite the fact that you were the one holding the scalding mug, as if basic thermodynamics simply did not apply to Aaron Hotchner.

And if it was one of those days, sometimes, there’d be a little extra something.

A longer touch.

Eye contact that lingered just a second too long.

A slow sip from his cup while still holding your gaze, and suddenly, it felt indecent - like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing in broad daylight, let alone in a federal building.

And now - here, in the comfort of his apartment, with nothing and no one to stop you - he reached for the wine glass you were offering, except… he wasn’t actually reaching for the glass.

He was just holding your hand.

Aaron chuckled, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles. “I think we’re holding onto this touch just a little too long,” he murmured, nuzzling into you, his breath warm against your ear. “Might start looking suspicious.”

Didn’t he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, also some-” you started, or at least tried to, because as if everything else wasn’t enough, now he was kissing just behind your ear, his lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, warm, and slow, and wet and… God…

Okay. Okay.

Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind of a little bit obsessed with him.

Either way, the result was the same: you really, really wanted him right now.

You sighed, tilting your head to grant him a little more access - but not too much, or you might actually end up using the full length of his three-seater couch instead of stubbornly remaining curled up in the same cramped two-foot space you’d unofficially claimed as your own. Ergo - going horizontal with him instead of just being seated on his lap.

“I thought we were having a serious discussion,” you murmured, though the breathy edge to your voice wasn’t exactly helping your case.

Aaron hummed in response, slowly dragging his lips from behind your ear down along the curve of your jaw, pressing a kiss at the hinge. “We are.” Another kiss. “What were you starting to say, sweetheart?”

And another one.

You tried to think. Really, you did.

But it was getting increasingly difficult with his mouth still very much on your skin, moving towards places that were making it exponentially harder to form coherent thoughts.

You would’ve made a mental note to never wear anything that resembled a tank top around him again, if only you had the actual brain capacity to form any notes right now.

“Aaron-”

Aaron smirked against your skin. “You were saying?”

…Blank. Absolutely blank.

Your brain stalled for a solid three seconds before mercifully rebooting.

“I-” You licked your lips, cleared your throat. “Penelope.”

That, thankfully, was enough of a keyword to get him to back off - though, the second he did, you already desperately missed the warmth of his mouth on your skin.

He tilted his head, “Penelope?”

You swallowed. “She’s… gonna be beaming.”

Aaron blinked at you. “Beaming.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, because God, he was too cute when he was confused like this. “Her and Kevin have been desperate for another couple to go out with. Ever since JJ and Will stopped leaving the house because they’re too busy baby-proofing every square inch of their lives.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed slightly. “And by ‘go out with,’ you mean double dates.”

You hummed, fingers grazing his cheek. “Mmm. Yeah. Double dates.”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “Wait, what?”

His face was resolute. “I’m not doing double dates.”

You squinted at him. “Okay, but why?”

And that’s how you learned that if there was one thing your boyfriend hated - more than messy paperwork, more than delayed flights, more than the Bureau’s budgeting meetings - it was double dates.

Not specifically with Penelope and Kevin. God, no. He was practically the puppet master of their relationship in the first place. Just… double dates in general.

“They’re impractical,” he said.

You snorted. “What do you mean?”

Aaron sighed. “They are a waste of time. You sit there, and for the first fifteen minutes, it’s fine. The usual small talk, polite conversation…”

You nodded, barely biting back a grin. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Honestly, this just sounded like some classic Aaron Hotchner being the most adorable introvert to ever exist.

He shot you a look, deadly serious. “It’s a trap.” You nearly cooed. Adorable. “Because at some point, you end up talking one-on-one with someone from the other couple. And right when the conversation is actually getting interesting-”

He suddenly paused.

His hand started at your shoulder, innocent enough - until it wasn’t, until it drifted lower, fingertips skimming down until they found your thigh, before sliding inward, squeezing your soft flesh there.

“See?” Aaron murmured, voice deceptively casual. “It starts off innocently. A hand on the shoulder…”He angled his fingers just a notch further up your upper thigh. “…Then the thigh. Then-”

He leaned in, kissing you just at the corner of your mouth.

"A little kiss here," he murmured, lips barely brushing your skin.

Then another - softer, lingering just at the very edge of your lips.

"A little peck there."

Okay.

Ahem.

For a man who hated double dates, he was making a very strong case for them.

This was clearly foreplay.

Had to be foreplay.

You chose to interpret it as foreplay.

So, naturally, just as you were about to pull him in properly - to finally taste the wine on his lips – he pulled back.

Mixed signals whore.

“And then,” he continued, and you swore his voice had gotten even lower - sluttier, if you were being honest - "it escalates.”

...Wine-induced yapper. "Because one couple decides a little peck isn’t enough, so they turn and start devouring each other’s faces… in public.”

The wine that was in your system, instead, suggested you should have him biblically, right here, right now, on his couch.

“Care to demonstrate this part too?” You licked your lips, tilting your head.

Aaron sighed “Honey.” You knew you were in trouble the moment he smirked. “You’re demonstrating my point…”

Your stomach dropped.

“…You want more.” Aaron tutted, shaking his head, feigning disappointment. “Of course you want more. A chaste kiss isn’t enough. How could it be, sweetheart?”

Hell yes you wanted more.

Badly.

You might have even nodded without meaning to.

“But imagine if this was happening in public. In front of two other people. What about them?” he murmured, tilting his head, voice dropping into something dark, silky, dangerous. “In front of two other people.”

You swallowed, very much not thinking about them right now.

“Because at that point, they only have two choices: they either sit there - third-wheeling, watching - or…” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide over your bare waist, gripping, pulling you that much closer. "… they start doing it too."

Your breath hitched. “Aaron-”

"With just a kiss, it creates an environment," he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear, "where both couples get competitive. Where they start copying each other - but making it more…"

He dragged his nose along the curve of your jaw, the ghost of his lips tracing just behind it. "Passionate."

A teeth-grazing kiss against your pulse.

A slow drag of his lips down the column of your throat, before he made his way back up, tilting your chin up with his fingers just so, forcing you to look at him.

And God, that look.

"More tongue," he continued, letting you see it first - his own darting out, wetting his lips just before he brushed them over yours.

Not kissing.

Not yet.

“More biting.” Aaron caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just enough to confirm what you already knew -

He tasted like red wine.

Rich. Dark. Addictive.

And so did you.

“More touching.” His hand drifted, fingertips just skimming over your ribs, teasing along the underside of your breast - so close, so close, before he let it trail lower again, just as his lips ghosted over your ear.

"More sounds."

You barely bit back the breathy, desperate little moan clawing its way up your throat because -

Aaron shoved you off his lap.

In one fluid motion, he shifted, pressing you back into the couch, caging you in beneath him, his arms bracketing either side of your head.

His knee slotted between your thighs, pressing up just slightly - just enough to make you gasp, make your hips twitch without thinking.

You were pretty sure now that this was, in fact, foreplay.

“At that point,” he murmured, lowering himself, pressing his body against yours, pinning you down with nothing but his weight, “if you’re already getting ideas…”

Aaron rolled his hips against you, his knee shifting just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. “…it’s better off just staying home. Because at least then,” he whispered, “we can do this.”

And then he kissed you. Properly.

Deep and hungry, pressing you down into the cushions until you moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer as one of his hands slipped under your shirt.

“You-” you swallowed, trying to find words, but he stole them from you, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “You expect me to believe this is why you hate double dates?”

“I expect you to understand,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of your neck, “that if I ever go on one…” he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “…I’ll be thinking about this the entire time.”

Then - click.

The sound of the button of your pants being undone, followed shortly by the hiss of your zipper. You felt the warmth of his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, resting over your hip bone.

Well, fuck.

“You’ll be sitting across from me,” he continued, voice so unfairly composed, so infuriatingly smooth, “pretending to listen to whatever they’re taking about.”

He tilted his head, kissing along your collarbone, then much lower. You made a mental note to always wear anything resembling a tank top in his presence from now on.

“And the entire time…” his fingers dipped just slightly beneath the elastic of your underwear.

You shuddered. “Aaron.”

He hummed, pleased - so deeply pleased - before finally sliding lower, his fingers finally brushing right where you needed him most.

You whimpered.

“I’ll be remembering,” he murmured, “exactly how you sound right now.”

Your back arched into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle as his fingers moved.

“And how you look,” he added, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, “when you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched-

And then.

Then-

He stopped.

Just - stopped.

His hands left you completely as he leaned back, settling onto his knees above you, looking far too pleased with himself.

You gaped at him, betrayed. “Are you kidding me?”

Aaron just smirked, gaze flicking over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uneven breathing, the way your body was still desperately aching for him.

“See?” he shrugged, voice so damn smug. “This is why I hate double dates.”

How funny would it be if these ended up being his last words?

You huffed, adjusting yourself on the couch, crossing your arms like you weren’t still ridiculously turned on and very annoyed about it. “Alright, you know what? Fine. No need to suffer through a double date if we just… conveniently wait to tell the team about us until after JJ and Will start going back out with Penelope and Kevin.”

Aaron smirked.

At least you’d both come to an agreement - the exact same procrastination tactic you’d been using, just with a new and improved excuse attached.

“…Smart girl.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathing heavily, still so deeply unsatisfied, as Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, then stood, stretching his arms.

“I’ll clean the wine glasses,” he mused, already heading toward the kitchen. “And then I’ll be back to you.”

You stared at him.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder, smirking.

You huffed, sarcastic, “glad we could work this out.”

You were not glad. Not at all. Especially because not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a text.

From him.

From Mr. Clean himself, who was currently just a couple rooms away from you.

Lawyer, 8:43 PM:

Sweetheart, I hope you're ready, because I’m going to spread you out on that couch and fuck you so deep, you’ll still feel me when you sit at your desk tomorrow.

^.ᆽ.^= ∫

A.H.

"Garcia just told me how to get the cat," came his voice from the kitchen - so damn smug you could hear the smirk in it, followed the sound of his footsteps getting closer.

Before you could turn, before you could say anything, he was there - leaning in from behind the couch, arms sliding around you, caging you in, whispering into your ear -

"It was just a simple copy-paste."

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe2

[00valentina-writes00]

period sex with abby? 😛😛😛 something cute and fun

♡♥︎ RED-HOT ♥︎♡

Warnings: fingering, scissoring, period sex, soft!dom Abby, praise, messy sex, reader is a little shy about it but Abby is down bad.

Abby knew something was up the second she walked into your shared apartment.

You were curled up in bed, buried under blankets, your face scrunched in mild discomfort as you stared at your phone, clearly trying to distract yourself.

She recognized that look instantly.

And she smirked.

“Ah,” she hummed, setting her bag down as she walked over to you. “That time of the month, huh?”

You huffed, peeking at her from under the blankets. “Unfortunately.”

Abby chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How bad is it?”

You shrugged. “Cramps are kinda shitty, but I’m fine.”

Abby tilted her head, observing you, the way you chewed your lip, like you wanted to say something else but were holding back.

Her smirk grew.

“What?” she teased, nudging your leg. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your phone, and Abby’s gaze darkened as she watched your thighs subtly press together.

Oh.

Oh, you wanted her.

On your period.

And you were shy about it.

“Baby,” Abby murmured, crawling over you, pulling the blanket down just enough to see your face. “You wanna fuck, yeah?”

Your face burned.

“I—”

She chuckled, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips.

“C’mon,” she murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “You know I don’t care about a little mess.”

You swallowed hard, your whole body tensing, because—fuck, that was the only thing holding you back.

Abby was a menace when it came to this.

She loved period sex.

And she wasn’t afraid to tell you that.

“You’re gonna make me say it?” you mumbled, embarrassed, and Abby grinned, her fingers dragging down your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your tiny sleep shorts.

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make you say it,” she murmured, her fingers dipping lower, teasing the hem. “Use your words, baby.”

You whined, and Abby’s smirk deepened.

She was so fucking patient, waiting for you to admit it, watching you squirm, letting the tension build between you.

You finally broke, exhaling shakily, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you.”

Abby’s eyes darkened.

“That’s my girl.”

It didn’t take long for her to strip you down, to get you laid out beneath her, legs spread, your body already soaked from arousal, from the way she spoke to you, from how insatiable she looked.

“Fuck, baby,” Abby breathed, dragging her fingers through your red tinted slick folds, gathering the mess, spreading it over your clit, making you whimper.

She groaned at the sound.

“Look at you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “So fucking wet for me.”

Your breath hitched as she teased you, her fingers brushing your aching entrance but never fully giving you what you needed.

You whined, hips twitching, and Abby smirked.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

You glared at her. “You’re being a dick.”

Abby chuckled. “Oh, baby, you haven’t even seen me be a dick yet.”

And with that, she slid two fingers inside you, slow, deep, making your entire body arch as you moaned, your hands clawing at the sheets.

“God, you’re so tight,” she groaned, curling her fingers, finding that spot almost instantly.

Your vision blurred, pleasure coursing through you as she pumped her fingers, dragging against that spot over and over, the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt filling the room.

Abby was gone, mesmerized by the way you clenched around her, her other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for her.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” she praised, her lips brushing against your stomach. “You like this, yeah? Letting me fuck you while you’re like this?”

You nodded, moaning louder, your hips grinding down, meeting her thrusts.

Abby growled, watching you, completely obsessed with the way you fell apart beneath her.

“Yeah, that’s my girl,” she murmured, leaning up, capturing your lips, swallowing your moans as she fucked you open, stretching you out, her fingers now thrusting faster, harder—

You gasped, shaking, toes curling, the pleasure overwhelming, and Abby felt it, felt how close you were, how your walls fluttered around her fingers, how your body tensed in preparation for your release.

“Cum for me, baby,” she whispered, her voice commanding, her lips brushing against yours as she curled her fingers one last time—

And you broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you, your back arching off the bed, a loud, desperate moan spilling from your lips as you clenched around her fingers, your entire body shuddering.

Abby groaned, watching you ride it out, her fingers still moving, drawing it out, making you whimper from the overstimulation.

She finally pulled out, her fingers glistening red, and she didn’t hesitate to bring them to her lips, sucking them clean, moaning at the taste.

Your face burned.

“God, you’re so hot,” Abby muttered, shaking her head in awe.

Then, her eyes darkened, and before you could even catch your breath, she was on you again, hooking your leg over her hip, her body pressing against yours—

You gasped when you felt it—her soaked, aching pussy grinding against yours, your slicks mixing together, your still-sensitive clit rubbing against hers, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“Abby—fuck,” you whimpered, clutching onto her, your nails digging into her back.

She groaned, her hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as she ground down, her pace slow, deep, letting you feel every inch of her against you.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” she breathed, her forehead pressed against yours, watching your every reaction, memorizing the way you looked beneath her.

You moaned, your body moving with hers, grinding back, your legs trembling from the pleasure.

Abby growled, her grip tightening.

“That’s it, baby,” she praised, her voice rough. “Take it. Let me feel you.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, the friction delicious, your bodies moving together, her slick cunt dragging against yours, her clit catching yours perfectly, sending sparks through your veins.

You whimpered, burying your face in her neck, and Abby groaned, her hips stuttering for a second.

“You gonna come again?” she murmured, her voice raspy, wrecked. “Gonna come on my pussy, baby?”

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching, your body tensing as the pleasure mounted again, fast, overwhelming, too much—

And then Abby reached down, pressed her thumb against your clit, and that was it—

You cried out, coming hard, body convulsing, your nails scratching down her back as you shattered beneath her, your orgasm crashing over you like a fucking tidal wave.

Abby moaned loudly, feeling you tremble, feeling your release mix with hers, and then she was coming too, gasping as her body tensed, her arms wrapping around you, holding you tight as she shook.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together, your breathing heavy, your hearts racing in sync.

Then, Abby chuckled breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“Yeah,” she murmured, grinning. “We’re doing that again.”

[inseobts]

Omg I absolutely adore your Law fics!! I’d love to read about a fake dating scenario between a Strawhat reader and Law in Wano like you did with Zoro. He’d be such a cutie 🥰

Thank you 🙏

Undercover Affection

law x strawhat!reader

a/n: omg I was so excited to write this aknakjd it doesn't really follow the canon events tho

words count: 5.1k

tags: fake dating, fake marriage, teasing, wano arc

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You and Trafalgar D. Water Law, notorious pirate and doctor, stand side by side in the bustling marketplace, trying to blend in as a newlywed couple. Law, wearing his usual stoic expression, is clearly out of his element, while you can’t help but smile at how ridiculous the whole situation is.

"Stop grinning like that" he mutters, adjusting the fake wedding ring you insisted on putting on his finger. He glares at you, but you only giggle louder.

"Oh, come on, it’s not so bad. We’ve got to make it convincing" you tease, leaning closer to him with exaggerated affection. His irritation is almost palpable.

"I don't need you hanging off me like that. We're here for a mission, not for you to play around." His voice is calm, but the faint redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

You smirk, knowing exactly how much it bothers him "But I love how grumpy you get when I do this. It’s like a whole new side of you."

You look at him with playful eyes, wrapping your arm around his, deliberately snuggling closer, and watching the slight twitch in his jaw.

"You're insufferable" he grumbles, but you can tell from the way his eyes flicker to yours that he's secretly enjoying it. Even if he won't admit it, you know this act is something he didn’t expect and now he can’t stop thinking about it.

You wink at him “You know, you’re really cute when you’re angry.”

Law scoffs but the tips of his ears go red, which only makes you smirk wider.

The two of you continue to walk through the crowded streets of Wano, and the people around you don't seem to pay much attention, at least not to Law. But you, on the other hand, draw plenty of stares. It's almost laughable how you're both playing the part of a loving couple so well. You’re sure the act would’ve made some people second-guess themselves, if not for your obvious affection for Law.

“Do you really have to hold my hand like this?” Law mutters, trying to keep his face neutral. His tone is deadpan, but his hand doesn't pull away, even though he clearly wants to.

“Yes, I do. It’s important for the cover, we're married, remember?” You tighten your grip slightly, watching him try his hardest to stay composed, and you can’t help but relish in how embarrassed he looks.

“...I’m going to regret this” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible.

“No, you won’t,” you say sweetly, squeezing his hand with a grin “You like it.”

Law doesn’t say anything for a moment. His face remains impassive, but you can see the little vein in his forehead twitching. It’s clear that he’s not nearly as indifferent as he’s trying to make himself seem.

Before he can retort, you pull his arm, dragging him towards a stand with fresh produce "Look! They have strawberries!!"

You start picking up the plump, red fruit, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. Law watches you, his arms crossed, a frown on his face.

"You’re acting like a child," he observes dryly, clearly disinterested. But you know he’s watching, and deep down, you know that he’s silently amused.

“You’re just mad because I’m having fun. Don’t worry, I'll buy you some too” you say, but the moment you say it, you know he’ll probably refuse it.

Law doesn't respond, but you catch the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, just for a moment. His mouth tightens, but it’s not out of frustration anymore. It’s something else, something softer, though he’d never admit it.

You turn to him and offer one of the strawberries "Want one? You might smile for once."

He takes the strawberry reluctantly, muttering under his breath, "You're impossible" but you can see the corners of his mouth twitch, as if the smallest hint of a smile might want to escape.

The night comes, and you’re both sitting around a small campfire outside of town, eating a simple meal. Law’s still in his pirate garb, but you’ve managed to dress him up in something a little more traditional, at least in a way that blends with the locals. He looks even more irritated now that he’s out of his comfort zone, but you can’t help but stare at him.

"You know, you really should smile more," you say casually, picking at the food in front of you "You’d be less grumpy."

Law shoots you a glare, his gaze cold but somehow fond "I don’t need to smile."

“You say that, but you do smile sometimes, even when you don’t mean to,” you tease, leaning your head on your hand "Like when you're all annoyed. It’s cute."

His eyebrow twitches, and you immediately know you’ve hit a nerve.

"I do not get 'annoyed'," he hisses "I’m just... trying to survive being stuck here."

“Oh sure, but I’ve noticed something,” you say, leaning in with a smirk “Every time I annoy you, you get this cute little angry face. It’s the best part of the day.”

Law scowls harder, trying to maintain his composure, but you can see the way his face softens ever so slightly, as if he’s secretly enjoying your teasing.

“I’m not cute” he mutters, but his voice lacks its usual edge.

“Oh, trust me, you’re definitely cute. Especially when you try to hide it” you say, reaching over to poke his cheek, making him flinch.

“Don’t touch me” he warns, his patience thinning, but there's no real heat behind it.

You pull your hand back with a grin, trying to hide your glee “I bet I can get you to smile before this mission is over.”

“You won’t" he says, though there's a hint of challenge in his voice.

You wink at him “Wanna bet?”

Law looks at you for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. But you both know it’s a challenge he’s already lost.

The next morning, the Heart Pirates gather. You and Law make your way back after a quick stop in the town. You’re both still playing the role of a happily married couple, though your grin and the slight blush on Law’s face tell a different story.

"Morning, you two" Bepo greets with a wave as you approach the group. He gives you both a curious glance but doesn’t comment right away. You notice his ears twitch slightly, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

"Morning" you reply sweetly, wrapping your arm around Law's waist. You can’t resist leaning into him just a little, making sure everyone notices.

Shachi and Penguin, standing nearby, exchange a quick look.

Law doesn't want to draw attention to it, but he's well aware of the curious stares from his crew.

"What's going on between you two?" Penguin asks, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow "I thought we were supposed to be working undercover, not pretending to be... a couple." He says "couple" with exaggerated air quotes, making sure the whole group hears it.

You giggle, looking up at Law "Oh, we are, don't worry. Usopp said we should go undercover as a freshly married couple, right, honey?" you say, dragging out the last word with far too much affection, but you actually did it to tease him. In facts, Law’s face tenses, and you can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Bepo looks between the two of you, his expression softer than the others "You’re really convincing" he says, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks. He clearly doesn’t quite understand the situation but seems to be happy for you, or at least trying to be supportive.

“You’re making him uncomfortable, y/n” Shachi teases, nudging you playfully.

“Well, it's a fake marriage after all” you reply with a grin “If he likes it or not we have to make it seem real, especially because we almost got caught”

Law huffs, crossing his arms tightly “We’re not really married. It’s a cover for the mission. And you...” He points at Shachi, who seems way too entertained by the situation “...don’t have to comment on it.”

"Sure, sure, but tell me this," Shachi continues, leaning in as though he's unraveling a great mystery "How come every time I look over, you're so close? So touchy-feely for just a mission. There’s gotta be something going on.”

Penguin snickers in the background, enjoying the show “Shachi might be onto something, Law. You sure you’re not falling for y/n?”

You wink at Law, watching his patience fray a little more “Oh, I think he’s already there” you say, making sure to be extra teasing.

Law narrows his eyes, clearly not thrilled at the idea of his crew picking up on this “I am not! Stop messing around, all of you. We have more important things to focus on.”

But you can tell that beneath the irritation, there’s a hint of something else, embarrassment? Maybe even… a little fondness?

“I’m just saying,” Bepo starts, his voice soft but sincere “you two look so natural together. It’s kind of adorable.”

Your eyes soften, and you offer Bepo a warm smile "I’m glad someone sees it that way," you reply, winking at Law again. He’s practically fuming now, but there's a twinkle in his eyes that he’s not quite able to hide.

“Adorable?” Law scoffs, his face now an unmistakable shade of red “I swear, you’re all insane.” He glares at his crew, but even the glare doesn't hide how his heart's racing just a little.

Later that evening, as you and Law sit around the campfire again, this time with the rest of the Heart Pirates on watch duty, the teasing continues, though now it’s less playful and more knowing. Everyone’s fully aware that something’s up between you two, and it’s clear that you’ve been having a lot of fun with the idea.

“Alright, alright, let’s just get this out of the way," Shachi starts, taking a seat beside you and leaning in conspiratorially "Who fell first?”

Law doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel his discomfort radiating “We’re not doing this” he mutters with an exasperated sigh.

But the teasing continues, the Heart Pirates are all looking at you two with amusement in their eyes. Bepo and Penguin are now watching you closely, seemingly trying to pick up on every little interaction, while Shachi just can’t stop himself from pressing the issue.

“You two are definitely more than just a cover story,” Shachi says, grinning from ear to ear “You’re always so close, so... affectionate.”

“Yeah!” Penguin chimes in, clearly enjoying the drama “It’s like you guys are really a thing.”

Law remains silent for a few beats, his jaw clenched, clearly holding his frustration in check. But you notice the tightening of his fists and the way his eyes flicker with irritation.

You glance over at him, but before you can even tease him again, you notice his patience clearly running out “That’s enough” he snaps, voice low but sharp.

The whole group falls quiet, the sudden intensity of his voice making them look at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t like this attention, alright?” Law’s voice is colder now, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something harder, something… serious. His gaze shifts to you, and you’re caught off guard by how harsh his words are “I don’t like you hanging off me all the time, I don’t like being treated like your husband, and I don’t like you constantly teasing me. We’re not a couple, y/n. We’re not even close enough for you to call me your friend, let alone you husband...”

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. His face is set in a frown, his usual stoic expression replaced by something colder, more distant. You feel a pang in your chest, your heart sinking at how genuine he seems.

The rest of the crew falls silent, unsure of what to say.

You take a step back, your arm slipping as you pull away. Your eyes flicker down to the ground, trying to hide the hurt that's suddenly swelling inside you.

You’re not sure why, but the way he said it, so blunt, so final, makes you believe him. Maybe you had been too forward. Maybe you pushed him too far, even if you were just jocking around.

You try to force a smile, but it feels weak, forced "Right," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel this uncomfortable."

Law doesn’t respond, too focused on his crew and the way they’re looking at him. The awkward silence stretches, and you find yourself drifting further away. You can’t bring yourself to joke anymore, to tease him as you had before. The sting of his words cuts deeper than you want to admit.

The rest of the evening goes by in an uncomfortable silence. You eat your meal, your eyes occasionally flicking toward Law, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him for long. Every time you do, you feel the weight of his words echoing in your mind.

The next few days feel... different. You’ve stopped teasing him, stopped getting close like you used to. Whenever you have to interact, you’re careful to keep your distance, avoiding any unnecessary physical contact. You act as professional as possible, keeping the focus entirely on the mission.

It doesn’t escape the Heart Pirates’ notice, though. They watch as the dynamics between you and Law change. You’re not the playful couple anymore. Instead, you seem more distant, more reserved—especially around Law.

Shachi notices first "Hey, y/n, everything okay?" he asks one morning as you sit near the ship’s edge, watching the horizon. He knows something’s off, and though he doesn’t want to pry, he can’t help but ask.

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Bepo, who’s been quietly observing, speaks up hesitantly “You haven’t been... teasing him anymore. Are you two—”

“We’re fine,” you interrupt quickly, too quickly. You don’t want to explain. You don’t even know what to say "Just focusing on the mission, as it should have been from the very start"

The conversation ends there, but you can feel the weight of their concern. They’re noticing the shift, the sudden distance between you and Law. But none of them, especially not Law, know how to fix it.

Days pass in Wano, and you continue to keep your distance from Law, though the tension between the two of you feels thicker than ever. Every time you’re near him, the awkwardness is palpable. But something else is happening in the background.

The Strawhats are back in Wano. After all the time you’ve spent apart.

It’s in the middle of a bustling market square, where you and Law are walking around trying to gather some supplies for the mission, when you spot them. You freeze, your heart racing. Your breath catches in your throat when your eyes land on Sanji.

Without thinking, you let everything fall from your hands and sprint toward him. Sanji’s back is turned, so he doesn’t see you coming until it’s too late. You throw yourself into his arms with tears in your eyes, overwhelmed with relief.

“Sanji!” you exclaim, your voice muffled against his chest as you cling to him.

Sanji’s eyes widen in surprise, but then he smiles softly, his arms wrapping around you “Hey there, y/n” he says, his tone warm “It’s been a while, huh?”

You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand “I’ve missed you so much” you admit softly.

Sanji raises an eyebrow, but his smile softens “It’s good to see you too. Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind, though. You okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, then give a small nod “Yeah... I’m fine now. I just... I’ve been through some stuff. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Law watched everything, staying back. As soon as he saw you hugging the cook, he took everything you dropped and left you alone with them, even because it looks like you forgot about him.

The next day, you find yourself meeting up with Sanji at his little noodle shop. You’ve told him everything, how you and Law have been pretending to be a married couple, how your feelings have gotten tangled up, and how, after Law’s harsh words, you’ve pulled away to keep things professional. You tell him about the emotional distance between you and Law, and the complicated feelings you’re dealing with.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit, your hands twisting nervously in your lap “I feel like I’m losing him. He doesn’t want me around, and it’s driving me crazy. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

Sanji’s expression softens as he listens to you, his gaze gentle

“I thought it was just supposed to be a cover” you murmur, “but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like one. And now... now it feels like everything’s falling apart.” You pause, looking down “I think I care about him more than I thought I did.”

Sanji reaches out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze “You’ve got a good heart, y/n. And I know Law is a complicated guy. But if you care about him, you need to figure out what you want. You’re not just a cover story, okay?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a sense of clarity you hadn’t realized you were missing “You’re right. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

Sanji leans in, his voice dropping lower “It’s okay to take things slow. And if you want to... maybe you could start by not hiding from him anymore.”

Before you can respond, you both hear some footsteps approaching. You quickly stand up and walk away from the alley, but you notice people beginning to gossip behind you.

“You heard about y/n and her husband, right?” one woman whispers to her friend.

“Yeah, I heard she’s been cheating on him with that blonde guy. Can you believe that? I mean, the nerve!” another woman replies, her voice dripping with gossip.

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. You feel your face flush with embarrassment and frustration. Cheating? How did they come up with that?

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard. The whispers follow you as you walk back to the group, and you can feel the sting of their words deep in your chest.

Later that evening, as you rejoin Law and the rest of the crew, you notice his usual cold demeanor has shifted. He’s standing by the fire, his back to you, as if he’s been waiting for you. When you approach, he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you.

"Are you... okay?" you ask softly, but you can see the frustration in his posture. He doesn’t respond immediately, but his jaw tightens.

“I don’t appreciate people talking about my personal life like that, true or not...” Law says, his voice low and clipped “You’ve been avoiding me for days, and now I hear rumors? What’s going on?”

Your stomach twists in knots “Law...”

“I don't care about you and the blondie but...” he cuts you off, his gaze icy “I can’t focus when people are talking about me like that, especially if we're supposed to be undercover here.”

You feel your throat tighten, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s frustrated, and his anger makes your heart ache “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, you know Sanji is my friend, people just don't know the truth and make things up” you admit, your voice shaky.

Law sighs, running a hand through his hair, looking as if he’s about to snap “Then stop avoiding me. We’re in this together, but if you keep pushing me away, I’m not sure what we’re doing anymore... we can't bring so much attention on us.”

The atmosphere between you and Law is still tense. You don’t want things to spiral even further, so you suggest an idea, something that might distract from the tension and let everyone cool off for a while.

"Why don’t we go grab some food?" you suggest, your voice a little hesitant but hopeful.

Law turns to you, his expression neutral “You think food is going to help?”

You shrug, trying to lighten the mood "Maybe. Besides, I’ve been hearing about this noodle shop... the chef is called Sanji, I think?... I’ve heard it’s good..."

Law’s brows furrow, but his interest is piqued "Sanji? You think going right to him won't worsen things?"

You nod "Maybe if people see us all together, as three good friends, they're going to stop talk about me cheating..."

He looks at you for a moment, then sighs, clearly not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts any longer "Fine. Let’s go."

The small noodle spot is tucked away in a corner of Wano, busy and filled with the warmth of the cooking. When you and Law arrive, you’re greeted immediately by Sanji’s bright smile, but there’s something in his eyes that softens when he sees you. He’s not as flirtatious as usual, and there’s a sharpness in his gaze as he sees the tension between you and Law.

"Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous 'married couple'" Sanji says, his voice light, though there’s an edge to it now.

You try to smooth things over, grinning at him “Yeah, we’re here to eat...”

It’s time to kill the rumors.

“We’ll sit over here,” you say quickly, guiding Law to a seat “Make it clear to everyone that we’re... still a team.”

Law sits down stiffly, clearly not thrilled, but it’s obvious he’s playing along. He keeps his eyes ahead, refusing to acknowledge Sanji’s deliberate coldness toward him.

Sanji brings over bowls of noodles with flair, but his attitude towards Law remains distant, even a little antagonistic. He makes sure to place the food right in front of you, offering a special smile "Just for you, y/n. A little something extra special, like always."

He looks at you, and his smile softens just a bit. But when his eyes flick to Law, the warmth vanishes, and the tension in the room grows thicker.

Law doesn’t react right away, but you can feel the change in him. His jaw tightens, his body language growing even more tense than it was before. He clenches his fist under the table, clearly irritated.

"Stop playing games," Law mutters, his voice low and tight with barely contained frustration "Just serve the food and stop making this weird."

Sanji, clearly not intimidated, shrugs "If you don’t like how things are going, maybe you should take a look at how you’re treating her. It’s obvious you’ve got no control over the situation"

You flinch at the words, but Sanji’s eyes flicker to you in a way that makes you feel a bit guilty. You didn’t want this to turn into some kind of game, but now, it’s getting harder to keep things under wraps.

You look at Law, hoping to redirect the conversation "Let’s just eat," you say, trying to keep things casual "We need to look like a normal couple to the town. We don’t want any more rumors."

Law gives you a long, searching look before nodding "Fine. But we’re done with the theatrics, understood?"

As the meal progresses, the silence between you, Sanji, and Law grows thicker. The tension is almost unbearable, but it’s working, people around are starting to get the message. Law and you are a team, no matter the rumors, and the gossip about you "cheating" slowly starts to fade as the focus shifts to you two sitting together.

Sanji seems to settle into his role. He occasionally glances at you, making sure you’re taken care of, but the icy distance he’s putting between himself and Law is unmistakable. Law notices it too, and while he’s trying to keep his cool, it’s clear it’s starting to get under his skin.

Finally, Sanji returns to the counter, his back turned, leaving you and Law in silence. It’s the perfect opportunity to clear the air, but neither of you speaks.

You glance at Law, noticing the frustration in his eyes. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like the way Sanji is treating you, doesn’t like the way he’s feeling about the whole situation.

You try to lighten the mood, but it’s hard to ignore the tightness in his shoulders "You know, we’re supposed to be a married couple, not a couple of kids at a playground."

Law narrows his eyes at you "I didn’t sign up for this. The mission’s getting complicated."

You try to ignore the tug in your chest, a bit of confusion creeping in "It’s just a cover, Law. Nothing’s changed. We’re just doing what we need to do."

But the words hang there, and even though you say them, you know that things aren’t so simple anymore. You feel it, and you know Law does too.

As you leave the shop together, the streets of Wano no longer seem as welcoming as before. The weight of the situation presses down on you, and Law’s behavior is starting to affect you in ways you didn’t expect. You can’t figure out if it’s the mission weighing on him, or if it’s something more.

After the meal at Sanji’s, the rumors finally start dying down, but the damage between you and Law lingers. The tension is unbearable, Law barely looks at you, and you, still hurt from his earlier words, keep your distance.

Sanji notices. The crew notices. Even the damn town notices.

One evening, as you sit outside the inn you and Law have been staying at for your undercover mission, you overhear some locals whispering.

“They say that woman is still in love with her husband, but he doesn’t care for her.” “Shame. She looks miserable.” “She was always all so cute and clingy to him but she stopped entirely, he must’ve pushed her away.”

You clench your fists. It’s one thing to suffer in silence, but another to hear strangers pitying you.

Law suddenly walks past you, pausing for a second before speaking, “Go inside.” His voice is firm but quiet.

You don’t move “Why do you care?” you murmur, not looking at him “You made it clear I was just a nuisance to you and it's just a mission, which is almost over anyway given Zoro and Luffy are making trubles after trubles...”

Law exhales sharply “I never—” He stops, frustrated, before running a hand down his face “Listen, I was trying to stop myself from—” He cuts himself off again, jaw clenched.

You finally turn to him “From what?”

His silence is enough of an answer.

Your heart clenches, but you shake your head “You don’t have to force yourself to tolerate me anymore, Law. We’ll finish the mission, and after that—”

“Enough,” he snaps, suddenly grabbing your wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, just desperate “You don’t get to decide that.”

Your eyes widen as he pulls you toward him, his voice low but intense “I was a damn coward,” he mutters “You—you were always in my space, always teasing me, and I—” He exhales sharply “I pushed you away because I—”

You hold your breath.

“I fell for you” Law finally admits, looking at you with something raw and vulnerable in his gaze “I fell so hard, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“You what?”

He groans, looking away “I can’t stand you ignoring me. I can’t stand watching you with Sanji, even though I know it’s nothing. And I hate that I made you think I didn’t care.”

The words hit you like a storm, leaving you speechless. He looks genuinely frustrated, at himself.

You swallow hard before whispering, “So what do we do now?”

Law looks at you, his grip tightening slightly “You tell me,” he murmurs, voice quieter now “Because if you still want me, then I—” He hesitates, then sighs “I don’t want this to be fake anymore.”

Your breath hitches.

For the first time in weeks, you grin “I mean... I think it's too soon to talk about marriage, isn't it?”

Law groans, rolling his eyes “Unbelievable.”

You laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tug him down into a kiss.

And just like that, the mission doesn’t feel so complicated anymore.

Back on the Polar Tang, the Heart Pirates immediately notice the change.

Law still wears his usual scowl, still grumbles under his breath whenever you tease him, but there’s no real bite behind his words anymore. The biggest difference? He lets you get away with it.

You lean against his side as he studies a map, chin resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t shove you off like he used to, he just sighs heavily, pretending to ignore you.

“Oi, captain,” Shachi calls out, smirking “Didn’t you say you hated being touched?”

Penguin snickers “Yeah, man, what happened to all that complaining? Because right now, it looks like you like it.”

Law doesn’t even look up, but you can see the way his jaw tightens, the tips of his ears turning pink “Shut up” he mutters, flipping a page of the map aggressively.

“Oh, come on, it’s adorable,” Bepo chimes in, tail wagging “You used to be all grumpy whenever she clung to you, and now you just accept it?”

You grin, tilting your head up to look at him “Aww, so you do like my attention.”

His eye twitches “I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it.”

Shachi and Penguin lose it, laughing while Bepo beams like a proud parent.

Law exhales through his nose, rubbing his temples. But despite the grumbling, he doesn’t move you away. And that’s when it clicks.

Shachi leans back, crossing his arms “Y’know, I think we all got it wrong before.”

Penguin nods, smirking “Yeah. We thought y/n was the lost cause, but—”

They both turn to Law, who immediately tenses, as if he knows what’s coming.

“You actually fell harder.”

The room falls silent.

You blink up at him, waiting for his reaction.

Law glares at his crew, looking about two seconds away from using Room just to teleport them out of his sight. But instead, he lets out a sharp exhale, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he just mutters “Unbelievable.”

You beam and press a quick kiss to his cheek, watching as his face turns bright red.

Yeah. Maybe being undercover in Wano wasn’t such a disaster after all.

[solxamber]

Mission: Emotionally Compromised || Jamil Viper

Jamil’s greatest failure as a spy? Falling head over heels for the person he was meant to destroy.

this one is for @chocolatebearstrawberry who made the divider i use here!! i love you <3

As the CEO of one of the most powerful tech companies in the world, you’ve always prided yourself on two things: your razor-sharp business acumen and your ability to sniff out deception from a mile away.

Your competitors, on the other hand, have prided themselves on one thing: trying (and failing) to steal your technology.

For years, you’ve played a high-stakes game of corporate cat and mouse, batting away industrial spies like a bored housecat knocking expensive wine glasses off the counter. You’ve watched billion-dollar corporations sink millions into elaborate heists, only for their agents to fail spectacularly. Frankly, it's getting a little embarrassing for them.

But now, thanks to the untimely departure of your longtime secretary (who swears their early retirement has nothing to do with being bribed into luxury exile), you suddenly have a vacancy.

And judging by the pile of applicants currently waiting in the lobby, every single one of them is a spy.

The Parade of Intelligence Failures™:

First up is Agent Steve (probably not his real name), whose résumé is written in Comic Sans and lists "lockpicking" under "special skills." When you ask him about his previous administrative experience, he stares at you blankly for three full seconds before blurting out, "I can type… very fast?"

Next is Ms. Definitely-Not-Wearing-a-Wire, who keeps touching her ear like she’s communicating with someone. Midway through the interview, you distinctly hear a whisper from her earpiece: "Ask about the security systems."

Then there’s Tech Bro #5, who brings a USB drive and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, tries to plug it into your computer. Your computer. The one sitting on your desk. Right in front of you.

By the time Mr. Fake-ID Falls Out of His Wallet stumbles in, you’re fighting the overwhelming urge to launch yourself out the nearest window.

This is getting pathetic.

You’ve sat through twenty interviews of barely competent corporate espionage, and you’re ready to set up a PowerPoint presentation titled, "How To Spy Without Immediately Getting Caught: A Workshop For Morons."

Do they think you built a billion-dollar empire by being stupid? Do they think your years of fending off corporate espionage haven’t honed your bullshit detector into a finely tuned death laser?

You start debating whether to just hire a golden retriever and call it a day—at least dogs have loyalty.

And then he walks in.

Enter: Jamil Viper.

The moment he steps into your office, you know this one is different.

For one thing, his résumé isn’t riddled with typos or hilariously obvious red flags. His credentials? Flawless. His demeanor? Polished and professional, with just the right amount of charm—not so much that it feels like he’s trying to butter you up, but just enough that you actually want to keep talking to him.

And his entrance exam? He aces it. Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

There is no way in hell that someone this competent just happens to be looking for a secretary position. You know he’s a spy.

But unlike the human disasters before him, Jamil Viper is actually good at his job.

And if someone is going to try and infiltrate your company, wouldn’t you rather it be someone who at least has the decency to be competent about it?

You lean back in your chair, watching him carefully as he sits across from you, his expression unreadable. You wonder how many layers of deception he’s hiding behind that composed facade.

Slowly, a smile creeps onto your lips.

This could be fun.

Because if Jamil Viper thinks he’s going to outmaneuver you, then clearly, no one has warned him that you love playing with fire.

You slide the contract across the desk, extending your hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Viper," you say, amusement dancing in your voice. "Welcome to the company."

His fingers are warm when they clasp yours in a firm shake. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingers for just a second too long.

And just like that, you hire a spy to be your personal assistant.

This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

And honestly? You can’t wait to find out which.

Jamil has never questioned his assignments before. His role has always been straightforward—he is given a task, he completes it with precision, and he collects his payment. There is no room for personal involvement, no need for unnecessary complications.

This particular job should have been no different. His directive was clear: infiltrate one of the most formidable tech companies in the industry, assume the role of a secretary, gain the CEO’s trust, retrieve the necessary proprietary data, and exit without raising suspicion.

A simple, methodical process. He estimated it would take no more than a month, perhaps two if the CEO proved particularly cautious.

However, the moment he steps into your office, Jamil recognizes that this assignment will not proceed according to the standard operational model.

You are perceptive. That much is clear from the outset. Your interview questions are sharp, carefully constructed to gauge more than just his administrative skills. You are watching him—not just listening, but studying, assessing. There is a calculating glint in your eyes that suggests you have already categorized him in some way, and he does not yet know whether that categorization is in his favor.

Then comes the moment that shifts the trajectory of his expectations entirely.

You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled as you regard him with an almost amused expression. "So, Mr. Viper," you say, voice laced with something close to mischief, "are you a spy?"

The question is absurd in its directness, yet the casual way you pose it makes it clear that you are not expecting a confession—you are testing him. A lesser operative might have faltered, might have hesitated for the fraction of a second that would betray uncertainty. Jamil, however, meets your gaze evenly, offering a measured smile.

"If I were," he replies smoothly, "would I admit it?"

You laugh—not a dismissive scoff, but an actual, entertained laugh, as if you are thoroughly enjoying this game. And that is what makes Jamil's stomach twist slightly. Because he is beginning to suspect that you already know.

The contract slides across the desk, a silent challenge. He watches as you extend your hand, the motion deliberate, expectant.

He has been in the industry long enough to recognize a trap when he sees one. And yet, despite every internal alarm warning him to be cautious, he shakes your hand.

He has taken on countless assignments in his career, but this time is different.

This time, he is not just infiltrating a company. He is stepping into a game.

And for the first time in his life, Jamil wonders if he is the one being played.

Jamil Viper is, quite frankly, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You have run this company for years, clawed your way to the top with sheer wit and willpower, and in all that time, you have never known peace. Your life has been a never-ending cycle of fires to put out, idiotic employees making mistakes, and backstabbing business partners who think “compromise” means “stealing your ideas and pretending it was a collaborative effort.”

But then Jamil arrives.

Jamil, with his quiet efficiency and terrifying competence. Jamil, who doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he actually listens the first time. Jamil, who doesn’t need reminders because he remembers everything, down to how you like your coffee and which pens mysteriously go missing when your CFO visits.

For the first time in your career, you are leaving work at a reasonable hour.

You actually saw the sunset yesterday. The sunset. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve seen anything but the dim glow of your office lights at midnight? You don’t. You’re afraid to check.

Your skin? Clear.

Your inbox? Organized.

Your sleep schedule? Still questionable, but at least now it’s due to personal choices and not business emergencies.

You are so overcome with gratitude that you nearly burst into tears when you realize you no longer have to threaten your vendors personally because Jamil handles it all with a few well-placed emails.

He is better than any assistant you have ever had. Possibly better than some of your business partners. Hell, at this rate, you wouldn't be surprised if he could run the company better than you.

Which is exactly why you can’t afford to let him go.

You know why he’s here. You are not naïve. He is undoubtedly a spy, sent to steal your technology, your secrets, your life's work. But the problem is that he is too good. You cannot afford to lose him.

So, you make a decision.

You will convert him to your side.

It’s not just about protecting your company anymore. No, this has become personal. Jamil Viper is yours now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

The numbers didn’t make sense.

You were good at numbers. Numbers were the only thing in this world that didn’t lie. Numbers were solid, unyielding, completely immune to human deception. And yet.

Your CFO had to be skimming. You’d suspected it for a while—no one bought that many first-class flights for “business conferences” that didn’t exist—but now that you finally had the time to actually dig into the company’s finances, you could feel it in your bones. There was money missing. Not a lot at once, just enough that a lazier CEO wouldn’t notice.

But you noticed. And now, sitting in your dark office, practically feral with frustration, you were going to find it.

Jamil peeks into your office, and you see his brows furrow in irritation. He steps inside without invitation, eyes flicking to your desk, to the stacks of papers, to you, hunched over and pulling at your hair like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery.

“…Why are you still here?” His voice is level, but you detect the judgment beneath it. “I made sure your schedule was clear. You should have been home by five.”

You make a vague, distressed sound—somewhere between a whimper and the dying gasp of an overworked CEO. “I have a mouse to hunt,” you say, still frantically flipping through documents. “A very cunning mouse.”

Jamil, to his credit, does not roll his eyes. He does, however, step forward and pluck the file from your grasp before you can protest. His sharp eyes scan the pages, his fingers flipping through them with practiced ease.

You watch as his expression shifts into something thoughtful, his lips pursing slightly, his brows furrowing in deep concentration. You can see his mind working.

Jamil is infuriatingly intelligent. He always has been. You knew it the moment he walked into your office for his interview and answered every question with precision so perfect it was almost suspicious.

But this—this is something else. His eyes flick from one line to another, scanning, calculating, searching.

And then it hits you.

His hair.

His stupidly perfect, annoyingly silky, meticulously styled hair.

The way it’s always just slightly different every day. Some days it’s neater, tied back with care. Some days it’s looser, like he didn’t have time to properly tame it. Some days it’s so perfect it looks effortless, which means it probably took him ages to get it like that.

Your brain connects the dots.

Your CFO’s expenses had fluctuations that made no sense at first glance. But what if—what if the embezzlement wasn’t consistent? What if he only siphoned money on certain days—days when he needed to make the numbers look normal, like a fluctuation in operational costs?

Like how Jamil’s hair was slightly different depending on how rushed he was in the morning.

Your eyes widen. You grab Jamil’s arm.

“It’s the payroll processing days,” you say, the revelation clicking together. “The numbers don’t match on payroll weeks because he’s hiding them within the irregular adjustments! He’s only stealing when payroll is being processed because that’s when the accounts fluctuate naturally.”

Jamil blinks, then looks back at the files, and you see it—the exact moment he finds the irregularity, the way his eyes sharpen, the way the corner of his lips twitch in mild irritation.

“…Huh,” he says, flipping back to double-check.

You beam at him. “Jamil, I could kiss you.”

He does not react, but his ears turn slightly red. He hands the file back. “Don’t. Just fire your CFO.”

“Oh, I will.” You grin, stretching your arms behind your head. “And then I’m going to have so much fun ruining his career.”

Jamil gives you a look. You pretend not to see it.

Jamil has worked for a lot of powerful people before. He’s seen how they act—detached, ruthless, calculating. People who don’t say thank you unless there’s an audience, people who treat loyalty as a transaction rather than a virtue, people who see their employees as numbers on a spreadsheet rather than human beings.

And then there’s you.

You, who smile at every single employee as if they’re the most interesting person in the world.

You, who face betrayals with an easy grin, as if it’s just another puzzle to solve.

You, who refuse to be jaded, as if the sheer weight of your responsibilities isn’t trying to crush you every single day.

Jamil has worked as a secretary before, long enough to know that this is not normal. It’s not normal for a CEO to approve leave requests without question, to cover all medical expenses without a fight, to sit down at the employee cafeteria and listen to people’s grievances like a normal person.

It’s definitely not normal for you to turn to him at the end of a long, grueling day—after uncovering a massive embezzlement scandal in your own company—and say, “Let’s get dinner. My treat.”

Jamil expects a high-end restaurant. The kind of place where the portions are offensively small, the food is questionably pretentious, and the bill alone could sustain an entire household for a month. The kind of place where people like you—people with power, people with money—go to flaunt their superiority.

Instead, you take him to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant run by an elderly couple who clearly know you on a first-name basis.

“Ah, welcome back!” the old woman greets you warmly, eyes flicking to Jamil with curiosity. “And who’s this? A date?”

Jamil chokes on air.

You laugh—loudly—and wave off the comment. “Nah, just my secretary! He helped me catch a mouse today.”

Jamil doesn’t bother correcting you.

The menu is scrawled in barely legible handwriting on a whiteboard near the counter. You order the greasiest, most artery-clogging meal he’s ever seen in his life. Jamil orders something safer, something that won’t take five years off his lifespan.

When the food arrives, you practically vibrate in your seat, taking a bite with the enthusiasm of a child eating their first piece of candy.

Jamil stares at you in mild horror. “You eat this every day?”

You grin, already halfway through your meal. “Yeah.”

Jamil doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

But he eats. He eats, and he listens to you ramble about ridiculous workplace rumors, and he watches you laugh so hard you snort when you make a terrible joke.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Jamil finds himself laughing too.

Not because your joke is funny—because it isn’t. It’s awful, actually.

But maybe because your eyes shine too brightly in the dim light.

Maybe because you seem so human right now, so painfully, vividly human.

Maybe because he knows he’ll have to leave you behind soon, and yet here he is, eating unhealthy food and smiling at you.

Jamil has never questioned his jobs before. He gets paid, he gets the work done. Simple.

So why does it feel so different this time?

Jamil has worked for some eccentric people before. Billionaires with more money than sense, CEOs who thought meditation on top of a glass skyscraper would give them divine insight, a director who once insisted that his morning coffee had to be stirred exactly 72 times counterclockwise or the stock market would crash. He’s seen it all. Or so he thought.

And then there was you.

You were a genius, of course. No one could deny that. You had single-handedly revolutionized an entire industry and kept your technology locked down so tightly that even the best corporate spies had walked away empty-handed.

But you were also—how to put this nicely?—completely, utterly unhinged. Eccentric was too mild a word. You were like a mad scientist and a particularly stubborn golden retriever had been fused together in a tragic yet strangely effective laboratory accident.

Jamil has had a front-row seat to your absurdity for months now, but today? Today takes the cake.

He enters the office expecting chaos, but he still isn't prepared to see a bouncy castle taking up the center of the room. It is massive. Garish. A primary-colored monstrosity that clashes violently with the sleek, modern aesthetic of your office. It is also, for some reason, fully inflated.

Jamil watches as you bounce in deep concentration, your tie undone, your shoes discarded somewhere in the corner. Your movements are precise, like each jump is a carefully calibrated equation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask?”

You pause mid-bounce, floating for a second in the air like some kind of enlightened acrobat before landing gracefully and turning to him with a grin. “I needed to think.”

“…So naturally, you brought a bouncy castle.”

“Of course.” You wave a hand, as if this should be obvious. “Sometimes, when my brain gets stuck, I just need a little kinetic stimulation. You know, shake up the neurons.” You jump again, flailing slightly before catching yourself. “It’s like—have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, and then you do something completely different and suddenly it comes to you? Same concept. Except instead of drinking water or taking a walk, I jump on an inflatable castle like a responsible adult.”

Jamil stares. His headache is already forming. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“Nope! Tested the weight limits. We’re good.” You bounce again, then stop abruptly, eyes widening. Your entire posture shifts, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening. You scramble off the castle, grab a nearby notebook, and start writing furiously.

Jamil watches, baffled, as you tear through an entire page with equations and diagrams, the kind of thing that would take a normal person weeks to conceptualize. And then you stop, beaming like a kid who just cracked open a piñata full of gold.

“I GOT IT,” you declare, spinning the notebook around as if Jamil has the clearance—or the desire—to understand whatever ridiculous breakthrough you just had. “This is going to make everything ten times more efficient! Jamil, this is genius.”

Jamil, who has not slept properly in three days because of this mission, who has already accepted that this job is going to either kill him or make him reconsider every life decision he has ever made, just sighs. “Great. So was the bouncy castle necessary?”

You turn back to him, eyes bright, smile wider than he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

And the worst part? The part that truly makes him question if he’s losing his mind?

He almost believes you.

Meetings like this made you wonder if you could get away with legally replacing the entire board with three possums in a trench coat. These relics in overpriced suits had two working brain cells between them, and one was currently occupied with nursing last night’s hangover.

They thought that their decades of mismanaging money somehow gave them wisdom. You would almost find it impressive, the way they clung to their illusion of relevance, if it weren’t so unbearably tedious.

You could fire them all, of course. You could clear this room in five minutes, clean house with a snap of your fingers, but you had held back out of sheer pity. They were close to retirement—one foot in the grave and the other on a luxury cruise.

Let them ride out their last few years clutching their outdated business strategies and egos. It wasn’t like they actually did anything.

But today? Today, you were at your limit.

Jamil was standing behind you, stone-faced, but you could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. His exhaustion mirrored your own. You’d been sitting here for an hour while they droned on about numbers they clearly didn’t understand.

Internally, you begged for something—anything—to spontaneously combust just so you’d have an excuse to leave. A small fire? A sudden, mysterious blackout? A divine intervention from the heavens themselves?

And then, as if the universe had heard you and decided to throw you a different kind of entertainment, one of them made a mistake. A grave mistake.

“—not that it matters to someone like you,” one of the old fossils sneered, voice soaked in condescension. “You just sit there and look pretty. Maybe that’s why you keep your secretary around—eye candy to brighten your day, hm?”

Silence.

Jamil felt the shift before he saw it. The room, which had been filled with the usual underhanded comments and the shuffling of papers, went utterly still. The air thickened, tension snapping tight like a bowstring.

You moved, slow and deliberate, sitting up from your languid position and resting your elbows on the table. Then, with a sharp crack that echoed through the room, you slammed your hand against the polished wood. Jamil was pretty sure he saw the surface splinter.

And then, you smiled.

“Say,” you said, your voice honey-sweet, “how’s your son’s wedding prep going?”

The man blinked, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “Uh—fine?”

“That’s wonderful.” You laced your fingers together, tilting your head like a benevolent ruler addressing a particularly stupid peasant. “I hope he has a strong savings account. And you, too, for that matter.”

His confusion deepened. “Why would—?”

“Because as of right now, every single one of you is fired.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stood, straightening your sleeves, your expression as calm as if you’d just commented on the weather. The rest of the board gaped at you, struggling to process what had just happened.

“Pack your things,” you continued, tone still sickeningly pleasant. “Security will escort you out. Your pensions will remain untouched—I’m not a monster—but your presence is no longer required. Effective immediately.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and strolled out of the room.

Jamil took a moment to savor the stunned expressions, the way the old man who had made the comment looked like he was trying to compute his own downfall in real time. He had seen you be cunning, eccentric, absurd, even, but this was the first time he had seen you wield your power properly. It was—

Well.

He wasn’t about to admit it was impressive.

Or flattering.

Not even as he followed you out the door, suppressing the smallest, most insufferable urge to smile.

You’re good at reading people. That’s what makes you such a good CEO. You can tell when a business partner is about to backstab you. You can spot a bad deal from a mile away. You figured out your CFO was embezzling money based on a hunch and a particularly sleepless night.

So why the hell can’t you figure out what’s going on with Jamil right now?

Your day is over. Your work is done. You’re walking out of the building, feeling suspiciously well-rested for once, because Jamil is the best damn secretary you’ve ever had.

And there he is.

Standing near the exit, very much still here, despite having clocked out hours ago.

You stop. Blink. “Jamil? What are you doing here?”

He startles like you caught him committing a felony.

Which, honestly, makes you even more confused.

Jamil is the picture of composure in any situation. He could talk his way out of a hostage negotiation, probably. He could charm a boardroom full of old, corporate sharks into agreeing with his terms.

And yet, right now, he looks like he wants to evaporate.

You tilt your head. “What’s up? You good?”

Jamil scowls like you’ve offended his ancestors. And then, without meeting your gaze, he thrusts a box at you.

"Eat properly," he grumbles. "Heaven knows you can afford it."

And then he turns on his heel and almost sprints out of the building.

You stare at his retreating figure. Then you stare at the box in your hands.

What just happened.

You consider yourself a genius. You built an empire with your own two hands. You have patents worth billions. You have business rivals who would kill to know what goes on in your head.

And yet, this one interaction has you completely, utterly lost.

It’s only when you get home that you actually open the box.

Inside is a clearly homemade meal. Balanced, nutritious, and suspiciously catered to your exact tastes.

You crouch down. Laugh a little.

And then you pull out your phone.

You: thank you <3

Meanwhile, In Jamil’s car:

He hears the message notification. Opens it. Sees your text.

And immediately slams his forehead into the steering wheel.

The honk that follows is so obnoxiously loud that a street cat outside lets out an ungodly scream and scrambles away like it just witnessed a murder.

Jamil exhales sharply. He grips the wheel like it personally wronged him.

You’re going to be the death of him.

Jamil does not get sick.

It is a fact as ironclad as his ability to keep a secret, as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting behind your ridiculous office where you concoct new ways to stress him out.

Jamil does not get sick because sickness is a weakness—an opening in his otherwise airtight, bulletproof existence.

And yet.

Here he is.

Dying. Absolutely, irredeemably, spectacularly dying.

His body betrays him completely, weighed down by a fever that could probably fry an egg on his forehead. Every muscle aches as if he has been tossed into a meat grinder, his throat is raw, and his head is a battlefield of pain and regret.

He barely manages to lift his phone and call you, the only person who needs to know why he’s breaking protocol and skipping work for the first time in his entire life.

The phone rings. Once. Twice.

And then—

“Jamil! What’s up?”

Too loud. Why are you always so loud? He winces, nearly drops his phone on his face.

“I… I can’t come in today.” His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable. Disgusting. He clears his throat, which only makes it worse. “I’m sick.”

There is a long, stunned silence.

Then, very, very slowly—

“You’re what?”

Jamil closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for this conversation.

“Sick,” he repeats, barely suppressing the urge to just fade out of existence right then and there.

Another pause. Then, in a tone that is so soft he almost doesn’t recognize it coming from you—

“…Oh.”

Something about the way you say it makes his stomach twist—though that could also be the fever.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you say, genuinely concerned. “Rest, drink water, and if you need anything—”

He does not hear the rest.

Because he blacks out.

Jamil is sick.

Jamil, your unshakable, hyper-competent, borderline immortal assistant—the man who somehow pulls miracles out of thin air while looking vaguely unimpressed—is sick.

You expected betrayals, corporate espionage, elaborate counter-strategies in your ongoing war to get him on your side.

You did not expect this.

And worse—he sounded awful.

Not just tired. Not just mildly inconvenienced.

You sit at your desk for approximately three minutes, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine, that Jamil is a grown man who can take care of himself.

Then you Google “how to care for a sick employee” and make the deeply logical decision to immediately drop everything and go check on him yourself.

Which is how you end up outside his apartment, ringing the doorbell like a maniac.

There is no response.

You ring again. And again.

Nothing.

A small, horrible thought creeps in. What if he passed out? What if he hit his head? What if he—

Just as you're about to kick down the door in a move that would absolutely get you arrested, it creaks open.

And Jamil is standing there.

Barely.

He looks terrible.

His usual sharp, careful composure? Gone. His hair is an absolute wreck, his eyes are dazed, and his entire body is actively betraying him by swaying on his feet like a tragic willow in a storm.

You are horrified.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stepping forward before he can literally collapse. “Jamil, you look—”

Like death. Like the very concept of suffering incarnate.

But you do not say this out loud, because you are a good person.

Instead, you step into his space and grab him before he keels over.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter, steadying him. “When was the last time you ate?”

Jamil blinks at you very slowly, like his brain is buffering at dial-up speeds.

“…Food?”

That is not an answer.

You curse under your breath and haul him back inside, which is a feat of great strength because he is all lean muscle and fever deadweight.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Who let this happen?

Oh. Right. Him.

Jamil is going to die.

Not from the fever, no. That would be merciful.

He is going to die from sheer embarrassment because you—his boss, his greatest headache, his most infuriating problem—are here, in his apartment, fussing over him like some kind of divine punishment.

He barely registers you pulling out a thermometer and shoving it into his mouth with all the grace of someone who has never done this before.

The numbers blink back at you ominously.

“You’re burning up,” you mutter. “Okay, I’m ordering soup. And you are not moving until you eat something.”

Jamil tries to protest. He does.

But then you press a cool towel against his forehead, and—

Oh.

Oh, that is nice.

His body betrays him once again by relaxing into your touch.

By the time the soup arrives, he is too weak to even lift the spoon properly.

So you—without hesitation, without a single ounce of normal human shame—just feed him.

Like a child.

Like he is some helpless, pathetic creature.

Which, okay, maybe right now, he is.

But still. This is humiliating.

It is also the best soup he has ever had in his life.

Jamil finally falls back asleep.

And you sit there, staring at his peaceful, fever-flushed face, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You were supposed to be running a company, not playing nurse to your best-paid spy.

You should not care this much.

And yet.

You check his temperature again. Still high, but better.

You sigh, raking a hand through your hair, and grab your phone.

“Okay,” you mutter into the receiver, pacing the room. “But what do I do if he wakes up and refuses to rest?”

A pause.

Your voice drops, quieter. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him to push himself again.”

Behind you, Jamil shifts.

You do not notice.

But he notices you.

Your hair is mussed, your usual sharp, teasing grin replaced with something softer.

You look worried. For him.

Jamil stares, something twisting in his chest.

Oh.

Oh, he is so incredibly doomed.

You always knew Jamil was a spy. That much was obvious.

The way he answered every question perfectly in his interview? Suspicious.

The way he executed his tasks with military precision? Suspicious.

The way he didn’t try to subtly flirt with you or brown-nose like all the other incompetent spies before him? Extremely suspicious.

But he was competent. So stupidly, ridiculously competent. And you’d rather keep an enemy that made your life easier than deal with another incompetent fool.

Besides, you like playing with fire. So you decided to see how far you could push him.

So tonight, you left your office unlocked. Oh no. What a terrible mistake. If only someone didn’t sneak in and steal your files.

And to make things more interesting, you left some semi-important files open on your computer. Documents that looked serious enough to be tempting but wouldn’t actually do much damage if leaked.

Right before you left, you made sure to sigh dramatically in front of Jamil and say, “Ugh, these files have been keeping me up at night. I sure hope they don’t get leaked or anything.”

Then, you went to your surveillance setup, made yourself some popcorn, and watched.

Because of course Jamil was going to take the bait.

And sure enough, there he was.

You watch as he sits down at your desk. Silent. Focused. The very picture of efficiency.

You lean forward as he navigates to the files. Click. Click. Scroll. His fingers hover over the copy button.

And then—

He just… stops.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Oh?

Jamil stares at the screen like it personally insulted his honor. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, hesitating.

Your interest piques. He should’ve copied them by now. He’s supposed to be a professional, isn’t he?

He clicks out of the important files.

Your jaw nearly drops. What.

He clicks out. He clicks out. He actively chooses not to take anything of worth.

Instead, you watch as he scrolls past all the confidential reports—

—bypasses all the juicy, corporate secrets—

—ignores all the schematics—

—and copies a single folder labeled “raccoons_for_a_rainy_day.zip.”

You almost choke on your popcorn.

Jamil pauses. Stares at the screen for a long, long moment.

Then, as if committing a terrible crime, he ejects the USB, tucks it away, and swiftly leaves your office.

You sit there, stunned.

Because out of everything in your company’s database, out of all the valuable information he could’ve stolen—

He took your emergency raccoon meme collection.

You blink. Once. Twice.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

You knew you were converting him to your side, but this? This is proof.

Jamil, the competent, efficient, dangerously intelligent spy, had a perfect chance to complete his mission. And instead of betraying you, he chose to betray his employer instead.

For you.

How flattering.

You had dealt with a lot of strange things in your life. A lot. But this? This was definitely one of the stupidest.

Your old secretary—the one who took a bribe and fled like a rat from a sinking ship—was currently sitting in front of you, begging for her job back. Why? Who the hell knew. You had been certain that the bribe she took would have lasted her a few years, maybe even bought her a cute little vacation somewhere far away, but apparently, money couldn’t buy wisdom. Or, in her case, common sense.

You leaned back in your chair, fingers steepled together, watching her ramble through increasingly desperate justifications. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes. You doubted it.

Jamil stood beside you, completely unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of his barely contained fury. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid, and—most damning of all—his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

Oh, interesting.

Obviously, you weren’t rehiring her. She wasn’t even ten percent as competent as Jamil, and unlike her, Jamil wasn’t stupid enough to take a bribe when you were the one offering him far more than money. But this? This was a perfect opportunity to test something.

So you sighed, long and dramatic, before rubbing your temples as if this decision physically pained you. “I’ll consider it,” you said finally. “I’ll call you back once I’ve made my decision.”

Her face lit up, all eager gratitude, and she left the office with a bounce in her step.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, you stood, intending to grab a file from your cabinet—but you didn’t get far.

Because Jamil blocked your path.

You blinked at him, more amused than anything, but your amusement flickered into something softer when you saw his face.

He looked wrecked.

Not in an angry way, not even in a controlled, simmering fury. No—this was something else entirely. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to find some sort of answer, his breath slightly uneven, his expression utterly betrayed. He looked like you had punched him in the gut.

You had seen Jamil irritated, seen him exasperated, seen him indulge in rare moments of smugness when his plans went exactly as intended. But this? This raw emotion spilling out of him like a dam breaking—this was new. And you couldn’t stop the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse, like he barely trusted himself to speak. “Why would you… Why would you even consider hiring her back?”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Jamil’s mouth opened—then snapped shut. You could practically see his thoughts racing, running too fast for him to catch up, but something cracked inside of him, because once he started speaking, he couldn’t stop.

“Did I mess up?” he demanded, voice sharper than he probably intended. “Was I not good enough? Did I do something wrong? Why would you—” He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, his hands twitching at his sides like he desperately wanted to reach for you. “You know she isn’t competent. You know she isn’t better than me.”

You hummed, tilting your head in faux thoughtfulness. “Of course, I’ll give you a different position,” you mused. “No need to worry about job security.”

Jamil broke.

Before you could even register the movement, he grabbed you.

His hands found your face, his fingers curling against your skin like he needed to ground himself, like he needed to prove something—and then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was desperate, burning with frustration and something deeper, something so much more vulnerable than you had ever expected from him.

And then, hypothesis proven, you kissed him back.

For a moment, you simply blinked.

Jamil pulls away like he just touched something scalding, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something close to terror. You watch as realization sets in—his own actions hitting him all at once, like a dam finally bursting and drowning him in the consequences of his own emotions.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, almost shaky, but he’s trying to regain control, trying to salvage something, anything. “I’m not who you think I am.” He says it like a confession, like a last-ditch effort to make you see reason, to make you step back and realize that you shouldn’t want him, that you shouldn’t choose him. “I was hired to—”

“My dear, sweet spy,” you interrupt, voice dripping with amused affection, “won’t you be mine?”

Jamil freezes.

You can see the exact second it dawns on him. The way his expression shifts from confused horror to pure, unfiltered disbelief. You knew. You always knew. Of course you did. He should’ve realized it sooner. You were too sharp, too perceptive, too you to have been in the dark about something so crucial.

And yet, here you were. Choosing him anyway.

His lips twitch. His shoulders shake. And then, he laughs.

Not a small chuckle, not a bitter scoff, but a real laugh, something rare and unguarded, something so genuinely light that it catches even him off guard. He laughs so hard that he nearly doubles over, his forehead dropping against yours as he exhales shakily, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You feel his breath ghost against your skin, feel the warmth of him so close, and yet, there is no hesitation anymore, no careful, measured distance.

He shakes his head, still breathless from laughing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his expression is something unreadable, something painfully soft.

And this time, when he kisses you, there’s no fear left.

“…Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m yours.”

You wake up to the warmth of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a familiar chest behind you. It’s a rare thing—to wake before Jamil. He’s always been the early riser between you, slipping out of bed before the sun has even had the chance to settle into the sky. But today, for the first time in two years, you’re the one watching him sleep.

Two years since his terrified confession. Two years since you pulled him into the kind of love neither of you had ever expected to find. Two years of whispered promises, stolen kisses, and a loyalty that runs deeper than any mission, deeper than any past betrayal.

The early morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching on the matching rings on your fingers. A quiet proof of what you���ve built together. The sight makes something tender settle in your chest, and you press a kiss to his forehead, gentle and lingering.

Jamil stirs, brow furrowing for just a moment before he instinctively pulls you closer, his grip tightening around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “Why’re you awake so early…?”

You smile, carding your fingers through his hair as you whisper, “Go back to sleep.”

And as the warmth of him lulls you back into slumber, a thought drifts lazily through your mind—

"You sleep too," he grumbles, but it’s lazy, half-hearted. You can already feel his breath evening out, his body relaxing against yours once more. You keep stroking his hair, slow and rhythmic, feeling the last bits of tension melt from his frame.

Maybe playing with fire was the smartest move you ever made.

Masterlist

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Inexperienced!Spencer Reid x Profiler!Reader

Summary: A fun little list of NSFW headcanons organized by the first letter of each topic. Enjoy!

Tags: established relationship, spencer was a virgin when y’all got together, oral (f & mentions of m receiving), slight medical play, sexy use of statistics, male masturbation, mentions of anal

Warnings: Most of these are paragraphs but there are a couple of letters that i kind of gave up on.

Word Count: 1.9k

A: Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s exhausted, but he manages to stay awake long enough to clean you up and talk to you until you fall asleep. He’ll rub little soothing circles into your skin and hold your head on his chest, letting you count his heartbeats.

B: Body Part (their favorite body part, both on their own body and their partner’s)

His favorite body part on himself has to be his hands, because he loves watching you fall apart on them. His favorite body part of yours is definitely your eyes. He loves to see how they squint when you’re confused, how they crinkle when you’re happy, and how they gloss over when you get needy for his touch. He also loves when he makes you feel so good that you start to cry, just from how overwhelmed you are.

C: Cum (anything to do with cum)

As we all know, Spencer is a germaphobe, so when you first had sex with him, he cringed when he felt his cum flood the condom. After you explained that you were on the pill, he was ecstatic that he didn’t have to use one again. He doesn’t mind dirtying you, though–one of his favorite things to do is cum inside of you when you don’t have time to clean up, and you’re forced to walk around with it in your underwear. You almost wrung his neck when he did this on a case.

D: Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He secretly really likes being called “Doctor” during sex, and when you figure this out, you don’t let him go a single day without rubbing it in his face. In the bullpen, you’ll move in front of him, brushing your ass against his crotch with a quiet, “Excuse me, Dr. Reid,” just to hear his breath get caught in his throat. When you bring him his coffee (no cream, but ten tablespoons of sugar), you’ll set it down in front of him, placing a hand on his bicep, all sultry, saying, “Here you go, Doctor.” It doesn’t hurt that he looks incredibly sexy wearing his crime scene gloves.

E: Experience (how experienced are they?)

He was a virgin when he met you. He’d kissed Lila in the pool nearly a decade prior, and he had a long-distance relationship with Maeve, but he had never actually gotten further than a single make-out session. When you touched him for the first time, he was so sure he had died and gone to heaven. He couldn’t fathom a world where someone as beautiful as you could love someone like him.

F: Favorite Position (goes without saying)

He loves any position where he gets to see your face. He loves watching you react to each little touch, watching your mouth contort in pleasure as you beg him for more. He prefers missionary, but he’s more than happy to have you on top when he’s too tired to do the work. But if he can’t see your face, it’s just not as good for him.

G: Goofy (how serious are they in the moment?)

He’s serious, but sometimes, when he’s nervous, he’ll start rattling off statistics about sex, which made you laugh at first, but now it just turns you on even more. When you taught him how to eat pussy, he responded with, “Right, because only eighteen percent of women can reach orgasm from penetration alone.”, which left you speechless. The first time you guys used toys, you were a little embarrassed that you needed it in the first place, and he said, “You know, eighty-two percent of women use sex toys. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

H: Hair (how well groomed are they? does the curtain match the drapes?)

His pubic hair is tinted red, although he doesn’t have much of it. You didn’t mind at first that he didn’t trim it, but when you started going down on him more, it bothered you, and he immediately started manscaping each time he showered.

I: Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

To Spencer, sex is all about you. He doesn’t even care if he gets off, although it’s an added bonus. He’s always holding your hand, or rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you get overwhelmed. For him, foreplay is the best part. He loves to tease you for as long as you can stand it. Kissing, biting, licking all over your body, leaving little marks and bruises. He just wants you to know how loved you are.

J: Jack Off (masturbation headcanons)

He rarely touched himself before he met you. Even though it took years for either of you to work up the courage to admit your feelings to one another, he noticed nearly everything about you, from the way you pouted when you didn’t get your way (and god, he wanted to see your lips wrapped around his cock), to the way you chest heaved when you were out of breath (why couldn’t he be the one to get to you react that way?). All he could think about around you was sex, and he needed to have an outlet for that somewhere.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves when you sit on his face. At first, you were nervous–you didn’t want to hurt him, and you had a friend who broke her neck because her girlfriend sat on it too hard. He joked that if he were to die, he'd die a happy man, but that didn’t help. After enough coaxing, you eventually did it, and realized that you were kind of stupid for not doing it before, and he was stupid good with his tongue.

L: Location (favorite place to have sex)

He prefers a bed above all else, but he won’t say no if you pull him into a storage closet because you just can’t keep your hands off of him any longer. Honestly, he’d do it anywhere you asked–even a car, although he doesn’t fit that well and it hurts his back. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the more adventurous one, but he doesn’t mind–it’s just a new experience for him to try.

M: Motivation (what turns them on?)

If you asked him, he’d say that you breathing turns him on, which is true, but what really gets him going is when you absentmindedly play with him, whether it’s his hands, his sleeve, or his collar, it’s like all the blood rushes to his cock and he’s so lightheaded he might pass out. He knows it’s wrong, but sometimes when you yelp in pain, he has to do breathing exercises to calm down.

N: No (something they wouldn’t do / turn offs)

He can’t bring himself to do anal. Not just because it hurts you, but also because it’s kind of gross.

O: Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? what’s their skill level?)

He loves to give head. If he’s honest, he’d be happy if you never went down on him again, as long as he gets to eat your pretty pussy for the rest of his life. He wasn’t very good at it at first, but he’s a quick learner, and by the end of the first time, he made you see stars you didn’t know existed.

P: Pace (how fast or slow are they?)

If you’re both frustrated, he’ll fuck you hard and fast, but typically, he likes to be slow and gentle. He wants you to feel each inch as he fills you, each drag of his cock inside of you. Rationally, he knows the two of you could have sex whenever you want, but irrationally, he never wants it to end. The longer he keeps you cumming, the longer he gets to have with you.

Q: Quickies (their opinion on quickies)

He doesn’t like them very often, but if you have a couple cases back to back like you did after the pig farm, he’s ecstatic when you pull him aside for a quick fumble in the dark.

R: Risk (do they like to experiment?)

Everything is an experiment for this man, since he’s never really done anything before you. He’s happy with it though, and he’d do anything you asked him to, as long as you really wanted it. If you told him to hop on one foot naked on a balcony he thinks he would do it. You would never ask that, though, which he’s grateful for.

S: Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long can they last?)

The first time he fucked you, he lasted a total of five seconds. He was super embarrassed, of course, but with time, his stamina grew and he can fuck you for nearly a half an hour now, maybe even longer if he takes breaks. He knows the average time it takes for a man to orgasm is seven minutes, so he’s grateful he finally beat that statistic.

T: Toys (do they use toys? how?)

He doesn’t use toys on himself, but he loves to use them on you. He loves to see you writhe when he uses a vibrator on your clit, drinking in your high-pitched moans when he changes the position or setting. He doesn’t use dildos on you often, but every once and a while, it’s nice to watch you get fucked and actually be able to pay attention to something other than holy shit you’re so wet oh my god, because usually, he can’t.

U: Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He’ll tease you for days if he has the chance, leaving you a pathetic, wet mess until he finally gives in and touches you exactly how you need.

V: Volume (how loud are they?)

Spencer Reid is nothing if not vocal. He’s always babbling about how good you’re doing, how good you feel, how badly and how long he’s wanted this. He can’t help but whine and moan pathetically when you touch him, and he’s not too shy to beg for what he wants.

W: Wildcard (a random headcanon)

He’ll never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he thinks it’s hot when you cry, as long as you aren’t upset. He loves to kiss and wipe away your tears, and he hates how his cock twitches when your eyes get all glossy. You actually noticed before he did, but you never said anything because you don’t want to embarrass him.

X: X-Ray (what’s going on under those clothes?)

He’s tall and slender, with a very low body fat content. He doesn’t work out very often, which leads him to still be soft on his stomach and chest. He’s got hair, but it’s very light and you can barely see it, outside of the tuft in his pants. His cock is long, thick, and cut, with a shiny red tip when he’s hard.

Y: Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before he met you, he didn’t think he’d ever have sex, but then he laid eyes on you, and he’s been eternally horny ever since.

Z: Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s tired, but he can stay up until you fall asleep–just know, he’s not that far behind you.

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Our get along T-shirt

Summary: Two teens forced in a large white T-shirt. Years later both of you are engaged and rediscover the shirt.

Word count: 1k

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

When you were younger Bradley and you could never get along. You didn’t have a specific hatred for him but as kids you remember he was the most annoying boy to ever walk the earth.

To Bradley you were just some girl with cooties. Who was uptight about everything; You hated getting messy, you didn't like to play tag, and every time Bradley tried to talk to you, you’d silence him with: “Bradley just shut up, I don’t even care.” You were such a princess on your high horse, Bradley couldn't fight the urge to annoy you with intention instead of just existing. 

Bradley would pull on your cheeks knowing you hated when Carole did that to you. He flicked your forehead watching you scrunch up your face in annoyance. He'd shove you because he was a boy and he could.

One day you went to the mall with your mom, Carole and cone head Bradley. Carole had been craving Cinnabon and shopping all day. It was supposed to be a fun girls hang out but Bradley just had to come and ruin it. 

You were holding your shopping bag, walking next to Bradley and he kept shoving you with his shoulder. He did this every time. When you were walking down the halls at school together, on the sidewalk, by the door frame, for fun. It's like he couldn’t walk properly if he wasn’t pushing you. 

Bradley aggressively rammed his shoulder into yours again, making you stumble. That’s when you had enough. Before you could even think rationally, you bent down and gave a harsh tug to Bradley’s dark blue jeans causing them to pool at his ankles leaving him in his plaid blue boxers. 

“What the hell?!” Bradley’s face turned crimson, pulling his pants up after being pantsed. Your mom and Carole turned to both of you in a disapproving manner. But you didn’t care because you won this round with stupid good for nothing Bradley.

For your constant bickering you both had to face the consequences when you got home for being immature. Bradley was standing in a large white shirt with only one of his arms through the sleeve. Goose forced your head and arm into the big white T-shirt with Bradley. Both of you share a neck and sleeves. The shirt read 'Our get along T-shirt.'

“Ugh! Get me away from this disease.” You shrieked and Bradley rolled his eyes. 

You started pulling your arm out of the shirt but Carole chimed in. “Get out of the shirt young lady and kiss your going out privileges goodBYE.” You huffed at her in frustration shoving your arm back into the stiff cotton shirt. The pair of you craning your necks to the side to get as much distance as possible. 

It didn’t help the situation that Nick filmed the whole thing with his black camcorder. Together neither of you could look at the camera, both too embarrassed to be in shirt made for children when you guys were old enough to know better. For crying out loud you were 15 and still physically abused each other. 

“Look at how cute these two are.” Goose was looking through the viewfinder on the camera while laughing his ass off having the time of his life. 

This would have never happened if Bradley didn’t knock into you. Discreetly you gazed at Bradley with utter disgust, and he was already looking at you. “Stop looking at me.” You grumbled. You were already planning your revenge, perhaps shaving his ugly shaggy hair when he was asleep. 

“You stop looking at me.” Bradley feuded back, pinching your arm, his finger nails sinking into your skin. “Watch your back, phlemwad. Start wearing a belt because you're not safe.” He muttered just so you could hear, pinching you a little harder. 

“Ow!” You yelped. In self defence, with your other hand that was in the T-shirt, You slapped Bradley’s stomach. 

“Mom she just hit me!” Bradley was a tattle tale since day one. Always quick to run to mommy when he was the problem starter. You didn't care though as you delivered a hard kick to his shins where everybody can clearly see your assault. “Fuck you!” Bradley yelled out, bending forward in pain. Since you were trapped in a shirt together you fumbled forward too. 

Carole, who hated Bradley cursing, scolded him. “Watch your mouth Bradley!” Despite being forced into a shirt to get along and being videotaped, the two of you still fought. To get back at you Bradley shoved you with his shoulder making you stumble, which wasn’t a smart idea since you took him tripped down with him.

You could tell by the way your mom watched she wanted to laugh. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” 

“This clearly isn’t working” Carole rubbed her forehead stressed out by the teens that could not work their differences aside. 

“No but, it's funny as hell though.” Goose smiled. When your mom had you, and Carole had Bradley they presumed their kids would be best friends and maybe even date each other at some point. Clearly that wasn’t happening any time soon. 

“We have to put an end to this.” Carole looked at him. Nick’s eyes brightened, having another phenomenal idea.

“Bradley, if you give the sweet girl here a little kissy, you guys are free to go.” Nick's grin grew wider. This was punishment for you guys but for Nick it meant his favorite show was on. 

Bradley scrunched up his face at the thought. “I. Would. Rather. Die.” He emphasized every word.

“Good because if you kissed me I would probably get warts.” You fought back, the parents were now fully entertained and didn't want to deal with the pair any longer.

“Come on Brad, just a little kiss on the cheek and you both are free to go,” Nick reasoned with his son but Bradley didn’t think that was fair.

“Why do I have to kiss her? Can’t she kiss me?” 

“No, because she's a girl, and you don’t wanna be a wuss Brad.” Nick got an elbow to his side from Carole but it only made him smile, while he kept filming. Bradley furrowed his brows weighing out his options. As he was about to quickly peck you on the check you turned your head to look at him, and his lips were on yours for half a second. Bradley looked at you, horrified while he heard his father teasingly say: “Wow there Brad, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

Bradley quickly got out of the shirt as you stood there blushing. “Ewwww!” All 3 parents were laughing their heads off. Technically Bradley just stole your first kiss. 

⊹���~⟡⋆

Now both of you are older and engaged. You two were going through Carole and Nick’s attic, sorting through boxes they no longer wanted or needed. In one of the boxes Bradley found the symbolic t-shirt of your past. Bradley showed you the white ‘our get along shirt.’ making you both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Try it on!” You eagerly demanded, taking a seat on the dusty floor. Bradley began to unbutton Hawaiian shirt, showing off his body that was a work of art. You couldn’t resist looking at him fondly because before he used to be much skinner and pale, and now he was jacked and tan. Bradley pulled the shirt on and by himself he was big enough to fill out the stiff cotton shirt. Together you were laughing so hard, like Goose and Carole so many years before when both of you were forced in the shirt. 

Bradley let out a sigh after laughing. “Wow fits me pretty well now huh?” He stared at the words written in sharpie in amusement.

“Yeah can't fit another person in there anymore,” You stared at your fiancé in pure astonishment, that after all the fighting and bickering both of you were starting a future together.  

“Uh yes it can, this shirt was made for two.” Bradley walked towards you, getting on his knees and stretching the tight shirt over your head, your nose brushed against his chest before your head fit through the neck whole. All grown up, your heads were closer together than last time. Besides the tight squeeze the only difference was that you both wanted to get into the shirt together instead of being forced in it. 

“Aw come on, just a little kissy Bradley.” You playfully quoted the iconic video.

“I’ll give you more than a little kissy.” Bradley growled before crashing his lips on yours.

After that I think Bradley would unironically wear the shirt under his Hawaiian shirt lol and would be very upset if anything happened to it

[cloudyluun]

Under the Dining Table

Summary: A casual dinner with friends takes an unexpected turn when Harry’s hand finds its way under your dress. What starts as a teasing touch quickly escalates into a dangerous game, his fingers stroking you in slow, torturous movements while you struggle to keep your composure. The thrill of getting caught only fuels the fire between you, and when dinner finally ends, Harry wastes no time dragging you into a private space to finish what he started.

A/N: So, uh… I was supposed to be writing something wholesome, but my brain took a sharp left turn into filthville, and here we are. 🫣 Blame Harry, not me. (Actually, blame me—I had way too much fun writing this.) not proofread so sorry!!

Also, OMG?? I hit 500 followers?!? WHAT?!? Thank you all so much for being here, for reading my unhinged little stories, and for enabling my questionable life choices. As a token of my appreciation, here’s an extra post—filled with chaos, tension, and Harry being an absolute menace. Enjoy, you heathens. 😈🔥

P.S. If you get caught reading this in public, that’s on you. I take no responsibility. 👀

Word Count: 6k

Warnings:

Explicit Smut!

Public teasing (Harry has no shame, and neither do you)

Filthy behavior at the dinner table (do NOT try this at a family gathering)

The risk of getting caught (adds to the thrill, obviously)

Harry being an absolute menace (as usual)

Y/N struggling to keep a straight face (good luck with that)

Zero self-control (from both of you, let’s be honest)

Possible secondhand embarrassment (for the poor, unsuspecting dinner guests)

You will never look at dinner the same way again (hope it was worth it)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The dinner starts off casually—wine is poured, conversations flow, and laughter fills the air. The restaurant hums with soft chatter, the low flicker of candlelight reflecting in the deep red of your wine glass. Plates clink, silverware scrapes, and the warm scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs lingers in the air.

It’s meant to be just another dinner with friends, nothing out of the ordinary. A night to unwind, to catch up after weeks of conflicting schedules. Harry’s bandmates are here—Mitch, Sarah, Ny, Pauli, Adam, and Elin. The whole crew, filling out the long table with easy conversation and shared memories from tour.

And yet… there’s an underlying charge.

It started small, like a current building beneath the surface. Harry had been seated beside you by chance—an open seat, a last-minute rearrangement. But now, everything about his presence feels intentional.

The way he sat just close enough for his knee to brush yours under the table.

The way his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the rim of his glass, his rings catching the low light.

The way his cologne—deep, woodsy, and devastatingly familiar—lingered between you every time he shifted in his seat.

You try to ignore it, try to focus on the conversation. Mitch is recounting a story from tour, something about a hotel mix-up that left him and Harry in the wrong rooms, and Sarah is already laughing before he even gets to the punchline.

You laugh too, swirling your wine in your glass, willing yourself to stay grounded in the moment.

But then, there’s him.

Harry leans back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest, his fingers just barely grazing your exposed shoulder. He’s listening, engaging, but you catch the flicker of his gaze drifting—not to Mitch, not to anyone else at the table.

To you.

You don’t have to look to know he’s taking in every inch of your outfit. The silk of your dress—delicate, effortless. Thin straps, a neckline that just barely toes the line of appropriate, a hem that rides a little higher when you cross your legs.

And then, finally—finally—he speaks.

His lips brush your ear, voice smooth, controlled. Dangerous.

"You knew what you were doing when you put this on, didn’t you?"

It’s not really a question.

Your breath catches—just slightly—but you school your features, keeping them neutral as you bring your glass to your lips. The wine is rich, dry, but it does little to soothe the heat crawling up your spine.

"No idea what you’re talking about," you murmur, voice even.

A low hum rumbles in his throat, amused but unconvinced. His fingers—slow, calculated—skim the edge of your knee beneath the table, barely there.

You know it’s deliberate.

He knows you know.

"Right." He exhales softly, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. "Just a coincidence, then?"

His fingers brush higher. The tiniest movement. Just enough to make your pulse stutter.

"That this dress is driving me absolutely fucking insane?"

It’s maddening.

The setting, the people, the complete normalcy of the moment contrasted with the way his words slip beneath your skin like a match to gasoline.

The conversation around you continues uninterrupted. Pauli is cracking a joke. Sarah is leaning into Mitch. Ny is scrolling through something on her phone, laughing under her breath.

No one notices the way Harry’s touch lingers.

No one hears the unspoken promise laced in his voice.

But you feel it.

And when his fingers—light as a whisper—drag another inch up your thigh, your breath hitches just enough for him to notice.

The smirk that spreads across his lips is slow, knowing. He doesn’t push further. Doesn’t need to.

You know exactly what kind of night this is going to be.

It starts small—his pinky brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. A small spark. A warning.

It could have been accidental, a mere slip of movement, but you both know better. The heat from his skin lingers even after the briefest touch, and your stomach clenches as your fingers flex against the stem of your wine glass.

You should pull away. Create distance. But you don’t.

Instead, you let the moment stretch, let it settle between you like the space between lightning and thunder. A crackling anticipation, thick and waiting to strike.

Then, his hand rests on your knee. Innocent at first. A casual gesture.

It would mean nothing if it were anyone else. A natural movement, a simple touch. But it’s Harry. And his hand—warm, heavy, deliberate—burns through the silk of your dress like an unspoken promise.

You keep your focus on the conversation around you. Mitch is talking about the festival lineup for next summer. Pauli and Adam are debating whether they should get another round of drinks. Sarah is laughing at something Elin said.

And Harry?

Harry is pretending he isn’t setting your body on fire under the table.

Then, his fingers slowly drag higher.

It’s subtle, measured, the kind of touch that feels unbearably slow because you’re already hyper-aware of it.

The first few inches are nothing—just the soft press of his fingertips against your bare skin. But then, he parts your legs just slightly. A silent question.

You inhale sharply, barely a sound, but enough for Harry to catch it. His lips twitch, amused.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop this before it goes too far. Before someone notices.

But instead, you let your legs fall further apart.

The moment you do, he exhales a quiet chuckle. Low, smug, so quiet only you can hear it. His fingertips dance along the inside of your thigh, teasing at the hem of your dress.

You can’t focus on anything else.

The conversation at the table continues as if nothing is happening. You nod along, force a small laugh at something Mitch says. But the second his fingers slip just beneath the fabric, pressing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, your grip on your wine glass tightens.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears.

You’re mid-sentence—mid-fucking-sentence—when you feel it. The softest graze of Harry’s fingers under the table.

Your body jolts in response.

It’s casual at first, almost innocent, as if he’s just adjusting his position. But then his fingers start tracing small, lazy circles over your bare skin.

You shoot him a look. A warning. A silent What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Harry? Harry doesn’t even glance at you.

His attention is fixed across the table, his expression easy, relaxed, engaged in conversation like he isn’t currently driving you absolutely insane.

The pads of his fingers press into your thigh, massaging slow, deliberate strokes.

You swallow hard, shifting in your seat, trying—failing—to pretend your body isn’t already reacting to his touch.

Then, he squeezes.

Firm. Just enough pressure to send a rush of heat down your spine.

And when his thumb drags up, up, up, pushing the silk of your dress just a little higher—

You realize you are completely and utterly fucked.

His fingers travel higher, skimming where you need him most, but he doesn’t give in. Instead, he taps his fingers—just barely touching over your underwear.

The teasing, the unbearable lightness of his touch, sends a slow, torturous ache through you. You let out the softest exhale, shifting slightly, but it only encourages him.

His breath is warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Keep still, sweetheart.”

Your pulse hammers. He’s playing a dangerous game, and you’re too far gone to stop him.

He keeps his touch featherlight, circling over your already damp panties, and your thighs clench involuntarily. He notices. Of course, he notices. The smug amusement radiates off him, the slight twitch of his lips betraying how much he enjoys this.

Across the table, someone calls your name, and you have to steady yourself before answering. Your voice is barely even, and Harry grins when he feels your body tense at the effort.

His fingers inch higher, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress. The shift is so small, so subtle, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches, but you try to remain still.

He leans in, lips just barely brushing your ear, voice low and teasing. “You’re so quiet. Something wrong, love?”

You glare at him, but it only makes him smirk. His fingers slide higher, the tips of them teasing the very edge of your underwear, and you fight the urge to squirm.

He resumes eating with his free hand, completely unbothered, while his fingers continue their slow exploration.

You try to focus on the conversation, to process whatever meaningless small talk is happening around you, but it’s impossible when he drags his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, getting dangerously close.

The heat between your legs is unbearable. The anticipation is excruciating. And worst of all—he knows it.

Harry’s fingers finally push your underwear aside, fingertips dipping between your folds, just enough to coat them in your arousal. The first contact makes your entire body jolt, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound.

His touch is light, exploratory. He’s taking his time, as if memorizing every slick detail, as if he has all night to play with you like this. A single finger traces over your clit, slow and deliberate, and you swallow hard, your grip tightening around your fork. You focus on the weight of it in your hand, anything to distract yourself from the way he’s barely moving, barely giving you enough, but somehow, it’s already making you dizzy.

Your body responds instinctively, hips tilting toward him, chasing more friction, but he denies you that, keeping his touch featherlight. The smug bastard. His lips part slightly as he watches you struggle, his amusement barely concealed beneath the practiced ease of his expression. He’s reveling in this, in you.

"So wet for me already," he whispers, voice so low only you can hear. His breath ghosts over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers twitch under the table, reaching for his wrist. Your nails dig into his skin, but you don’t push him away. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Instead, you squeeze your thighs around his hand, a silent, desperate plea for more. He chuckles, the sound deep and knowing, vibrating straight through you.

His smirk deepens. “Needy little thing.”

Before you can snap back at him—not that you can form words right now anyway—he finally gives you what you want. His finger dips inside, slow and unhurried, sinking into your heat with a teasing curl. The stretch is minimal, barely anything compared to what you need, but it still steals your breath. A small, sharp inhale betrays you, and Harry has to bite back a laugh.

You’re completely at his mercy, caught between maintaining composure and succumbing to the slow, torturous pleasure he’s giving you. He works you slowly, teasingly, his finger slipping in and out with an agonizing lack of urgency. Every now and then, he curls it just right, pressing against a spot that makes your toes curl inside your heels. Your thighs tremble as you struggle to keep yourself still, as if staying quiet and composed will keep you from fully unraveling.

Meanwhile, the conversation around you continues as if nothing is happening. You try to focus, try to pick up on any part of it, but the words slip past you, meaningless and distant. Your plate is in front of you, the food untouched. You attempt to lift your fork, to act normal, but the second he drags his fingertip along that spot again, your grip falters. The fork nearly clatters against your plate, and you stiffen.

Harry chuckles under his breath, entirely too pleased with himself.

You shoot him a glare from the corner of your eye, but it only fuels his amusement. He’s enjoying this, savoring the way you struggle, the way your body reacts despite your best efforts to fight it.

Then—just as you’re about to lose control, just as your body begins to tighten around him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter—he pulls away.

You nearly whimper at the loss, at the way the heat between your legs turns into a dull, aching throb. Your chest rises and falls, breath unsteady, hands gripping the edge of your dress in frustration. You dare to glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, smug as ever. He lifts his hand, slipping his finger into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he tastes you.

Then, as if nothing happened at all, he picks up his fork and resumes eating.

Then—just as you’re about to lose control, just as your body begins to tighten around him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter—he pulls away.

You nearly whimper at the loss, at the way the heat between your legs turns into a dull, aching throb. Your chest rises and falls, breath unsteady, hands gripping the edge of your dress in frustration. You dare to glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, smug as ever. He lifts his hand, slipping his finger into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he tastes you.

Then, as if nothing happened at all, he picks up his fork and resumes eating.

You shoot him a glare, but he just shrugs, sipping his wine like nothing happened.

"Be good," he mutters, adjusting himself in his seat. "I’ll take care of you properly when we get home."

But two can play that game. You shift in your seat, letting your hand casually drop under the table—right onto his thigh.

His jaw tightens, a quiet warning.

You lean in, lips grazing his ear. "Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby."

His eyes darken instantly.

The night just got a lot more interesting.

Your fingers move with a lazy purpose, tracing circles along the inside of his thigh. You can feel the tension in his muscles, how hard he’s fighting to keep his composure. But you don’t stop. If he wants to play, so will you.

His fingers flex around his fork, knuckles turning white as you inch higher, teasing him the same way he teased you. His chest rises in a slow, measured breath, but you know him too well—he’s struggling.

“Careful,” he warns, voice a quiet growl only meant for you. “You don’t want to test me, sweetheart.”

You smirk, pressing a little firmer, feeling how hard he is beneath the fabric. “Oh, but I do.”

The conversation carries on around you, oblivious to the war happening beneath the table. You keep your touches light, teasing, making sure no one notices. The power shift makes you bold. You lean in, lips brushing against his jaw as you whisper, “You started it.”

His jaw clenches, his entire body thrumming with restraint. He doesn’t respond, just downs the rest of his wine and places the glass back onto the table with slow, deliberate ease.

Eventually, the dinner winds down. Harry is quiet as you exchange goodbyes, polite and composed, but you can see the storm brewing in his eyes. You drag out the farewells just to see how far you can push him.

By the time you slide into the car, the air is thick with tension. The driver pulls away, and you barely have a second to process before Harry’s hand is on your thigh, his grip bruising.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” he mutters, low and dangerous.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “A little.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t need to. The promise in his touch is enough.

The ride is painfully silent. His fingers remain on your thigh, possessive and unmoving, like a silent warning.

As soon as the front door shuts, Harry is on you.

His hands find your waist with ease, firm and possessive, and before you can even think of teasing him further, he spins you around, pressing you against the nearest wall. The air between you is thick with tension, the kind that had been simmering beneath the surface all evening, igniting fully the moment you stepped inside. Your breath hitches, chest rising and falling with anticipation as he cages you in with his body, broad and unyielding.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” His voice is low, rough—nothing like the teasing murmur he used over dinner, when he was playing along with your little game. Now, there’s no mistaking it; he’s done playing.

A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck. You love pushing him just to see how far he’ll go, love the way his patience snaps like a tight string pulled too far. “A little,” you hum, letting your voice drip with defiance.

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking in irritation—or maybe something darker. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tighter, holding you still against the wall. He leans in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done, sweetheart.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, pooling heat in your stomach. He doesn’t wait for a response. His hands are already moving, one sliding around to the small of your back, the other dipping lower, skimming the hem of your dress. He tugs it up just enough to expose more of your thigh, his fingers teasing the bare skin there, deliberate and slow.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, his mouth trailing down, barely brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. A shiver racks through you when his teeth catch just slightly, enough to make you gasp. “You in this dress, looking at me like that all night? Saying all those things just to get a rise out of me?”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s this close, when his presence alone makes your knees weak. “And what if I was?” you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper.

A sharp exhale leaves him, and then his hips press against yours, pinning you in place. There’s no mistaking the hard evidence of exactly what you’ve done to him. “Then you’re about to find out exactly what that does to me.”

His hand trails higher, fingertips ghosting over the inside of your thigh, making you arch into his touch instinctively. The anticipation alone is enough to have you breathless, every nerve in your body hyper-aware of his movements, his touch, his voice.

“Tell me, love,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. It’s dark, smoldering, filled with something just on the edge of restraint. “Did you wear this just for me?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you bite your lip. “Maybe.”

His eyes darken further, and the corner of his mouth lifts in something that isn’t quite a smile. “You like teasing me?” His grip tightens slightly, thumb stroking over your jaw before trailing down the column of your throat, a silent reminder of just how in control he is.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like that, not when he’s so close, his lips hovering just over yours, waiting, daring you to break first.

“Because that little game you played at dinner?” His voice is lower now, thicker, dripping with the kind of promise that makes your stomach flip. “That’s going to cost you.”

And then his lips crash onto yours, all restraint snapping in an instant. His hands are everywhere—gripping, exploring, claiming—while his body presses you deeper against the wall, as if he can’t get close enough. You melt into him, into the heat, into the way his mouth moves against yours, demanding and desperate all at once.

He’s not just kissing you. He’s consuming you.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, bunching the fabric at your hips. His touch is searing, fingers dragging along your skin with purpose, igniting a fire beneath every inch they explore. The rough pads of his fingers contrast against the softness of your skin, teasing, pressing, exploring. His grip on your ass is firm, squeezing possessively before delivering a sharp slap that makes you gasp, the sting fading into a pulsing warmth that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

He chuckles darkly at your reaction, his knee pressing between your legs, forcing them further apart. The pressure is just enough to keep you aching for more, but not enough to satisfy the growing need inside you. "Look at you," he murmurs, his fingers grazing up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, slow and deliberate. "Still soaked for me. Such a desperate little thing, aren’t you?"

Heat surges through you at his words, your body betraying just how much his teasing affects you. His fingers skim over the damp fabric of your underwear, feeling the evidence of your arousal. He tuts, shaking his head as if disappointed. "I barely touched you at dinner, and you were ready to come undone right there in front of everyone." His voice is thick with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it—something possessive, something that tells you he’s going to make you pay for every second of your teasing.

You shift against him, trying to grind against his knee, searching for any kind of relief, but his grip tightens instantly. "Uh-uh. You’re not in control, baby. I am."

With a quick, decisive movement, he hooks his fingers into your underwear and rips them down, the fabric sliding down your legs to pool at your ankles. The cool air against your exposed skin makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way his fingers brush over your folds, spreading your wetness, teasing, never quite giving you what you need. His touch is maddening, featherlight strokes that keep you on edge, keep you trembling with anticipation.

"I should bend you over this table and fuck you right here," he muses, voice dripping with authority, with the promise of something utterly sinful. "But that would be too easy."

Instead, he sinks to his knees before you, his broad hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread. The sight of him there, between your legs, dark curls falling over his forehead, eyes burning with hunger—it’s almost too much. He looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, but also something to be broken apart, unraveled slowly, piece by piece.

His lips brush against your inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing. His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your clit, making you jolt, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. But just as quickly as you feel him—he’s gone, pulling back with a smirk. "No, not yet."

A desperate sound catches in your throat as he licks up your arousal but never gives you the pressure you’re desperate for. He drags it out, taking his time, teasing you mercilessly. Every time your hips buck, every time you try to chase his mouth, he pulls away, making you suffer in the best way possible.

"Told you, baby," he murmurs, his voice low and taunting. His lips hover just above where you need him most, his breath sending shivers through your body. "You don’t get to be greedy."

He waits, watching you tremble beneath his touch, watching your chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. He wants you on the edge, wants you desperate, wants you aching for him in a way that borders on unbearable. And he won’t give in—not yet.

Not until you’re completely undone for him.

And then, finally, he gives in.

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure. At the same time, two of his fingers slide inside you, stretching you open, filling you in a way that has your back arching off the surface behind you. The moan that rips from your throat is wrecked, raw, and needy, the sound of pure surrender.

He groans in response, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His free hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place as your thighs threaten to snap shut around his head. But he doesn’t let you—he keeps you open, keeps you exposed, keeps you right where he wants you.

His fingers move with precision, curling just right, pressing against that perfect spot deep inside you over and over. Every movement, every stroke, every flick of his tongue is deliberate, calculated to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you’re clenching so tight," he murmurs against you, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You gonna come for me, love?"

You nod frantically, your hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold on to. His hair, the edge of the table, the fabric of his shirt—none of it is enough to ground you as the pleasure builds, higher and higher, coiling tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

And then—

He pulls away completely.

A choked, frustrated whimper leaves your lips, your body trembling, aching for release. But he only smirks, standing up slowly, towering over you as he watches you struggle to catch your breath.

"Did you think I’d let you come that easy?" he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes over your swollen bottom lip. "After the shit you pulled tonight?"

You barely have time to process the question before he reaches for his belt, unfastening it with slow, deliberate movements. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops sends a shiver down your spine, your thighs squeezing together instinctively.

"On your knees." His voice is dangerously low, dark and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

You obey instantly, your body reacting on pure instinct. Lust pools in your stomach as you watch him pull his cock free, thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight of him, flushed and hard, makes your mouth water, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you look up at him with wide, wanting eyes.

He drags the head of his cock over your lips, smearing precum across them, teasing you just as much as he had been before. "Open up, baby," he murmurs, his tone deceptively soft, laced with something darker. "Since you wanna be a tease so bad, let’s see how well you use that mouth."

You part your lips obediently, your tongue flicking out to taste him before you take him in, inch by inch. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his size. A low groan rumbles from his chest, his head tilting back slightly as his fingers tangle into your hair.

"Fuck—just like that, sweetheart," he rasps, his hand pressing lightly against the back of your head, guiding your movements. "Such a good little thing for me now, huh?"

He pulls you off with a slick pop, his hand shifting to your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him. His thumb drags across your swollen lips, smearing the mess of saliva and precum. His gaze darkens, heat rolling off of him in waves. "Think you’re ready to take what I owe you?"

Your breath catches, anticipation coiling in your stomach as he helps you up, guiding you onto shaky legs. His grip is firm as he spins you around and bends you over the dining table, pressing your chest to the cool surface. He doesn’t hesitate, one large palm sliding up your back before retreating, only to come down hard against your ass. The sharp crack echoes through the room, a stinging warmth blossoming across your skin.

"That’s for making me hard in public," he growls, kneading the flesh before landing another slap, watching the way your body jolts in response.

Before you can even catch your breath, he lines himself up and thrusts forward, slamming into you in one deep, punishing stroke. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of delicious discomfort. He doesn’t ease you into it, doesn’t give you time to adjust—not after the way you teased him all night.

His grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he sets a relentless pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, pushing you further into the table with every snap of his hips. He’s merciless, his restraint completely shattered, taking exactly what he’s been aching for.

"You feel that, love?" he rasps, voice thick with lust. "That’s what happens when you tease me all night."

A whimper leaves you, nails scratching against the wooden surface as he presses a hand to your lower stomach. He groans when he feels himself moving inside you, the pressure making your walls flutter around him. "Right here, yeah? You feel me right here?"

You can barely think, let alone respond. Your head falls forward, breath coming in short, desperate pants as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He’s everywhere—overwhelming, consuming, ruining you in the best possible way.

"You’re gonna come like this," he grits out, his rhythm unrelenting. "Stretched around my cock, taking every inch like a good girl."

His fingers slip between your legs, finding your clit with expert precision, rubbing tight, insistent circles that have you teetering on the edge almost instantly. The combination of it all—his deep, punishing thrusts, the way he’s stretching you, the possessive grip on your body—sends you spiraling.

Your orgasm slams into you, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your walls clenching around him as you fall apart. A strangled moan tears from your throat, your body trembling beneath him.

"That’s it, baby—fuck, that’s my girl," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, deeper, rougher as he chases his own release. He buries himself to the hilt, his grip tightening as his hips stutter, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills deep, a broken moan escaping his lips.

For a moment, neither of you move, both of you breathless and spent. His hands glide over your back, soothing, grounding, before he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss between your shoulder blades.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinged with something warm.

You hum in response, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. "More than okay."

He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he stays inside you, his body pressed flush against yours, his breaths warm and uneven against your shoulder. His lips, still swollen from earlier kisses, brush over your spine—soft, reverent, like he’s memorizing you with every touch.

"You okay, love?" His voice is lower now, tender in a way that contrasts with the way he had just unraveled you. His hands move over your waist, slow and soothing, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your skin as if grounding you both in the aftershocks.

You nod, a satisfied hum vibrating in your throat. "Better than okay."

A pleased sound rumbles in his chest before he finally pulls out, a groan slipping from his lips as he watches the way his release spills from you. His fingers brush over your inner thigh, as if resisting the urge to push it back inside. His jaw tightens, his pupils blown wide with something both possessive and enamored.

“Fuck—you look so pretty like this.”

Before you can respond, he scoops you up effortlessly, carrying you to the bed like you weigh nothing. The mattress dips as he lays you down with care, his touch never leaving you. He disappears for only a moment, and when he returns, the cool press of a warm, damp cloth against your skin makes you shiver. He cleans you up gently, his fingers barely grazing over sensitive spots, his touch tender despite the wicked gleam still lingering in his eyes.

Once he’s satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside and pulls you against him, tucking you into his chest. His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, one hand splaying over your lower back while the other tangles into your hair. His lips press against your temple, murmuring something too quiet to catch, but the warmth in his voice says enough.

"Next time, you behave at dinner," he mutters, amusement lacing his tone, though there’s an edge of warning beneath it.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you trail a teasing finger over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "No promises."

His chuckle is low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with promise, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your hip.

"Good," he murmurs, voice husky and laced with anticipation. "I like a challenge."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[holyguardian]

Aerith almost cast a wide-eyed look to Somnus as he was egged on to join her. This was all new to her — she understood he had a less than shining reputation among Lucian circles. Something that made no sense to her whatsoever. Though it wasn't a sentiment that his troops shared, right...?

The cheers and clapping all seemed to be in good fun. And Somnus himself didn't seem bothered being made into a spectacle, so she relaxed more into the moment.

There was a smile playing on her lips as she regarded her husband across from her. His head was bowed, his voice quietened. Though the light-hearted expression on his face was all the reassurance she needed. "At least you know better than to ask for mercy where you will not find it." she playfully commented, earning loud crows of support from the Lucian men and women gathered. Meek smiles had turned to grins.

She was gracious, she answered each of his questions fairly, even offered hints of advice without prompting. And yet she did not hold back. Their decks were equally matched. Neither one of them had a chance at holding cards that the other would not have, this wasn't an official competition, it was a playful game with mere starter decks.

Somehow she made it feel like she had the upper-hand at every turn. There were no draws. She baited him into a lane with an easy to turn card, and devastated him at his flank, stealing it all from him. The final tally was brutal. All three coins were placed with her. In the aftermath, she even caught that mention of Somnus being treated like a dirty dog and had the good grace to cover her mouth laughing. There was a pink tinge in her cheeks. She was only a little embarrassed being called out herself.

"I'm nice, I swear." Aerith insisted with her hands raised in defence. Though she was met with an encouraging pat on her back from none other than Leander, who grinned at her so warmly.

"You're also an inspiration to the troops!" Leander encouraged, making a gesture to their dear Prince. "For too long we have been demolished on a chess board. This is a new beginning, where we have equal footing to challenge Prince Somnus to a game of Queen's Blood."

Leander offered a wink to Somnus. It was all in good fun, and the Princess seemed to be at ease among them.

That was until she stood so suddenly the chair clattered and would have tipped had it not been for Leander's quick reflex. His head whipped to her and she looked... well, like she had seen a ghost. Something that half made sense when his gaze shifted to the face that pulled that reaction from her.

Loukas stood there. Dark circles stained under his eyes and he looked a little thinner in his face — he was already scrawny enough, yet in his teenage years. Whatever words he had meant to say to the Princess were swallowed into the moment of quiet that fell around them.

Though Aerith didn't need rescuing. After all, it had been her own sudden reaction that made a normal moment feel awkward. Softening, she stepped closer to the familiar soldier, and pulled him into a sudden embrace.

He immediately bowed his head, and a moment later his arms lifted to return the hug. She remembered him. And he would always remember what she had done for his family... when he pulled back, he managed a half-smile. "You are nice." that his quietened voice could be heard was a testament to how still the Lucian side of the barracks had fallen. Though small murmurs began to stir again. Then his eyes fell to Prince Somnus. "May I have the next turn?" At that, the murmurs picked up to encouraging words, egging the Prince of Lucis yet again to agree. As if he could have denied Nikolaos' little brother.

Leander was still Leander. It sounded strange, but having spent so many days apart, part of Somnus had bene nervous that his best friend would be upset at him. For not even seeking him out once. If any of this had given him even a moment of pause, he would have ran to Leander first, though.

To rant, to get input, advice – and drink some wine while mulling about the future.

Now they would have to catch up on all this right now.

Standing beside Leander as Aerith started to explain all the rules of her favourite game, Somnus felt as if the tensions and weights of the past days simply slipped off of his shoulders. Like they were nothing more than the woolen coat Aerith was already discarding. Standing here, they could simply pretend they… belonged. And he hoped Aerith would feel the same kind of relaxation among all the soldiers.

Shooting Leander another amused glance, Somnus nodded: “I am good, Ser.”

Really. It were the same undertones. They knew each other for years now, Leander would know that Somnus was answering honestly. It might come as a surprise. From the outside he was forced into an arranged marriage and shipped far off from home, about to be thrown into a war. But to Somnus… it felt like a new chapter that he could finally write himself, not have others write it for him.

He could not wait until he could tell Leander all of this and about how lucky he was to be arranged to marry someone, who… understood.

Well, part of him hoped this evening would already be enough for Leander to realize how special Aerith was to him. And vice versa.

Though of course Leander had to throw him beneath the Chocobocart. Somnus shook his head with a laugh, but there was no way he could escape this now. Everyone had heard Leander and they cheered him to sit down opposite of the Princess. If this were any other setting, he would have bristled at it all. But… this was easy. Being shoved by his best friend’s hand and sitting down across his wife, who looked at him expectantly. And… was that mischief in her green eyes?

He remembered her threat and promise of destroying him in this game one day. He could win in chess, but this here was her battleground now.

“Look at how much they want you to destroy me… I hope you give them a show.”, he looked at Aerith from beneath his dark strands, with his head bowed a little.

She had explained the rules of this game and yet Somnus had to ask some more questions as they started to play. In the beginning it was complicated. But… it added up. It was tactical. And there was part of luck at play, too. With every draw, Somnus could hear the soldiers behind himself squabbling closer and whispering tipps and what to do next. The same happened to Aerith on her side. Though they definitely were quieter there, because Aerith obviously knew what she was doing – and absolutely dominating this game. Somnus could not but grin at his ‘bad luck’ and how he lost coin after coin to Aerith. There was laughter coming from the soldiers. Some hollered comments. That it was quite clear, who would rule this marriage. The mention of a certain scene in a tent with an almost-naked prince being hosed down like a dirty dog was enough to cause a whole barrage of laughs and some clanking cups of wine.

It was teasing at Somnus’ expense, and yet he did not mind it at all. Not here, not with them, not for her.

“Ah, you all have no idea how happy I am, that my beloved wife only set a honey cake for her victory – seems she could have won my last tunic from me.”

[cherrycheolkat]

heyyyyy kat, this bingo card game is so fun!! im always looking forward to your next post. please can i request something from it too? i would like vehicle sex and oral fixation pretty please 🥺

hihiii ofc you can ^^ also that's sweet - i'm glad you like my fics <3 um i am maybe a little stuck on mingyu x noona but hope this is fun and sorry it took a few days for me to figure this one out

♡ kat

bingo square: vehicle sex + oral fixation

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader | mingyu x noona reader

summary: y/n was heading back to her apartment when mingyu offered her a ride - she didn’t realize her least focused student could actually be fully engrossed with a single activity 

genre: college au, collegestudent!mingyu, teachassistant!reader

word count: 1.8k

rating: 18+, mdni

warnings: explicit language, smut, age gap, car sex, topping from bottom, penetrative sex, finger sucking, nipple play

she had packed up after another class where maybe a quarter of the students actually paid attention to her - just because she was the ta, which was annoying. she was the one who graded all of their horrendous papers. and then there was maybe her most annoying student, kim mingyu - she rolled ideas, just thinking about him.

when she walked around the class for the last few weeks, she had noticed that he was literally watching march madness coverage and completely ignoring her lectures. she had gotten annoyed this evening and used her laser pointer on his screen. and just because that didn’t seem to phase him, she had called him out. she grinned as she replayed it in her mind - his half-stuttering bullshit answer that she meticously corrected. she had seen the way he stared daggers at her the rest of the session. but she didn’t care, as long as maybe paid attention - that was the point.

she walked through the quiet halls and could finally breathe when she exited the building, feeling the cool night air - she caught the sharp scent of ozone, and knew it was going to rain. she groaned, realizing she hadn’t brought her umbrella. she made it just outside of the building when she felt the first few ominous drops. she sighed and pulled the collar of her jacket up closer - she would get soaked, but it could be worse. 

she didn’t initially notice the black car next to her. she was concerned with getting home, not some person who was lost on campus. 

“y/n?” 

she paused, glancing over to the car. the driver had rolled down the window closest to her - she leaned down and tried to control her face as she saw none other than kim mingyu leaning towards the open window, looking at her with a smirk. she rolled her eyes, “come to my office hours if you have an issue, mingyu,” she kept walking. 

but he stayed next to her, “you know it’s starting to rain, right?”

“and?”

“do you want a ride?” his voice was too sweet for her liking, especially since she had pointedly embarrassed him maybe 45 minutes before. 

she shook her head, “no, thanks - have a nice night,” she tried to sound cordial and nothing more.

“come on, y/n, it’s not a big deal - even if you called me out in class,” he almost whispered the last part. 

she tried to smile, “i shouldn’t take rides from students,” she mumbled.

he grinned, “you’re not the professor, y/n, even if you basically do his job for him.”

she could feel rain drops hitting her more persistently - she groaned, “okay, fuck, fine.” she got into his ridiculously nice car and immediately wondered if he were a trust fund kid.

“so where am i taking you?” he asked softly.

she didn’t love the idea of him knowing where she lived, but she gave him her address - well close to her address - it was her friend’s place a few houses down from her own. if anyone egged her friend’s house, she would have a top suspect, she thought wryly. 

she leaned on the arm rest, trying to make it clear that she didn’t want to spend anymore time in his car than was necessary. the problem was when she felt his hand brush her thigh, and she practically jumped. 

“sorry,” he mumbled. she might have believed him if he hadn’t looked so smug about it.

she pursed her lips, “you know, if you bothered to pay attention in class, i wouldn’t have called on you - so if you’re annoyed about something”—

he cut her off, “why would i be annoyed? i wanted your attention, and i got it,” he smiled. 

she flushed, not knowing what to say. 

“you could just say you aren’t interested - i’m in your class, blah, blah, blah,” he offered, his voice low and silky.

she stared out the window not wanting to think about that he was a student - a junior student to her, but just another student for all intents and purposes. like he had said, she wasn’t the professor. 

when he touched her thigh again, she barely noticed until he squeezed her thigh while they waited at a stop light.

she glanced at him, “so what do you want? what do you think is happening right now exactly?”

he glanced at her for a moment, “i’m thinking how much i want to know if you’re wearing a bra today or not.” he said it so smoothly - she looked at him, taking in his profile as he watched the road. she wasn’t unaware of the way some students looked at her. she hadn’t pegged him as one of ‘those’ students. 

she felt his hand slide closer to her groin. she should probably stop him, but in all fairness, she liked how his hand looked on her thigh. she liked that he had thicker fingers - she liked that he had the hands of a man - there was nothing dainty about his fingers. she wondered how they would feel stretching her pussy.  

when they got to her friend’s address, she sighed, “it’s actually further down,” she pointed. 

he laughed softly, “ah - so you were going to hide in the bushes?”

she rolled her eyes, “no, it’s my friend’s place, and i have a spare key,” she responded tartly - as though she would hunker down in the bushes.

he was already pulling into her driveway. it was darker than her friend’s - there was more tree cover from heavy oaks on both sides. 

she didn’t touch the door handle. she was patient, wondering what little fantasy was playing in his mind. 

when he shifted in his seat, “come here,” he whispered. 

she glanced over, seeing the room between him and the steering wheel. it felt distinctly high school. but she wasn’t above that. she shifted to straddle him. he was fast to shove her jacket out of the way, and even faster to shover her thin sweater up to expose her tits to the cooler air of the car. 

she wasn’t prepared for the way he moaned at seeing her, “fuck,” he muttered, “look at you, baby,” he whispered. 

his hands slid over her breasts roughly, squeezing them while he moaned softly. 

“so now you know - no bra,” she whispered, leaning down so her lips were just next to his ear. She leaned back, letting him have the view he wanted so badly.  

he nodded, swallowing hard, as his fingers traced over her nipples - she knew why his eyes suddenly flashed to hers.

“serioulsy,” he whispered before he was suddenly leaning into her and sucking softly at her breast. 

she knew what he had felt, the little tiny piercings she had - she could feel his tongue playing with the tiny metal barbell - she moaned softly, her fingers pulling his short hair softly, loving how warm his mouth was. she moaned when he sucked harder, his tongue alternating between making little circles around her nipple and playing with her piercing. 

it felt like ages before he pulled away from her left breast, groaning, “how the fuck are you single?” he breathed.

she laughed, “it’s not like they’re not magic.”

he shook his head, leaning in to kiss her right breast, “yes, they are,” he whispered against her skin, licking and sucking the nipple he had been neglecting. she felt him pull her hips closer to his. she gulped when she felt how hard he was. 

she bit her lip softly when she felt the rough way he was sucking at her skin - she knew he would leave marks. she had the feeling that that was exactly his goal. she found herself pushing him back, pressing her fingers between his lips instead. she blushed watching the way he sucked on her fingers - it was when she made him gag and he didn’t seem to care that she knew she was too far down the path not to fuck him. 

he whimpered when she pulled her fingers away, “want to fuck, baby boy, not just tease each other,” she breathed as leaned over him, her fingers tracing along his cheek. he stared at her, already looking dazed. 

she rolled her hips against him - he moaned softly. she smiled, “do you even want to move?”

he swallowed, “why? i like this view,” he murmured.

“you just want someone else to do the work for you,” she didn’t care that her voice had sharpened. 

he shook his head, “promise i can fuck you from exactly where i am.”

she grinned, “mhmm, i’m sure.”

she wasn’t sure how either really managed to get out of their pants, but she knew she was slick enough to take his cock without prepping. and the slide was absolutely worth it - she arched back against the steering wheel, moaning, not sure that she had ever been stretched so well as she was in that single moment. 

she heard him, “such a good girl, taking all of me like that,” he whispered, kissing her throat. 

and then he shifted her just right so he could fuck up into her. his cock hit every spot she needed him to, and the way he held her hips so tightly - she knew there would be bruises the next day. she let her hands slide under his shirt, feeling his toned stomach, and the way his muscles flexed as he moved his hips. her head lolled to the side - he really was good. so good. she knew she left thin, angry scratch marks across his stomach - she knew he was pulling moan after moan from her

but it was when he came that she yelped softly, she was already stretched completely and now he was fucking her full of his cum and stroking her clit. apparently, he wouldn’t be satisfied until she came too. 

she quivered from the attention, whining softly, saying his name over and over, and then her orgasm hit her - washing over her like a wave - her eyelids fluttered closed as she felt her body reacting to his. she was shaking, leaning into him, knowing she had come undone for him. 

she felt his hands tracing over her skin, like he was keeping her from floating away. when he tipped her chin back to kiss her, it was surprising to her - how gentle he was. 

it was maybe less surprising that she woke up late the next morning with him in her bed - their limbs tangled after they had spent half the night fucking like animals. 

when she tried to get up, he only pulled her back, “stay with me,” he whispered. he was much more beguiling than she wanted to admit, but she still stayed, happily wrapped in his arms. 

a/n: again, trying to force myself to write a drabble and not go over 1k words skssksksss so 1.8k is perf right?? T-T

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the newest bingo is [here] but there are still open squares from the previous two [here] and nsfw only bingo is [here]

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[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 27

At Jason and Danny's apartment.

Jason (Arriving home): Danny, I'm home.

Danny: Hi dad!

Jason: Hey kid, who are your friends?

Danny: These are my best friends Sam and Tucker, my rival Dash, and this inescapable annoyance is my sister Jazz.

Jason: Jazz, I- Uh- Nice to meet you.

Jazz: Good to meet you too, Danny's told me a lot about you.

Jason: He has?

Jazz: All good things don't worry. Thank you for taking care of my little brother, Ghost King or not, he'll always be a baby in my eyes.

Danny (embarrassed): Jazz!

Jason (laughing): There's no need to thank me, Danny's fun to have around, and I agree he is still just a baby.

Danny: I am 16!

Jason and Jazz: Baby.

Danny: I hate you both.

Jazz: We're just messing with you.

Dash (laughing): I like your new dad.

Tucker: Me too he seems fun.

Danny: He is.

Sam: Plus he's a Wayne, you get to go to all the fancy parties.

Jason and Danny groan.

Danny: Those parties are horrible.

Jason: The people there are so uptight.

Danny: And grandpa always forces us to go.

Jason: Something about "family bonding" and "keeping up appearances"

Dash (pointing to Danny): This one can keep up appearances?

Danny: What is that suppose to mean?

Dash: Well you are a little twerp.

Danny: Excuse me?

Dash: You heard me.

Danny: I am delightful!

Dash: You and I have very different definitions for the word "delightful."

Danny got up grabbed Dash by the collar and held him up.

Danny: What to say that again?

Dash (looking down at Danny): Twerp.

Danny: I hate you.

Dash: Love you too.

Danny put Dash down and kissed him.

Danny: Love you too, you jerk.

Jason looked back and forth between Danny and Dash.

Tucker: Yeah, that's a thing.

Sam: Full blown rivals to lovers.

Jazz: Still can't belief you and Danny didn't end up together.

Sam: Eww, he's more of a brother to me.

Danny: Gee Sam, love you too.

Sam: Love ya too Danny!

(Master Post)

Now I'm just imagining 6' 0" Dash being held up by the collar by 5' 9" Danny.

[enhanextdoor]

𓂃۶ৎ 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓 ━━━ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍.

西村 力 (n.rk). ─────⠀ㅤ 3,002 (in total) ―୨୧⋆ ˚ 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𓈒 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. ⠀

부인 성명 (disclaimer) : read at your own risk. there is going to be fluff and angst themes. NOT PROOFREAD

taglist: @choisanswife. @leehsngs. @myjjongie

moving away from home was one of the hardest things for you to do. it was what you had known your entire life, but college was an exciting new time. you thought it would be a fresh start, you would be able to make new friends and not be held back by some of the rumors and different issues that living in a small town held. you wanted to experience the world and maybe you were a little naive, but you thought the world would be good for you. welcome weekend was what really fucked you over. everyone was asked to go around and share a fact about themselves on the auditorium stage and as you were walking up your shirt caught on the stairway and ripped. you were so embarrassed you cried, people recorded and this quickly spread around campus. you were labeled the “cry baby” of campus. so much for getting a fresh start right? nope! 

it had been three weeks since the semester started and honestly you tried to avoid the stares and laughs, you figured that the other students would eventually move on from your little mishap but in the age of smartphones no way. you even became a bit of a campus meme, the worst group of them all had to be the dance team. the first person to post the video to social media? none other than jake. he didn’t think it would get as big as it did and well it even got him a little more credibility on campus. you just wanted to keep your head down and the library was one of the best places to do that, you had been practically living in your dorm and in the library. you were enjoying the silence. enter nishimura riki, the it-boy of the freshman clas, he casually made his way over to you and pulled a book from the shelf next to where you were standing. 

he was the newest member of the dance crew and all everyone had been talking about. ‘jungwon made such a good choice as captain letting him on the team.’ ‘we are so qualifying this year’ ‘he’s just so dreamy’ those are just some of the things you’ve heard. your gaze shifted to him only for a second before you grabbed the book you needed and started to head back towards the table you had claimed. “y/n.. that’s your name right?” ni-ki spoke up. you stopped to look at him and arched an eyebrow slightly, nodding your head. “yeah, that would be me.” you prepared yourself to get the cry baby comment or some kind of joke, but he walked over and examined your book. “oh this is actually the one i need too. think we could sit together and look it over?” he set the book in his hand on empty carts at the side of the column.

you were a bit shocked that he would be wanting to do an optional reading for class, the professor made sure to emphasize that this reading wasn’t required but could help students get a better grasp on the concepts. “sure?” you sounded a little hesitant because you were. maybe ni-ki wasn’t a bad guy and truthfully needed the book for class just like you. the pair of you walked over to the table and you opened it up to the page that you needed. “you need this for intro to society too right?” you questioned to see if he was taking the same basic sociology class you were. “yup and look at that you’ve got the page right and everything.” he flashed a smile. 

the pair of you read the book only speaking to indicate when it was okay to turn the page. it was nice, having an interaction with someone that wasn’t just trying to make fun of you. after two hours of powering through the book you both reached the end and you closed the book. “well that was nice.” he stated as he leaned back in his chair a little. “yeah, it was nice.” you admitted before tapping your fingers on the table a little bit of anxiety building in your stomach. “you know you are pretty cool y/n. we should go out sometime.” 

his words sent a little bit of panic through you mainly because you knew that talking with him could impact his social status on campus or bring on more taunting. then you were fighting with the implication, is he asking you in a friendly way or in a date kind of way? you sat there for a second. “did i break you y/n? shit that was so not what i was trying to do.” he was sat forward now examining your face. “no, no, i heard you and am not broken.” you replied and glanced back to him. “just don’t think it would be a good idea for us to go out.” you stood up to go return the book from where you found it. he stood and followed you right over to the shelf. “oh come on y/n, afraid that people will tease me too? i really don’t care about any of that. you are cool and we shared a book doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he was talking in a bit more of a teasing tone at the end. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully because that was cheesy. “okay then we can go out.” you shouldn’t cave so easily but honestly you are just a girl. “great it’s a date then.” he winked.

you two had exchanged numbers before you left the library and set a plan of when you were going out. everything about this made you nervous but excited. was this really happening? the coolest guy in the freshman class wanted to take you out on a date? it seemed too good to be true. you spent hours getting ready for this date and the pair of you went out. the date was a simple move theater then dinner date. you two had a great time, the conversation at dinner flowed so naturally. he had you laughing, you made him laugh in return. it was nice being out with someone that didn’t just see you as a joke. he walked you back to your dorm and before he left you two kissed. you felt the butterflies in your stomach and the whole nine yards. 

two months passed and several more dates occurred within those months. you never saw this coming, but there you were on the quad with ni-ki laid out under you and your head rested on his stomach as you laid down as well reading your book. the two of you were all the campus could talk about. “we are throwing this party tonight to celebrate winning our latest comp.” he said which pulled you from your book, “oh yeah? well i would love to come with you if that is what you are asking.” you looked up to him with a warm smile. a smile that ni-ki had grown so accustomed to. he had fallen for you and if only you knew everything he knew that you probably wouldn’t feel the same anymore. he sat up which had you sitting up as well and he admired you with a smile of his own, “you make me so happy y/n. you know that right?” you weren’t sure where this was coming from but you leaned in to give his lips a little peck. “yeah, yeah nishimura. i have a class to get to.” you stood and then leaned down to give him another peck on the lips. “see you later?” you asked but didn’t wait for an answer before walking backwards to start heading away from you. “yeah.” he waved you off and went back to laying down to look at the sky. 

he wasn’t sure how he was going to tell you the truth, all of this started with a bet. he was hanging out with all the guys and jake showed everyone the video. they all laughed about it, ni-ki included. “you want to prove yourself to be one of us?” jay said while leaning his arms on his knees and the rest of the guys started to pick up what was about to go down. “get cry baby to go out with you.” he continued and everyone else was laughing. “oh my god that would be so funny actually. you should so do it.” sunghoon chimed in. ni-ki wanting to be accepted by these older much cooler guys agreed. “i could totally get her to go out with me, easy. i’ll do you one better i’ll get her to actually fall in love with me too.” god how he regretted that day now, he felt like he was walking on eggshells. it was only a matter of time before someone slipped and told you and he didn’t want to lose you. while he was trying to get you to fall in love with him he did something that would ruin everything, he fell for you. 

later that night after all your classes and getting ready for what felt like forever you headed to the frat where the party was being hosted. you went inside and started looking around for ni-ki but instead found jay and jake by the drinks table. jake was a little loaded and that made him a little louder than normal. “Y/N! YOU’RE HERE!” he was basically shouting and leaning on jay for the support. “hey jake.. you doing okay there buddy?” you gave a pointed look and jay made a little face while shaking his head to indicate that this boy was long gone. you had gotten to know the rest of the guys and much to their surprise they liked you. the guilt of the bet weighed on all of them too, but they tried to ignore the elephant in the room. heeseung came walking over to see the drunk jake and jay supporting him. “need some help with that one?” he pointed to jake literally just hanging off jay. “you know it we should get him some water.” jay replied and you spoke up. “let me go get him some. you two just make sure he stays upright.” 

you pushed through to the kitchen and came back with bottled water. they had gotten jake seated on a couch. “oh have you guys seen ni-ki?” you questioned. they all shook their heads and jake decided to speak up. “naurr but i am so glad you two are dating. i mean to think this all started because jay thought you were some looooser and bet ni-ki that he couldn’t get you to date him. oh! and im sorry for posting that video of you.” he was pouting and batting his eyes. “don’t hate me.” jay and heeseung’s faces both looked so shocked and heeseung literally put his hand over jake’s mouth. your mouth fell open a little as you tried to process everything that was just said. ‘some loser’ ‘a bet’ those words burned and you felt like your heart was shattering right there. “i should go.” you forced a little smile and handed the water over to jay, backing away from them. “y/n wait..” jay spoke up but you had already turned and started to rush towards the exit. 

you thought that things were different with ni-ki, that he was one of the only people that actually gave you a chance. he made you feel safe and loved, he was someone you could just talk to for hours. was all of this just some silly little game to him? was your heart just something he could toy with? as you were walking out of the party, ni-ki was on his way in. his eyes caught a glimpse of you and he went to take your hand, “y/n where are you going?” you stayed right there your back to him, hand in his and using every ounce of strength you had to keep your tears in. “was it worth it?” your voice sounded so broken and he was confused until his phone buzzed, he glazed over the text from heeseung explaining what just happened. he shoved his phone right back into his pocket and he moved to stand in front of you, his hand still holding yours.  “y/n, baby, i can explain.” 

him moving to be in front of you wasn’t helping because now glancing up at him the tears just started to cascade down your cheeks. “explain? explain what? that you made a bet that you could date me? guess what riki, you fucking did that didn’t you? i bet you are so proud of yourself. god just leave me alone. i never want to see you again.” you shoved his hand away from yours and walked off leaving behind the boy you fell in love with and any shred of hope that people were still good. 

it had been three days since the party and your phone had been blowing up with messages from all of the guys. ni-ki had messaged the first day just a few times asking if the two of you could talk, but when you ignored him for the fifth time he got the hint. he was a mess too and you knew it only because the rest of the guys were messaging you over and over saying that this was their fault not ni-ki’s. that wasn’t helping any considering he could have said no. you had skipped your classes the last two days which is not like you in the slightest, but professors had to understand you just had your heart ripped out so that’s basically a medical emergency right? maybe this would have been easier if you had made some actual friends on campus, but the friends you made were the boys and obviously didn’t trust any of them right now either. 

you did the one thing you could think to do, packed up a bag and took the first flight home. you needed to get away from campus and have a slight reset. home was going to give that to you, there was no ni-ki there, none of the guys to come knock on your door, just you and your family. after the third day home you were starting to feel a little better. the feelings of betrayal were still very much there and you played a card game and when you won your instinct was to text ni-ki to let him know, but you couldn’t exactly do that. a big part of you missed what you had with him. you just had to remind yourself that it was probably all just fake. 

there was a knock on the door and your mom went to get it, you were on the couch reading to get caught up on some of your classwork. “y/n, honey it’s for you.” your mom called out which confused you because you weren’t expecting anyone. you got up and made your way over to the door pausing when you saw none other than ni-ki standing there. your mom had walked away when you made it to the door and you stared at him, “what are you doing here? how did you even find my house?” you questioned in a hushed tone. “well i remember you talking about it when we went on our first date. you said that you lived in the old house with the handprints in the sidewalk and named the street so.. i just walked down the street until i found the handprints.” you stepped outside and closed the door behind yourself, crossing your arms over your stomach. he remembered that? most people wouldn’t care to remember a detail like that. you needed to push that delusion from your head, he doesn’t care. or does he?

“i tried to give you your space, i really did and honestly sunoo told me flying here was a terrible idea, but it’s been almost a week and i am losing my mind y/n. none of it was fake.. nothing i said or did with you was fake. i know it started with not the best intentions and honestly i should have told you the minute i fell for you, but i didn’t want to lose you because i’m an idiot that took a bet.” he was rambling just a little and you were focused on the fact that he said he fell for you and it was real. everything he said and did with you was real. “you mean it?” you spoke finally which cut him off from going to say something else. “of course i mean it. i am so in love with you y/n that i literally hopped on a flight to go to some town i’ve never been to to walk up and down a street in hopes of finding the girl of my dreams.” 

you were hesitating on forgiving him because you weren’t completely sure if he was telling the truth, but your heart was screaming to forgive him because to be honest you are in love with him too. every little moment you two shared, every kiss, all the late night talks, the times you shared books, it was all just so comforting. “if you ever break my heart again nishimura riki i swear i won’t let you back in.” you moved in a little and he did as well. “i swear on everything in this world i won’t break your heart again.” the two of you shared a soft and sweet kiss on the door step. his hands on your waist, yours finding the comfortable spot around his shoulders. when your lips parted he smiled at you and you felt that happiness creeping back in. “so uh.. when am i going to meet my future in-laws?” he smirked as you gave him a teasing glace. 

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed this fic. i would love if you commented thought/opinions, liked, or reblogged!

c. enhanextdoor ; do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[hahnslove]

LUSTFUL LESSONS [+18] ⋆˚࿔

CONTAINS : agatha!professor, femreader!agathaharkness, age gap, wlw smut

You are Agatha’s student, and she asks you to come see her in her office because of some concerns…

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

You’re sitting in class, surrounded by your fellow classmates, on just another normal day of listening to Professor Harkness’s lecture. She is utterly mesmerizing, and you can’t help but be drawn to her; sometimes, it even seems like she’s equally captivated by you, as if there’s a mutual attraction between the two of you. But that’s obviously ridiculous; you are her student, after all.

Professor Harkness clears her throat. “Miss y/ln, are you still with us?” Your soul has left your body. “Yes. Sorry professor.” You sink into your seat out of embarrassment. The rest of the class painfully drags on. Finally, you’re packing your things as the rest of the students file out of the room. “Y/n, will you please see me in my office after your last class today?” You are taken aback ever so slightly. “Yes, of course, professor. Is everything alright?” you respond. “Everything is fine, dear; there are just a few things I would like to go over with you.” The sound of her using that nickname almost brings you to your knees. “Okay then. I’ll see you later.” With that, you practically bolt out of the room. You are slightly terrified at what she could possibly want to talk to you about. Alone. In her office.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:☆ﾟ. ───

Now that your last class has finished, it’s time to visit Professor Harkness. As you walk to her office, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep your composure, especially since she’s wearing an incredibly sexy pantsuit. Whoa. You snap out of your thoughts. You can’t think of her in that way; she’s your professor, and it’s inappropriate. But, it sure is fun to imagine.

You finally reach her office door, and after taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you hesitate for just a moment before knocking. You hear shuffling behind the door after you knock. “Come in,” Professor Harkness says. “Please have a seat.” You take in the space, looking around. “It’s very cozy here; I like it,” you say softly. “Thank you,” she smiles, “I like it too.” She says warmly. “Well, you are probably wondering why I asked you to come see me.” You stay still. “I’ve noticed how distracted you have been in class, and I wanted to make sure you are doing okay.” You definitely weren’t expecting that. “Oh, I mean, I’ve been doing fine,” you respond. “Are you sure, dear? It sometimes seems as if you are in a trance in class.” She leans forward in her chair, her eyes intently fixed on yours. “I-I mean, maybe I have been a little distracted recently.” You say quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Is there any reason for that, Miss y/n?” She observes. “It’s probably just stress or something.” You brush it off. “I think I can help with that.” Professor Harkness gets up from her chair and is now directly behind the seat you are in. “Is this okay?” She puts her hands on both of your shoulders. You nearly gasp at the contact. “Yes, Professor.” You respond. “Alright, love, just close your eyes and relax. I got you.” You exhale and close your eyes. Professor Harkness gets to work and starts massaging your shoulders.

Soon after she begins the massage, you let out a small moan, and then gasp slightly, your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realize what you’ve just inadvertently done in front of your Professor. “I am so, so sorry, Professor,” you stammer, feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed by your mistake. She turns your chair around, her hands still on your shoulders. “No,” she says sharply. “I liked it,” she then says. You are frozen in place. “And I think I want to hear it again.” You are completely at a loss for words; your mouth opens but no words come out. She then takes a step back. “Oh my God. I am so sorry y/n. That was completely unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” That’s when you finally realize that your connection wasn’t just in your head; she felt it too. You stand up and reach for her hand. “You want to know the real reason why I’m always distracted in your class?” you say in a soft playful tone. Her gaze pierces through your soul. “It’s you,” you state. She pulls you in a little bit closer; you can feel her breath on your face. “I get so lost in my thoughts because of you.” You say “Daydreaming…fantasizing.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You start to lean in and suddenly Professor Harkness pulls back. “Wha-.” You begin to say. “I need to hear you say it.” She interrupts. You already know what she means. You take a deep breath. “I want you, Professor Harkness.”

With those words, your professor pulls you in, and your lips crash together in a heated, passionate kiss. You have fantasized about this for such a long time that you can’t believe it’s actually happening right now. You deepen the kiss, prompting a soft groan from your professor, who wraps her arms tightly around your waist and, in one swift, fluid motion, clears her desk by sweeping all the paper off, then gently sets you down, her eyes locked intensely on yours. Whoa, that was undoubtedly the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. You pull her back into a kiss with equal passion and intensity, and then you start to tug on her blazer; she quickly catches on and slips it off. After she gets her blazer off, she gives you a kiss on the lips and makes her way down to your neck. She sucks just the right spot on your neck, which makes you gasp. You tug on her hair while she starts to unbutton your sweater, the fabric slowly parting to reveal your bra underneath. Your professor’s pupils are blown wide, filled with want and lust. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long,” she says. You simply let out a moan in response, without saying anything else. She attempts to undo your bra clasp, but you quickly intervene and stop her.“Not until this is off,” you say breathlessly, gesturing to her blouse. “I think we can make that happen.” You stop her as she goes to pull on the hem of her blouse. “No. Let me,” you say. Your hands slide up from her hips and lift it over; your hands graze over her smooth skin. You roughly grab her breasts over the remaining fabric. “Fuck, y/n.” She moans. She slides her hands up your back, undoes the clasp on your bra, and throws it onto the floor, which sends a shiver down your spine.

You are still sitting on the desk in Professor Harkness’ arms, and then you push her into the chair and straddle her. She hikes up your skirt, which makes you gasp. You pull her back into a passionate kiss while she rips your tights. “God, I need you so badly,” you practically whine. You press into her even more, and your professor stifles a moan. She slowly moves her hand down your body until she reaches the spot where you need her most. “Christ,” she breathes out. “I haven’t even properly touched you yet, and you’re already soaked.” She chuckles. You can’t even respond because she finally pulls your underwear to the side; she starts by sliding a digit through your folds. You’re certain that your arousal is already dripping down her hand, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. “You’re so hot, hon,” she says in a raspy tone; you moan in response as she finally enters you, her fingers curling and hitting the spot that drives you wild. She gently rubs your clit with her thumb. As you ride her fingers, you’re practically screaming with pleasure, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. “Fuck, I’m going to come,” you breathe out. “Come for me, y/n,” she says against your ear. Your stomach cramps as your orgasm washes over you; your screams are muffled by her mouth on yours, leaving you in a state of euphoria. As you come down from the high, you’re still slightly rocking in her lap. Your professor pulls away from you, brings her hand to her mouth, and savors your taste, letting out a pleasurable moan. “You taste so good, darling,” she hums. You capture her lips in another kiss.

After roughly kissing each other for about a minute, you begin to shuffle out of her lap. Your professor whines in disapproval. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m just returning the favor,” you grin as you sink to your knees and pull down the zipper on her pants. “You are so sexy, Professor Harkness,” you say, looking up at her. “You can just call me Agatha.” Oh, this is going to be fun.

[jenosonlywife23]

In Tune with You

Request; Hope you like it, anon. an; bf!Jaemin where he always makes sure to pay attention to your social battery during parties 🥹

The music thrums through the crowded living room, a steady bass that vibrates through your chest. Laughter spills from the kitchen, where Jaemin is effortlessly entertaining your friends, his smile widening as he cracks another joke. He looks so in his element—bright, happy, the life of the party.

And you love that.

So you don’t say anything when your shoulders start to sag, when the weight of the conversation around you starts to blur into background noise. You force a small smile as someone nudges you playfully, nodding along even though your energy is slowly draining with each passing minute. You can push through. Just a little longer.

Jaemin, standing a few feet away, doesn’t miss a thing.

He’s been stealing glances at you all night—watching the way your fingers curl just a little tighter around your cup, how your blinks have gotten slower, how you’re still smiling but it’s not quite reaching your eyes. He knows you too well. Knows you’re only hanging on because you want him to enjoy himself.

And god, if that doesn’t make his heart ache in the best way.

“Babe,” his voice is soft, cutting through the noise as he appears at your side, an easy arm slipping around your waist. “Wanna help me find something in the car?”

You blink up at him, confused. “What?”

“The car,” he repeats, tapping your nose lightly with his finger, an excuse of a grin on his lips. “I left something there. Come with me?”

You glance around. The party is still going strong, and part of you knows he doesn’t need you to go with him. But his eyes—warm, knowing—tell you everything.

So you let him lead you outside, the night air immediately cooling the heat of the crowded space behind you. Jaemin doesn’t take you to the car, though. He stops by the curb, lets you lean into him as he rubs slow circles into your back.

“You should’ve told me, dummy,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You sigh, half in relief, half in embarrassment. “You were having fun. I didn’t want to—”

“I was having fun because you were there,” he cuts in, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His smile softens. “You don’t have to push yourself for me. If you’re tired, we go. No questions.”

Your chest tightens, warmth unfurling under your ribs. He really is too good.

You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest. “You really did leave something in the car, huh?”

He laughs, a low, breathy sound as he hugs you closer. “Yeah. My patience.”

You swat at him, but he just grins, pressing another kiss to your temple before taking your hand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

And with Jaemin, home feels a lot less like a place and a lot more like him.

(will post a Jeno version later, maybe)

[matsbaby]

Stalker much?

photographer!matt x popular!reader

contains: mentions of sexual content

Matt had photographed you before.

Many times, actually. Through the lens of his camera, he had captured you walking down the hallway, laughing with your friends, flipping your hair over your shoulder in that effortless way that made his brain short-circuit.

He liked to think he was subtle about it, but deep down, he knew—knew that his fingers trembled a little too much when you looked in his direction, that his camera strap nearly slipped off his shoulder when you walked past him in your signature scent of vanilla and something expensive. He was hopeless. Absolutely, pathetically hopeless.

So when his English teacher paired him with you for the upcoming literature project, he was sure his heart stopped beating for a full five seconds before kicking back into an erratic rhythm.

“Hey, Matt.”

He nearly swallowed his tongue.

You were standing in front of him, your voice smooth and casual, like you hadn’t just rendered his entire nervous system useless. He forced himself to meet your eyes, which was a mistake, because up close, you were even more stunning—your sweet eyes, your long mascara clad lashes fluttering slightly as you waited for him to respond.

“Yeah?” he stammered, gripping the edge of his desk.

You smiled. God, your smile. “Do you wanna study at your place or mine?”

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to process the question. “Mine,” he blurted. “I mean—if that’s okay with you. But if you want, we can totally do yours, or even the library, or—”

“Your place is fine.” You tilted your head. “Text me your address?”

He nodded too quickly, fumbling with his phone like he’d never used it before.

By the time you left, he was sure of one thing: this project was going to kill him.

Your first study session at his house was awkward, but not unbearably so. Matt was nervous—of course he was nervous—but you made it easier than he expected.

You lounged comfortably on his bed, flipping through your copy of The Great Gatsby, while he sat stiffly at his desk, pretending to focus on his notes instead of the way your skirt hiked up just slightly when you shifted.

By the third study session, you invited him to your place.

Walking into your bedroom was like stepping into another world. High ceilings stretched above him, the walls painted a soft, elegant grey. Framed black-and-white photos adorned the space alongside a cheeky print reading ‘Need money for Porsche’.

A luxurious walk-in closet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of perfectly arranged clothes and an open drawer brimming with delicate, lacy bras in every color imaginable. Dark red, navy blue, classic white and black, pale pink… even fun prints like leopard and zebra.

Matt swallowed hard.

Pink peonies sat in a pristine vase on your nightstand. Your vanity was expansive and immaculate, lined with neatly arranged perfume bottles and candles that filled the room with the scent of warm vanilla and jasmine.

You plopped onto your bed, crossing your legs to the side to keep your skirt from revealing too much, and gestured for him to sit beside you. “You coming, or are you just gonna stand there and gawk at my room?”

He snapped out of it, forcing a chuckle. “Right. Sorry.”

You smiled at him as he hesitantly sat down. “So, The Great Gatsby…”

He tried to explain a passage to you, but his brain malfunctioned every time you shifted, every time your perfume hit his nose, every time your gaze landed on him with that teasing glint. He stuttered over his words, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Then, out of nowhere, you dropped a bombshell.

“Did you know Fitzgerald didn’t actually write this book?”

Matt blinked. “Huh?”

You nodded, lips curving in amusement. “Yeah. There’s a whole theory about it. Apparently his wife Zelda did and he just… stole it for fame.”

He stared at you, realization hitting him like a freight train. You weren’t just the effortlessly cool, unattainable popular girl with the perfect hair and a closet full of designer clothes. You were smart. And funny. And so much more than he ever let himself imagine.

His crush was somehow getting worse.

…

At some point, you took an ice cream break.

The second you left, Matt—like every other teenage boy in a girl’s room—let his curiosity win.

He wandered over to your vanity, where a small journal lay open. His eyes skimmed the to-do list:

1. Go grocery shopping

2. Gym

3. Shower

4. Attempt to make cookies

A small smile tugged at his lips.

His gaze landed on another item: a perfect first edition of Lolita. That was…. surprisingly arousing.

Before he could process it further, you returned, catching him mid-snoop. “Having fun?”

He jolted, face heating. “I wasn’t—I mean, I—”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sat back down. “Relax. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Oh, fuck.

You changed the subject, asking him about photography, and for the first time, he relaxed. Talking about his passion came naturally, and soon, the conversation flowed. Until—

He smeared chocolate on his jeans.

“Hold still you got a little-,” you instructed, leaning in to brush it off.

He stopped breathing.

It was right on his dick.

“Woah—hey!” He nearly choked. “I-I got it! It’s fine!”

“You’re making it worse.” You pressed harder, your touch burning through the denim.

He was going to die. Right here. On your bed.

His body betrayed him in the worst way possible. He could only think one thing Hot girl touching me- hot girl touching me- hot girl touching me—

“I-I’ll get it off in the bathroom” he yelped, bolting to his feet.

Once inside, he gripped the sink, willing his very obvious problem to go away. He thought of grandmas, teachers—hell, even algebra. Nothing worked. He was still hard.

By the time he returned, he was semi-soft, and you—being the absolute angel you were—had already highlighted passages in his book to help him.

He was never going to recover from this.

…

When it was time for him to leave, you walked him to the door.

“Come by tomorrow?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Then, before he could process what was happening, you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Bye, Matt,” you murmured, your voice laced with something sweet, something dangerous.

He stood frozen as you shut the door.

As he walked to his car, something made him glance up.

Matt shouldn’t have looked. He knew that. He should’ve just gotten in his car, driven home, and tried not to replay the feeling of your lips on his cheek over and over in his head.

But when he turned, just one last time, his gaze was drawn to your window like a magnet.

And there you were.

Your room was illuminated by the soft glow of your vanity lights, casting golden shadows on your walls.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, your reflection sharp, ethereal. Your top was gone, tossed somewhere onto your bed, leaving you in nothing but a pair of dangerously revealing cheetah-print lingerie.

The bra hugged your curves perfectly, the lace detailing delicate yet bold, framing the swell of your breasts in a way that made his throat go dry. The matching panties sat low on your hips, accentuating the smoothness of your skin, the sleek lines of your body.

But it was how you looked in the mirror that made something tighten deep in Matt’s chest. The slight arch of your back, the way your hands delicately cupped your tits, adjusting the lace, your fingers grazing over the soft fabric as if you were savoring the feel of it. Your lips were parted just slightly, the gloss catching the light, your hair falling effortlessly around your shoulders in a way that looked both intentional and completely natural. Messy, but perfect.

It was something out of the ‘90s. One of those raw, unfiltered supermodel moments—Kate Moss in a dimly lit dressing room, Naomi Campbell caught between wardrobe changes, Cindy Crawford fixing her lipstick in a mirror.

Except this wasn’t a magazine shoot. This wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. This was you.

And Matt—who knew better, who knew he shouldn’t—reached for his camera anyway.

He barely even thought about it. It was a need. A photographer’s instinct.

The shutter clicked.

The image froze in time.

You, turned towards the window with your body, but towards the mirror with your face, your side profile sharp and breathtaking. The soft curve of your waist and hips, the elegant arch of your neck. The subtle part of your lips, the tension in your hands as they held your own body, as if you were trying to appreciate yourself through your own touch.

It was art.

It was you.

And Matt—despite everything, despite knowing how wrong it was—knew it was one of the best shots he had ever taken.

This is actually so embarrassing to post but it’s been sitting in my drafts for like forever so.

English is not my first language guys 😭 but I tried. i have no idea if im gonna make a part two, maybe if u like it idk.

lots of love,

Mats 💐

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of blood, self injury, drugging, ooc writing,

Part 19: a rose by any other name…

🔹🔹🔹

The lights of the city are absolutely dazzling tonight from your vantage point, thousands of twinkling little dots all connected to another human in some way or another like a blinking map of souls. Gothams quiet tonight, or as quiet as Gotham can ever be anyways.

He actually decorated a little bit before dragging you up here, a blanket and cooler pack sat just under the ledge and he somehow shoved a small bouquet of black roses in the mouth of the gargoyle statue, you're so picking on him later for that one.

But right now you're just both sitting together on the blanket, shoulders bumping and thighs pressed together as you share a bottle of wine. Some vintage brand that probably costs more than two months of your rent, not that you care to think about it as the bitter liquid warms your throat.

He's already staring when you turn to pass it back to him, blown out pupils and an uncharacteristic smile on his clean shaven face, he says nothing but when he grabs a napkin to wipe at your face you feel his affection warming your cheeks more than the wine could hope to.

“You're gonna embarrass me if you keep looking like that.” You murmur softly as you turn away to hide a small smile into the plush fluff of your chunky sweater, even after so many nights spent like this it catches you off guard when he devotes his full attention to you. He's so…. Intense, his loves a heavy thing.

“How am I looking at you? I'm just enjoying the view.”

You huff softly at the softly spoken flirt and take the wine bottle back from him before he can even take his turn, not that he protests of course, you wouldn't have been able to wrestle it out of his grasp if he didn't truly want you to have it. “You look at me like you have a crush on me.”

It's Bruce's turn to huff softly and roll his eyes, his shoulder bumping into yours before he moves to sling an arm over your shoulder and pull you firmly into his side. “oh wow, how embarrassing for me.”

You can feel the grating dry sarcasm in his voice.

It makes you snicker softly as your head drops against his shoulder with a soft little thump, his arm tightens around you as he grabs the bottle back and takes a long drink, you lazily watch the way his Adams apple bobs before you speak.

“it's very embarrassing, yeah. You're lucky I love you enough to ignore how mortifying it is.”

“TT, do you ever get tired of this?” his voice takes on a much softer edge than you were expecting after the childish taunting, the arm draped around you tightens and you feel his thumb start to slowly rub circles into your shoulder.

You could say a lot, continue to poke fun at him, tell him being his bully is your favorite hobby, But instead you just answer plainly.

“No, I don't think I ever will.”

His arm tightens around you and he leans his head against yours for a moment, inhaling your scent before he straightens again and takes a long swig of the wine, you don't miss the way he shakily exhales before passing the bottle back to you. You've only seen Bruce show signs of nerves a few times throughout the time you've been dating. You like to think you know when he needs to be pushed to open up and when he needs to be left to his own devices by now so you don't question him.

“excuse me a second….” he murmurs gruffly as he suddenly extracts himself from you, you glance at him in confusion for a second as he twists and clambers back onto the rooftop and silently disappears around an air-conditioning vent.

He doesn't return immediately so you return to city-watching by your lonesome, the near perpetual clouds obscure the moonlight but the cities bright in it's own way regardless. You'd once teased Bruce relentlessly for how he spoke of the city, you likened him to a sailor reminiscing his sea-beast. Told him you weren't sure if he was a man devoted or enthralled, loved it divinely or unable to escape it's twisted hold on him. Yet you teased him for it no more, because to love Bruce was to eventually love the wretched city in all her glory.

After a few moments you're pulled from your quiet kinda drunk musings by Bruce's warm baritone behind you.

“I have….a question for you….” he sounds unusually…. Off, behind you. Though when you turn you see why.

You feel like all the airs been sucked out of your lungs when you see Bruce down on one knee with a little black box in his hand, his his entire demeanor is almost boyishly nervous as you lock eyes.

You're very quick to react. “Is-is this- are you?…” The words Tumble out so quick you're surprised you didn't slur them out, your hands start to shake when he nods a little too quickly. “This is happening?”

He again nods quickly. “Yeah this is happening…do you…?”

This time you're the one nodding as you turn fully and look down at him, you nearly drop the wine bottle right off the edge of the building in your nerves. “Oh God…. Oh God I love you…”

You never pictured yourself being proposed to, and you certainly didn't picture yourself starting to cry like a baby if you ever were.

Bruce is trying to be the calm one here so he let's you have your moment, don't get it wrong this is the most afraid he's ever been of fucking something up in his life, but he's trying for your sake.

“That's a yes…. Yeah?” He can barely finish his words before you're cutting him off. “Yes! Yes it's a yes!”

Bruce feels like he can breathe properly again as you nod and try to stumble up off the ledge, but he quickly stops you and, with badly shaking hands, he tries to put the ring he'd painstakingly picked out on your left hand. And by trying he nearly drops it twice before he gets it in there and then he finally lets you stand, he does too so he can quickly wrap his arms around you.

“…. You're really agreeing to marry me….” He murmurs disbelievingly even as you weep happily into his shoulder, like he can't quite grasp that you said yes. You never quite realized how little you've seen him shaken up until this moment, but it just makes it all the more human to you. Bruce Wayne is trying not to cry on you all because you said yes.

“Obviously…like it's a hard choice to make…” you bury your face in his shoulder but he quickly lifts your head back up, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek to keep you in place.

“Yeah…. But it is…. I've spent a long time thinking about this, calculated the risks, and I'd like you to do the same thing before we jump the gu-” you cut him off with a kiss before he can start rambling about why you shouldn't agree or why you should wait this out.

You don't care about the risks his life brings, you don't care if you're gonna be in harms way, in the moment all you care about is the fact that this man wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

🔹🔹🔹

You're a jumbled mess of confused emotions by the time you wake up and process that dream, the other you was…a fucking sap. And even worse? So was Bruce.

You thought you couldn't feel anymore lost and confused in this world, yet clearly you were wrong.

Stumbling to the bathroom on unsteady feet to flick the light on and stare at the mirror, the face staring back isn't yours as much as it is, even if you've added sunken bloodshot eyes and uneasy scowls. The difference is this was a face that was loved, not just needed but wanted. The thought sets off some fight or flight instinct in you and you quickly turn the lights off before you break the damn mirror.

The streets are cold at this hour, chills creeping up your fingers and numbing them painfully even after all the movement. All you can do is tuck your gloved hands tighter into your hoodie pockets as you keep going, the large mansion somehow felt too small, too stifling with too much emotion in the air. Or maybe it was just you running away from your problems that got you here.

The hum of an old neon open sign calls to you like a siren and the chills creeping up your legs compels you to crack open the old heavy door and peek inside carefully.

A twenty-four hour gym greets you, peeling paint reveals old crumbling concrete walls and bright lights give the place an odd air of uncanny, like the backrooms thing Peter once showed you, it'll do.

A slightly wary receptionist buzzes you in after you flashed a bill at them, a fake name rolling off your tongue easily. “Alex Stark, can I squeeze in for a few?”

It's a courtesy question more than anything since the place is quiet and obviously empty, the young receptionist nods boredly and pulls a sign-in sheet out, you change up your signature just to be safe and practically drop the pen to walk further into the gym.

The place smells a bit, like musk and a hint of bleach, At least there's alcohol wipe packs scattered around between the different pieces of equipment. Maybe you won't catch something here if you're careful.

You don't bother with any leg machines since you got more than enough cardio on the way here, so you go straight to the pull-up bar to do some warming up, hanging off the bar until your shoulders start to burn and your fingerprints feel like they're scraping off. Then you do some stretches on a mat, you can't resist it anymore and stroll over to the very thing that pulled you in here in the first place, the punching bags.

You don't have hand wraps but at the moment you don't care, you're pent up, trying to process emotions that are yours and yet aren't, your minds still a loud mess so you silence it, the first punch feels good as much as it stings and shocks your limbs.

This is…. You can't say better, but it's familiar. The sharp bite and dull reverberations up your wrists all the way to your shoulders makes you feel more alive than you've felt in months. There's only so much training you can do in a bedroom and you need to be at your peak. You hit and hit until your knuckles are dark, and then you kick and knee the bag until your already tired calves throb and your knees threaten to buckle, then you go back to punching. Not caring about the skin splitting and smearing tiny droplets of blood along the bag. Nothing a few wipes won't fix before you leave.

The doors open and you watch out of the corner of your eye as a hooded figure enters the gym, though they seem more interested in the treadmill than you so you continue doing your own thing.

“need a spotter?” at the soft call from behind you quickly turn and catch a green eyed woman staring at you, and for just a second your breath catches, picturing a different woman in her place. She looks earnest though and approaches you before you can rebuff her, she sets her hands on the bag and steadies it while leaning around it just enough to keep her eyes on you.

“you've got impressive form you know, like a boxer or something.” she sounds impressed as she follows your movements carefully, the small smile on her face growing more interested by the minute.

She's too immediately chatty for your liking, it just seems off for a stranger. “…thanks.”

“Don't mention it, I'm just glad I'm not the only one here. The place gets creepy sometimes.” she looks around at the slightly shitty conditions of the building pointedly, though her eyes don't leave your form for too long.

“the price we pay to come and punch things at any hour.” your tone is definitely snarky and you know it, not that you're in the mood to reel it in right now.

She only seems to grow more amused at your sarcastic response, she grunts under her breath and adjusts her stance to hold the bag better when it gently knocks into her, you're really going to town on it.

“price indeed, someone making you mad or something? You're treating this thing like it slept with your wife.”

She's clearly looking for conversation, persistent too. You decide to indulge her a bit since she's helping you out and giving you something to focus on. “No one in particular no, just having a week.”

“Mm, I know that feeling well.” You doubt she knows what you're feeling but oh well, she continues on while you keep abusing the punching bag. “Sometimes you just gotta get it out somehow y'know?”

She sounds far too cheery at this hour, you'd thought people in Gotham wouldn't know what friendliness feels like.

Your response is still dry as flour. “Mhmm, better a bag of sand than your spouse.”

She seems to brighten up at that, giggling deviously like you're her bestie giving her the gossip.

“Ooh sounds interesting, are they in the doghouse?” you can't help but roll your eyes a bit at the question, though it's more about you situation than at her. “More like we're in each other's doghouse honestly.”

She winces and whistles through her teeth. “oof, that's never a good thing…. You wanna talk about it or just beat this thing? Sometimes it's good to get this stuff off your chest.”

You shake your head at her offer and just keep wailing on the punching bag, this isn't something to tell a stranger. Hell you wouldn't talk to Rogers or Thor about this if they were here. No this is a you thing.

And that's how things continue on for a while, the gym is quiet other than the sound of your fists connecting with leather and the occasional grunt escaping your mystery named gym partner as she braces for your aggression. It's nice to not have to explain yourself or play stupid with someone, it puts you at ease almost strangely quickly even as your wounded hands smear flecks of blood about.

After a few moments the woman leans over again to catch your eye, her brows furrow as she stares down at your bruised and split hands and she grimaces slightly before she moves.

A manicured hand curls and drags across the surface of the punching bag as she shifts, suddenly flying out to grab a hold of your arm and pull your hand up to her face, near close enough for her blood red lips to touch your cracked and bleeding knuckles. her gaze drags up your arm and body like something heavy, thick lashes nearly cover grass green eyes when she catches your stare and for a moment you blank out.

“you should take a breather, hun.”she murmurs softly while stepping around the punching bag, your hand still in hers. “you look like you need to relax.”

for a moment your head feels cloudy, you don’t notice the cold or the exhaustion in your limbs anymore, you don’t feel the sharp sting in your knuckles and wrists or the bruise blooming on your knee, you can just focus on the warm weight of her hand wrapped around your wrist and the unbreaking stare of her hypnotic eyes.

It's when her thumb delicately swipes over your knuckles, smearing a drop of blood across the bruised skin do you react, it doesn't hurt like it should. This isn't right. Your skin erupts in goosebumps when you realize to your growing horror, you've somehow been drugged.

You roughly jerk your hand out of hers and move back, shit she got to you when you're already tired, why didn't you notice? It's like she dosed you with some kind of aphrodisiac, this woman's a threat.

To your suspicious surprise the redhead just giggles and backs away from you after you moved, amusedly crossing her arms across her chest like this was all just some silly prank she pulled. “Ooh, you're much more observant now.”

Your eyes narrow at that, so she knew you before huh. You were stupid to let her get close to you. “Just who are you.”

“you don't remember me? I'm a little hurt. After all the time we spent together…” she sighs wistfully while flicking a long curl over her shoulder, the smirk she doesn't even try to hide really kills her ‘morose’ tone.

“Who. Are. You.” You practically snarl while taking a wider stance, you're already exhausted, but you'll be damned if you won't fight like a hellcat if she makes a move.

Her arms drop to rest her hands on her hips and she giggles again, that fuzzy feeling in your head starts to return and you realize it must be coming directly from her, like she's breathing out the drug. “You're so abrasive now, you used to be so…soft, like a flower petal ready to be bruised. And here I thought marriage would break you...I think I like the little thornbush you've become, though. It suits you.”

You can practically hear your teeth grinding together as the woman keeps ignoring your question and taunting you with it, maybe you could make a dive for a dumbbell on the rack as she keeps talking…

“am I supposed to be intimidated by your little speech?” You huff out while straightening up, forcing yourself into a relaxed, yet annoyed stance, hands shoved in your hoodie and everything.

“You don't find me impressive baby?” She laughs and moves when you do, matching your movements when you edge closer to the weights rack.

“I find you creepy, wanna tell me what you drugged me with?” She pauses at that, one eyebrow raised as she looks you up and down from head to toe. “You noticed? And here I thought you were just playing hard to get before you'd start begging for a little affection.”

Her words make your gut twist at the sinister implications, you're just about ready to make a dive for a weapon when she continues her lament.

“…then again I was always the one chasing after you, wasn't i.”

She's staring right at you with an unreadable expression on her face, the blank expression just makes her look even more eerie, almost inhuman…

“…I still don't know what you mean, have we met before?” Your frustration builds at the lack of…well anything you're getting, that seems to be the norm in Gotham though.

Her head tilts and she almost looks frustrated with you before another emotion suddenly flickers across her face, she suddenly looks understanding as she straightens up and drops her hands from her hips. “You really did lose everything huh.”

“Yeah no shit Sherlock, wasn't that plastered all over the news enough?” just how does this woman know you? The thought of apparently being acquaintances with someone who apparently drugs people is…. Worrying to say the least.

“I had thought that was exaggerated to give your family some privacy, they seem to love every little chance for shields from the public after all. I wouldn't put it past them to use you like that.” she says nonchalantly while suddenly turning away from you and strolling over to one of the vending machines in the corner, you can only stare at her incredulously, she really just said something like that and then went to get a snack?

Your feet are near silent as you follow after her to continue your questioning. “Just what do you mean by that, is there something I'm missing here?”

She pulls a vitamin water out of the machine and turns to lean against it while cracking it open. “Why don't you ask them that.”

You want to choke her just a little bit.

“I'm asking you, since we're apparently old friends or something.”

She pauses, bottle halfway up to her mouth as she stares you down with a debating expression, lips twisting contemplatively before she speaks again. “….I don't know anything for sure, but I just know that when you got tangled up with them you suddenly weren't…. It's like you were suddenly afraid of Gotham in a whole new way, afraid of me. That hurt, especially after you taught me so much.”

She's still leaning casually but you don't miss the accusatory squint in her eyes as she takes a long drink, the hard clench of her perfect nails into the cheap plastic, she's either genuinely mad or good at faking.

You're even more confused now, what are you dealing with here? “…who are you?”

This time when you ask that she just sighs and starts to approach you, you tense but she just walks past you, only pausing to pat your shoulder and mutter in your ear. “I go by a few names these days, but you used to call me Pam.”

Then she strolls away with an innocent whistle, only saying one more thing before walking out of the gym room altogether.

“If you've ever got questions you should check out the park after dark, the forested part not that disgusting poisoned Earth part.”

And then just like that she's gone, the gym falls completely silent other than the faint hum of the heating unit in the ceiling.

🔹🔹🔹

You bought some basic medical supplies in a twenty-four hour convenience store and wrapped yourself up in the bathroom before getting back out on the street, the gauze and medical tape are clearly cheap quality but the astringent burned enough to know it's doing it's job on your fists.

Gothams even quieter now despite edging towards the break of dawn, without the shooting shouting and honking of horns you can almost appreciate the cities eccentric appearance as you walk back down the cracked sidewalks towards the edge of town. Or you would if your mind wasn't all jumbled up with confusion and paranoia anyways.

No one's mentioned an old friend named Pam but part of you is certain she was telling the truth about knowing you somehow. Those weren't the expressions of someone who's seen you on tv and wanted to have a go at a stranger. No those emotions were personal.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket and pulls you out of your theorizing enough to answer the call, already knowing who it was gonna be. “Hello.”

“(Name) Thank God! Where are you?” Bruce sounds terrified on the other end of the call, judging by the slight shuffling you hear he's pacing the floor.

Your voice is dead tired as you answer him, the mental and physical toll is this whole thing weighing heavily on you. “I'm….. In the city.”

“What? Where!? Are you alright?”

And just like that the guilt you've been carrying the entire time you've been here comes crashing back down on you when you hear the utter panic in his voice, he's scared for you.

“I'm okay…. Just needed to take a walk.”

He must hear something in your voice because he's quiet for a few seconds, you hear the slightest tremor in his voice as he exhales before he speaks. “…. Okay, i-I'm coming to get you. What street are you on?”

“Bruce I'll make it home on my own, you're going back to work today aren't you?”

He's quick to shut that down though, his voice much firmer than before. “Do you think I want you walking all the way from the city? Please, just tell me where you are before I go out blindly driving. Come on (name)….”

You know he knows he's won when you sigh tiredly into the phone, you don't want to talk about all of this right now but you just know he might actually look for you, he's clearly already checked through the manor if he knows you walked.

“…. I'm next to a 7/11 that's across the street from a bank in-”

“I know where that's at the kids go there all the time, I'll be there in ten. Please don't wander off…”

You're weirdly tired by the time you get off the phone, maybe the restless sleep is finally catching up to you, or maybe it's a lingering effect of whatever you are dosed with, but right now you just want to curl up in your bed and sleep for the rest of the week. You're so tired of the lying and games…

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: lol I spent the longest time on the dream scene, 👁️👄👁️ it's been days because IDK how to write romance yet 😭 but anyways I hope y'all enjoy and have a lovely day/night and pls remember to take care of yourselves! 💞💞💞

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