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luveline · 9 months ago

Note

Hi, I’ve never actually sent a request before so hopefully this is okay, but maybe Hotch’s adult daughter calling him dad for the first time when she’s in trouble or hurt which could also open up an opportunity for Hotch to see her mother for the first time since he found out about her

You’re gonna throw your pants in the trash when you get home. The blouse is a loss —getting blood out of champagne material is a pipe dream. But the pants were unscathed until now.

“Can you look at me?”

You lift your pounding head. The EMT cups your cheek, her lips quirked into a deep frown as she raises a small flashlight to your eyes. “Just gonna check your pupils again,” she murmurs, shining the light in your eye.

Each flash has a heated knife of pain slamming into your brain. You moan in pain and tip your head forward, wanting more than anything to lay down.

“What can I do to make you more comfortable?” the EMT asks.

“I want to go to the hospital,” you say. Surely they can fix the carving agony behind your face.

“I know. As soon as the ruckus upstairs is clear, we’re going to take you there.”

“I don’t want to sit here.” You grimace at the clammy stone under your legs. The subway is not a good place to touch things.

“It’ll be over soon. There’s a heavy police presence. You’ll be okay.”

“Got blood on my shirt,” you mumble.

“I’m sure someone will wash it for you.”

“My dad,” you say without thinking.

If you asked, Aaron would wash the blood from your shirt. He could buy you a whole new wardrobe and he would if you let him, but he would just as happily stand at the sink scrubbing away your stains.

“Ah, Mr. Hotchner,” the EMT says. “I’ve heard about him, I think we all have. He’s a very important man.”

“He’s just my dad,” you whisper.

You’re not really talking to her anymore, the thumping pain behind your eyes a wave you can’t get past. It hurts with every breath. When you hold out your hand, the EMT knows without asking that you’re going to throw up.

She’s more alarmed after that. “Okay, I’m gonna take you upstairs now, okay? I’m sorry there’s no gurney, but we just have to get to the top of the stairs.”

Each step sucks. You taste blood and vomit alike on your tongue, the daylight is too bright as you ascend the steps, and the EMT isn’t taking enough of your weight. You moan something incomprehensible even to yourself on the second to last step and cover your eyes, aware of the sirens, the roaring crowds, glass shattering at your feet.

“Shit,” the EMT says.

You search for your phone blindly, your hand lost in a pocket full of gum wrappers and tissue. “I don’t have my bag... I want my phone. Need to call my dad.”

“It’s okay,” she says, giving you an encouraging jostle to look out at the clearing sidewalk. “I can see him.”

Aaron is speed-walking through the crowd. He’s surrounded by people in Kevlar vests, but he himself wears nothing more than his usual suit and tie. His face changes when he sees you from glaring to a strange flitting panic.

“Are you all right?” he asks, jogging those last few metres to take you by the elbows. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

Your eyes are tired. “Somebody hit me,” you say.

“I know.” His sympathy is warm, his hand smoothing up your arm as he turns on the spot. “Morgan, can we get better access down this street?”

One of the Kevlar vests doubles back the way they came. You’re trying to make sense of who you’re seeing, and what’s happening, but the confusion since you got hurt is enthusiastic. You can’t make sense of anything but the splitting pain in your head.

Aaron’s talking five miles a second and ushering you up those last few steps, a gentleness to his touch that’s absent in his barked commands.

You’ve never heard him shout like that. You can’t help staring at him.

“This is an attempted insurrection. The aggression is only going to get worse. JJ, see if you can coordinate with metro PD, make sure there aren’t any other injured civilians in the subway. Dave, I need you to run the operation while I go with her.”

“Aaron,” you say, watching his frown deepen.

“Reid, you’re with JJ. Prentiss, I want you to find who laid hands on her–”

“Aaron,” you say again, shocked.

He gives your arm a placating squeeze.

“They could still be here.” Everything he says is unarguable. He’s suddenly a monolith, and he’s freaking you out, and you’re no closer to being in the back of the ambulance than you had been ten minutes ago. “Have Garcia pull the security footage–”

“Dad,” you say in a short breath, your hand grasping weakly at his arm.

He falls silent for a moment. The agent you’re unfamiliar with becomes the man who brings you teddy bears at dinner and sends encouraging missives in the morning.

“What, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks. Not gentle, but hushed.

“I think I’m gonna be sick again.”

The EMT passes you a paper bag.

—

You could hear a pin drop in your hospital room. Your broken nose has its own heartbeat, but that’s a feeling, rather than a sound. Aaron hasn’t spoken in a long time, he just sits there with his hand on your arm, waiting for a cue you don’t give. You’re so embarrassed about calling him dad you’ve decided to never speak to him again.

His hand occasionally comes to life, giving your arm a soft up and down.

It’s strange to suddenly have a father, but not bad. His paternal caring is a comfort with all the pain, and it doesn’t feel stilted. With Aaron it never has, he found out you were his and he immediately began to act like it, though you suppose you’ll never know how he would’ve loved you as an adult if he’d known you as a child. This feels genuine. Careful, but genuine.

“Time to take it off,” he says.

You meet his eyes.

“The ice pack,” he explains.

You drop it onto your leg, and he takes it and sets it on the rollover table instead.

“You can come and stay with me for a few days,” he suggests quietly.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Your mom’s working. I can take the time off.”

You give him a dubious look. “And then you’ll get called away and it’ll be just me and Haley in the house. That won’t be awkward at all.”

He shakes his head. “You’re hurt. You’re gonna feel dizzy for at least another day, and that’s not thinking about how hard it’s gonna be to breathe for a while. I’ll stay home, and you can get familiar with my guest room.”

“You don’t have to look after me.”

“But I want to.” He holds your wrist. “I know we aren’t a conventional father and daughter…” His brow furrows, and he looks at your hand just below his rather than your face. “I want the chance to look after you. How many times were you sick as a kid? Hundreds of times. Mostly colds, a runny nose. Maybe you– maybe you broke your arm, I don’t know. But I wish I did. I owe it to you to take care of you now.”

You give him a small smile as he raises his head.

“Just think about it,” he says, “we’ll be here all night anyways.”

“You can go home.”

“Don’t be difficult,” he says, his sincerity swapped for teasing as he stand. “I have to go find you something to eat.”

He stoops to give you a warm hug across your shoulders. You should want it to be over quickly, you smell like blood and sick and sweat, your clothes are ruined, and you’re not used to him seeing you like this, but let the feeling of his hand on your back persuade you into closing your sore eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

“I’m okay.”

“Okay. I need to do a lap before your mother gets here anyhow. I might… be more unkind than I plan on being, otherwise.”

You laugh at his half-joke and hurt your face. He is very sorry.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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kiwriteswords · 4 months ago

Note

begs nicely for bombshell reader

In the Margin

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Female Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, flirting, fluff, finance talk, banter, Hotch is a softie for Penelope.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s weekly budget meetings with you, the sharp-tongued BAU financial analyst, become an unexpected mix of humor, wit, and simmering tension as professional boundaries blur. Between team antics, Penelope’s creative expenses, and your playful challenges, Hotch finds himself navigating far more than just numbers.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure if he hated the newly implemented weekly budget meetings because they disrupted his already packed schedule or because of you, the BAU’s Operations Department Budget Analyst.

No--that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he hated you. It was that he hated how much he didn’t hate you. You were sharp-tongued, confident, and armed with a wit so quick it could cut him to ribbons before he even knew he was bleeding. It didn’t help that you looked like you belonged on a movie set rather than in a conference room dissecting every penny spent by his team.

He adjusted his tie as he entered the room. You were already seated at the head of the table, a tablet in front of you and a pen in hand, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as you scanned a detailed report. He knew that was meant for him. It was always meant for him.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” you greeted without looking up. “Let’s talk about how your team managed to burn through three months of budget in--oh, a month and a half.” Your eyes finally met his, and the smile you gave him could only be described as predatory.

“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N.” He placed his briefcase on the table and sat across from you. “I see we’re getting right into it today.”

“Well, Aaron”—and wasn’t that a bold move? Using his first name like that—“I’d love to make small talk, but someone”—you leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping as if this was the world’s biggest secret—“decided we needed to order customized iPad cases last month. For everyone. Including” You looked back down to the itemized invoice,"‘Penelope Garcia’s-second-backup-iPad.’”

Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. “That would be Garcia,” he said dryly.

You laughed, and the sound was like a reward he didn’t know he was aiming for. “Oh, Aaron. It’s always Penelope, isn’t it?”

The meetings became a staple of his week, though not by choice. What had started as a quarterly formality became a monthly necessity when you joined the department and discovered Penelope’s propensity for colorful, extravagant expenditures. But the kicker came two months ago, when Penelope had gone rogue with the budget to fund her “absolutely vital” initiative to replace paper case files with digital ones—complete with the max amount of storage, of course. You’d retaliated by instituting weekly budget reviews.

“She knows,” Hotch told Penelope one afternoon in her lair. “She knows it was you.”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “How does she know? Wait—does she have surveillance on me? Did she bug my office? Tell. Me. She didn’t bug my office.”

“She didn’t bug your office, Garcia,” Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She knows because you send her invoices.”

Penelope frowned. “But those were justified expenses!”

“She’s not convinced.” Hotch sighed. “Neither is the finance department.”

“Well, maybe if she’d loosen up a bit—”

“She’s very loose, Garcia,” Hotch muttered before realizing how that sounded. Penelope’s grin was instant, and Hotch scowled. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss. Y/N Y/L/N. Maybe you like these meetings more than you’re letting on.”

He left her office before she could get another word in.

The meetings evolved into more than budget disputes. You had a way of challenging Hotch that nobody else did. You questioned his decisions—not about cases, but about expenses. You turned a dry meeting into something that felt like a battle of wits, and despite himself, Hotch found he didn’t mind the sparring.

“So, tell me,” you said during one particularly contentious meeting, “why does Penelope need a beanbag chair? Let me guess—‘it fosters creative thinking.’”

Hotch cleared his throat; his years of being quick on his feet as a lawyer somehow always did him good when it came to defending Penelope’s spending. “She has unique requirements for her workspace.”

“Unique, huh?” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, and Hotch caught himself looking before he forced his gaze back up. “And the collection of...neon gel pens? Also, a unique requirement?”

“She…has a system.”

You laughed again, and Hotch felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He’d smiled more in these meetings than in most social situations, not that he’d admit it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you said casually, pointing your pen at him, and Hotch stiffened. You were already standing, gathering your papers. “Meeting adjourned. See you next week, Aaron.”

It wasn’t until two months into weekly meetings that things finally shifted.

You caught him in the break room late one evening, well after everyone else had gone home. “Aaron,” you greeted, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Did you know your coffee expenses are also over budget?”

Hotch turned, mug in hand. “Should I expect an itemized report on my caffeine consumption?”

You smirked. “Already on your desk.”

The air between you crackled, and for the first time, Hotch saw something beyond the wit and the barbs. He set his mug down and stepped closer, his voice low. “You enjoy giving me a hard time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “And you enjoy taking it.”

“Do I?” he challenged.

“Don’t you?” you shot back, and the look in your eyes was enough to make him question every professional boundary he’d ever adhered to.

He took another step closer, close enough that he could see the faint trace of amusement in your expression. “This feels like it’s about more than the budget.”

“It definitely is,” you said, your voice softer now. “Maybe I think you could use a little…loosening up.”

Hotch let himself smile just a little. “And you think you’re the person to help me with that?”

You grinned, pushing off the counter and brushing past him, close enough that he caught the faintest hint of your perfume. “I know I am.”

The budget meetings continued, but now, the tension between you and Hotch wasn’t just professional. It simmered, unspoken but palpable, until it was only a matter of time before one of you crossed the line.

And Hotch couldn’t wait to see who would make the first move.

Hotch had a long day ahead of him. Between case briefs, team check-ins, and the weekly budget meeting you’d so gleefully instituted, he felt like the universe was conspiring against him. It didn’t help that Penelope Garcia had texted him earlier with an ominous, “Sir! Big news! You’ll thank me later.”

When he stepped into the bullpen, the team was gathered around Penelope, who stood in the center like a magician about to unveil her latest trick.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, waving her hands dramatically, “I give you the latest and greatest tech upgrade to grace the halls of the BAU!”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose as the team collectively oohed and aahed over the sleek new monitors now adorning every desk.

“Garcia,” he said, his tone low and measured, “please tell me this was approved through the appropriate channels.”

Penelope turned to him with a smile so wide it could only mean trouble. “Of course it was, sir!” Then, after a beat, she added, “I mean, I may have pulled a few strings. But can you really put a price on efficiency and team morale?”

Rossi, seated casually nearby, chimed in. “I’ll admit, it’s a nice touch. Maybe next month, you can swing for some leather chairs in the conference room. The kind that recline.”

Hotch shot him a withering look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Penelope pouted. “Come on, Hotch! You know these upgrades are totally needed. Plus, they match my aesthetic.” She gestured to her own office.

He sighed. “You know who’s going to have to explain this, don’t you?”

Her grin didn’t waver. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

Later, Hotch found himself standing outside your office, mentally preparing for the inevitable. When he knocked, you barely looked up from your screen. “Ah, Aaron,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What brings you to my humble lair? Let me guess—Penelope strikes again?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You heard?”

“I always hear.” You gestured to the chair across from your desk. “Sit, and tell me why I shouldn’t slash your team's budget to nothing.”

Hotch sat, rubbing his temples. “She upgraded the monitors.”

Your laughter filled the room, light and musical. “Monitors? Really? Did she bedazzle them too?”

“She might have,” he muttered. “Look, I know it’s excessive, but the team…they rely on her. She keeps things running smoothly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Running smoothly or running through money?”

Hotch gave you a flat look, which only made you grin wider.

“Alright, Aaron,” you said, leaning forward. “Here’s the deal. We can refinance a few line items. Maybe cut back on travel expenses for conferences nobody attends. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he asked warily.

You tapped your pen against your desk, pretending to consider. “How about you keep coming to these meetings on time? And,” you added with a smirk, “try not to look so grumpy when you do.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The next meeting was no less contentious, but there was a new edge to the banter.

“You really went to bat for Penelope this week,” you said, flipping through your notes. “Is she holding something over you? A dark secret, perhaps? Did she catch you sneaking an extra slice of cake at Rossi’s last party?”

Hotch gave you a pointed look. “She’s an integral part of the team.”

“And I’m sure the sparkly monitor really enhances her skillset,” you quipped. “What’s next? A gold-plated stapler?”

“Don’t give her ideas.”

You laughed, and he found himself staring at the way your eyes lit up when you did. It was distracting. You were distracting.

“So,” you continued, turning serious, “how do you propose we make this work? I’ve crunched the numbers, and unless you want to start holding bake sales, something’s gotta give.”

Hotch straightened in his chair. “Rossi suggested cutting back on the print subscriptions.”

“Oh, no,” you said, feigning horror. “What will he do without his monthly shipment of Fine Living Magazine?”

Hotch sighed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you make it so easy.”

As the weeks went on, the tension between you and Hotch became undeniable. The banter turned sharper, the lingering glances longer, the air in those meetings thicker with something unspoken.

It all came to a head late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home. Hotch was leaving his office when he saw your light still on. Against his better judgment, he knocked and stepped inside.

“Still working?” he asked.

You glanced up, surprised. “Someone’s gotta keep the lights on.”

He closed the door behind him. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Is that an offer to help?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Because I could use a second set of eyes on these reports.”

Hotch stepped closer, the tension crackling between you like static electricity. "You’re good at what you do. The team is lucky to have you.”

For once, your usual smirk faltered. “Thanks, Aaron.”

The silence stretched, heavy with possibility. Then you smiled again, playful and challenging. “Careful, Hotchner. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He let out a rare laugh, low and genuine. “Maybe I do.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you recovered, your grin turning sly. “Well, that’s a start.”

The next budget meeting arrived with its usual dose of tension—and not just the financial kind. Hotch entered the conference room early, a strategic move to reclaim some semblance of control. You were already there, of course, seated at the head of the table, the tablet glowing in front of you.

“Early today,” you said, glancing at your watch with mock surprise. “Did someone finally read my strongly worded emails about punctuality?”

"I'm always on time, and I always read your emails,” he replied dryly, taking his usual seat across from you.

“Sure you do,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s why you never respond.”

“I’m busy running a team of federal agents.”

“And yet somehow Penelope has time to order monogrammed pen holders.”

Hotch sighed, his hand already moving to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

“Not a chance, Aaron.”

The meeting was halfway through when Penelope barged in, her presence as colorful as ever.

“Sir!” she chirped, holding a bright pink folder that screamed unnecessary expense. “Quick update—I managed to upgrade the entire team’s software licenses. State of the art, cutting-edge, only the best for my BAU fam.”

Hotch stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Garcia, we discussed this.”

“I know!” she said, beaming. “That’s why I made sure to get a bulk discount. I saved us 12%.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. “Twelve percent? Wow, Aaron, she’s practically a financial wizard.”

Hotch glared at you. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, “with savings like that, we’ll be out of the red in no time. What’s next, Penelope? A popcorn machine for movie nights in the bullpen?”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, her eyes lighting up. “That’s genius. The camaraderie…I—”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Penelope pouted, but she left without further incident. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Hotch, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“She’s incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “Completely unhinged--but incredible.”

“She’s a lot of things,” Hotch muttered. “Mostly expensive.”

“And you,” you added, grinning, “are such a softie for her.”

Hotch scoffed, leaning back in his chair, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Softie? I’m her supervisor, not her enabler.”

You laughed, a low, melodic sound that Hotch had come to recognize as the precursor to trouble. “Please. You bend over backward for her, and we both know it.”

“She’s part of my team,” he replied evenly. “It’s my job to advocate for them.”

“Advocating for a new monitor system with glitter decals?” you teased, leaning forward slightly, your grin widening. “Aaron, that’s not advocacy—that’s indulgence. She's like your team's equivalent to 'happy wife, happy life.'"

Hotch crossed his arms, his stoicism cracking just enough to let his dry humor slip through. “I’d call it picking my battles.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back. “And what battle are you avoiding by letting Penelope order custom beanbag chairs?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do you know what happens if I say no to her?”

“I can only imagine,” you said, leaning your chin on your hand. “Please, enlighten me.”

“She gets creative,” Hotch said gravely. “Very creative. The last time I vetoed one of her purchases, she launched a campaign with color-coded charts and heartfelt video testimonials from the team about how much they needed a slushie machine in the bullpen.”

Your laughter filled the room again, and Hotch let the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “A slushie machine? You’ve got to give her credit—that’s bold....and random.”

“She called it a ‘hydration initiative,’” he deadpanned.

You leaned back, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are such a softie.”

“I’m pragmatic,” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s easier to approve the monitors than to explain to Strauss why there’s a PowerPoint presentation titled ‘Ice-Cold Justice.’”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and Hotch found himself momentarily distracted by the way your eyes sparkled with amusement. It wasn’t often he let himself relax enough to notice those things, but with you, it was becoming harder to keep the line between professional and personal intact.

“And yet,” you finally said, regaining your composure, “you’re here, pleading her case to me instead of just putting your foot down.”

“She has her merits,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to remind you why people followed him so loyally. “The work she does is critical. Even when it’s…excessive.”

“See? Softie,” you said triumphantly, pointing your pen at him. “You can’t fool me, Hotchner. You’re all gruff on the outside, but deep down, you’re just one big teddy bear.”

“I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the Bureau would describe me,” he replied dryly.

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “the rest of the Bureau doesn’t get to see you begging for beanbags.”

He gave you a long, measured look, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. “I don’t beg.”

“No?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What would you call this, then?”

“I’d call it negotiation,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And if you’re not careful, I might actually win.”

Your grin widened. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Hotch allowed himself a small smirk, the kind that was so rare it felt like a reward in itself. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you said, leaning back in your chair, your tone playful and just a little daring. “I live to tempt you.”

For a brief moment, the tension crackled, sharper than the wit you both wielded like weapons. Then you straightened, tapping your pen against the table as if to signal the end of the moment.

“Alright, Mr. Softie,” you said lightly, “I’ll see what I can do about those monitors. But don’t think this means you’re getting that cappuccino machine Rossi asked for.”

Hotch stood, smoothing his tie as if to regain his composure. “One victory at a time.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, your voice laced with amusement. “Don’t forget to tell Penelope her beanbags are still on the chopping block.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that was almost fond. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Hotch left the meeting, he felt thoroughly defeated. You had grilled him on every expenditure, from coffee pods to the mysterious disappearance of two office chairs. You’d teased him mercilessly, of course, but you’d also offered solutions, which only made you more infuriatingly attractive.

Later that afternoon, Rossi cornered him in his office.

“Aaron,” Rossi began, settling into the chair across from his desk. “I have a proposition.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Rossi said smoothly. “I’ve been re-thinking about how to improve morale around here. You know what we need? A cappuccino machine. The kind they have in those fancy Italian cafes.”

Hotch blinked. “A cappuccino machine. We talked about this. We have coffee in the break room.”

Rossi looked hurt by Hotch's definition of coffee. “That isn’t coffee. This is an investment in productivity. Caffeine keeps the team sharp.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Hotch exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize I have to explain this to Y/L/N?”

Rossi grinned. “You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

That evening, Hotch found himself in your office again, this time with what he knew was a losing argument.

“A cappuccino machine?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really where we’re at again?”

“Rossi insists it’s for team morale.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your desk. “Aaron, if I approve this, what’s next? A hot tub in the break room? A second private jet for local cases?”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “I wouldn’t put it past Rossi to suggest either of those.”

Your laughter bubbled out again, and a small smile that tugged at Hotch’s lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You mean brilliant,” you corrected, your tone playful. “Come on, admit it—you love these little matches.”

Hotch hesitated, just long enough for the moment to stretch between you. “I do.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, Hotchner. You might actually win one of these someday.”

“And if I do?”

Your grin turned sly again. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The tension between you and Hotch simmered like an unsaid promise, lingering in the spaces between your words and the way your eyes lingered just a beat too long. It wasn’t until another late night when the office was quiet and the shadows stretched long, that Hotch found himself once again at your door.

“You know,” you said as he stepped inside, “if you keep showing up here after hours, people are going to start talking.”

“Let them,” he said, surprising himself with the bluntness of his response.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “That sounded suspiciously like flirting.”

“Did it?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “It did. And for the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t have a retort. Instead, he let the silence speak, the weight of it filled with possibilities he hadn’t dared entertain before.

And when you smiled at him again, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something worth breaking the rules for.

Hotch stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, your words echoing in his mind. “For the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

He cleared his throat, stepping fully into your office and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t often that Aaron Hotchner found himself at a loss for words, but there was something about you—your sharp tongue, your disarming wit, the way you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing—that threw him off balance.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What brings you here this time? More cappuccino machine negotiations? Or did Rossi decide the bullpen needs a wine fridge?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, talk,” you said, your lips curving into a playful smile. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising himself again with his own candor.

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Alright, Aaron. You’ve got my attention. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to let this go. The boundary between professional and personal was already blurred; one more step and it might vanish entirely. And yet, as you sat there watching him with that sly, confident smile, he found he didn’t care as much as he should have.

“You,” he said finally, the single word weighted with more meaning than he intended.

Your smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Then it was back, brighter and sharper than ever. “Well, that’s unexpected. Flattered, of course, but unexpected.”

He allowed himself a small smile, stepping closer to your desk. “I doubt anything surprises you.”

“Not often,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to make the first move.”

“Who says this is a move?”

You laughed, the sound warm and low. “Oh, Aaron. If this isn’t a move, then I’m very curious to see what one looks like.”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence hang between you like a challenge. Finally, he leaned forward, placing his hands on your desk, and met your gaze head-on.

“What if I am making a move?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with something that made your breath catch.

For the first time since he’d met you, you seemed genuinely caught off guard. Your confident smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of something more tentative. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter than before. “In that case, I’d say it’s about time.”

His heart thudded once, hard and unexpected, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was. All he could think about was how close you were, how easy it would be to reach across the desk and close the distance.

But then you leaned back, your smile returning with a hint of mischief. “Of course, if this isn’t a move, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”

“Consider yourself safe,” he said, straightening but not stepping back. “For now.”

Your laughter filled the room again, light and teasing. “Careful, Aaron. I’m thinking you actually enjoy these little games.”

“I do,” he said, surprising himself once more with his honesty.

You tilted your head, studying him with a newfound intensity. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”

As he left your office that night, the air between you charged with unspoken tension, Aaron Hotchner realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before: he wasn’t just drawn to you because of your sharp wit or your undeniable charm. He was drawn to you because you made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

The roundtable room was unusually quiet when Hotch gathered the team for an impromptu meeting. That should have been his first clue. They were always at their most dangerous when they were waiting for the hammer to drop.

“All right,” he began, standing at the head of the conference table. “We need to talk about the budget.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk already forming. “This is about the cappuccino machine, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about the cappuccino machine,” Hotch said firmly. “Though that’s still off the table.”

“Good thing I didn’t submit the requisition for the margarita blender,” Morgan muttered, earning a stifled laugh from JJ.

Hotch gave him a pointed look before continuing. “We’ve been asked to cut back on end-of-year expenses. That means scaling back on travel accommodations for the next few cases.”

“Scaling back how?” Prentiss asked, her tone cautious.

“Fewer hotels,” Hotch said. “We’ll have to bunk up where possible.”

There was a collective groan around the table.

“Bunk up?” Garcia appeared in the doorway, her dramatic gasp signaling she’d overheard. “Do you mean to tell me we, the esteemed agents of the BAU, are being reduced to sharing rooms? What is this, a slumber party?”

“Garcia, you rarely travel with us. Would it kill you to share a room with JJ or Emily for a few nights, if and when you do?” Hotch asked, his tone dry.

“It’s not about me, sir,” Garcia replied, clutching her chest like he’d wounded her. “It’s about the principle. We’re public servants, heroes even. Heroes deserve better than twin beds and bad room service.”

“Twin beds?” Reid asked, looking genuinely horrified.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Come on, Hotch. We all know you’ve got an in with Y/N in finance. Can’t she pull some strings before Garcia does?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Y/N is doing her job, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Rossi said with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter from the team.

“Funny,” Hotch deadpanned. “But unless any of you have a better solution, this is how it’s going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “But if anyone could sweet-talk Y/N, it’s you, Hotch. You’ve got that whole brooding, stoic charm thing going for you. She loves that.”

“I’m not sweet-talking anyone,” Hotch said, his tone clipped.

“Really?” Prentiss chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Because rumor has it you’ve been spending a lot of time in her office lately.”

“That’s called managing the budget,” Hotch replied evenly, though his ears felt uncomfortably warm. “The budget we keep going over. Which is what I’m trying to do right now.”

“Right,” JJ said, her voice full of mock seriousness. “Managing the budget.”

The laughter around the table grew louder, and even Garcia joined in with an exaggerated wink.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is over.”

“But the bunking isn’t,” Rossi said, still grinning. “Good to know.”

Later, Hotch sat across from you, his tie slightly loosened after the long day. The hum of your sarcasm was already in the air, a comfort he’d never admit aloud.

“Back so soon?” you asked, glancing up from your tablet. “What’s the crisis this time? Let me guess—the team didn’t take kindly to the budgeting suggestion?”

“They had…questions,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. “And commentary.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, smirking as you leaned back in your chair. “Let me guess: Rossi wants to requisition a wine fridge instead of a cappuccino machine? Garcia--who if I remember correctly doesn’t even travel with the team--staged a protest? Or did Morgan suggest you charm me into pulling some strings?”

Hotch blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Actually, yes. That’s almost word for word what he said.”

You laughed, the sound warm and far too satisfying. “I knew it. The whole team thinks I’m your budgetary fairy godmother, don’t they?”

“They’re not subtle about it,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “And if I’m honest, they’re starting to have…suspicions.”

Your eyebrows lifted, your smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, suspicions, huh? About what exactly?”

“That I might have an ‘in’ with you,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a hint of something wry. “And that I use it to get my way.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin on your hand. “Well, you do have an in with me, Aaron.”

“I do?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your grin widening. “You come in here all brooding and stoic, with that deep voice and those puppy-dog eyes, and I’m supposed to say no to you? Please.”

He let out a rare chuckle, low and brief. “So you’re saying you find me…persuasive?”

“I’m saying I find you irritating,” you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed you. “But occasionally charming.”

“Occasionally?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said, though your smile hadn’t wavered. “Now, what exactly are you hoping I’ll do?”

Hotch straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “The travel budget is tight. We need to cut back on some of the accommodations for the next few cases. If there’s any room to reallocate funds or find efficiencies, I’d like your input.”

You studied him for a moment, your pen tapping against the desk. “You know,” you said finally, “you could’ve just sent an email. But you didn’t, which means you wanted to have this conversation in person.”

“Maybe I thought it would be more effective,” he said, his voice steady.

“And maybe,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “you just like spending time with me.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “Maybe the team isn’t wrong to have their suspicions.”

That caught you off guard, and for the briefest moment, your confident grin faltered. Then you recovered, your smile turning soft around the edges. “Well, if you’re going to keep coming to me, Aaron, I guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations.”

“So you’ll help?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You rolled your eyes, though your grin didn’t fade. “Of course, I’ll help. But only because I’d hate for Garcia to have to share a room on the rare chance she joined you on a trip. Can you imagine the drama?”

Hotch stood, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you said, your tone playful. “I might make you owe me one.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you. “I think I already do.”

Your laughter followed him out, and Hotch didn’t mind giving up a little control.

The next few weeks blurred into a whirlwind of cases, budget meetings, and what Hotch could only describe as a game of mutual teasing with you that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to win. The team’s jabs about his “in” with you only got more relentless, but the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He found himself seeking out your company more often than he’d care to admit, and not just because of budgetary crises.

One evening, well after most of the team had gone home, Hotch walked into your office to find you perched on the edge of your desk, heels kicked off, and a pen tucked behind your ear as you typed furiously on your tablet.

“You work too much,” he said by way of greeting, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You glanced up, smirking. “Says the man who just came from his own office. What brings you here, Aaron? More budget drama? Or are you just here for the company?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Would it be so bad if it were both?”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but the smile that followed was slow and dangerous. “Well, well. Are you finally admitting that you like me?”

He hesitated for half a second before replying, his voice low but steady. “I think you already know I do.”

That made you pause. Your usual sharp wit seemed momentarily replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, before you quickly masked it with your trademark confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before, Hotchner. You’re better at it than I expected.”

“I don’t flirt,” he said, stepping closer. “At least, not intentionally.”

“Oh,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “So this is just you being your naturally charming self?”

“Something like that,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your tablet aside. “You know, if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you’re actually serious.”

“What if I am?” he asked, taking another step closer.

Your grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “Aaron…”

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that he could see the faintest flush on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret it.”

You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere. Then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that he hadn’t seen before. “Well, that’s good,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Because I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time trying to get under your skin.”

“You’ve been very effective,” he admitted, his voice laced with dry humor.

You laughed again, the tension between you easing slightly. “Good to know.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the air between you charged with possibilities. Then you leaned forward just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what now, Aaron? You going to keep playing it safe, or are you finally going to make a move and follow through?��

Hotch held your gaze, his pulse quickening in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and yet oddly welcome. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied, your grin returning.

Before he could overthink it, he leaned down, his hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving both of you slightly breathless when he pulled back.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice a little unsteady but filled with warmth. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I hope that’s not the only thing you take away from this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your grin turning wicked again. “I’ll send you the itemized breakdown tomorrow.”

He laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and as the two of you stood there in the quiet of your office, Hotch couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he’d been missing.

The next morning, Hotch walked into the bullpen, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place—at least on the outside. Inside, he felt lighter than he had in years. But any illusion of subtlety was shattered the moment he saw Morgan smirking at him from across the room.

“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, his tone far too casual. “You look…different today. Get a good night’s sleep?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. He made his way toward his office, but before he could escape, Garcia intercepted him, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh, boss man, you’ve got that look,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The look of a man who’s either won the lottery or—” Her eyes widened in dramatic realization. “—had a life-altering, swoon-worthy moment with a certain someone in finance.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia—”

“Don’t deny it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I have sources.”

Before he could reply, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out, striding confidently into the bullpen with your signature blend of poise and sass. You caught Hotch’s eye and shot him a subtle, knowing smile that sent a ripple of warmth through him.

Garcia caught the exchange and gasped audibly. “Oh my God! It’s true!”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I knew it. Didn’t I say he had an in with her?”

“You said it,” Prentiss confirmed, her tone amused. “Repeatedly. But he's really getting it in with her.”

JJ just shook her head, smiling. “Well, at least we know why the budget meetings keep getting longer.”

Hotch leveled a calm, measured glare at his team. “I don’t recall calling a team meeting on my personal life.”

“Ah, but your personal life is so much more interesting than budget cuts,” Rossi said with a wink. “You should let us enjoy it.”

“I’m glad you’re all entertained,” Hotch said dryly, turning toward his office. But as he walked away, he caught your voice behind him.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Aaron,” you called amusement lacing your tone.

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, and for once, Hotch didn’t mind being the subject of it. As he stepped into his office and closed the door, he glanced back at you through the glass, catching your playful smile once more.

Yes, this was definitely worth breaking the rules for.

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alwaysanundertone · 5 months ago

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Day 14, bet's on | rosekiller

@yourfiendlyneighbourspiderman sent a request for this one <3

smut

TW: NSFW, oral (fem and male receiving), bondage, piv, multiple orgasms.

part 1, part 2 will be released after kinktober

“… and he wanted to go back to his apartment, but obviously I refused and then he lashed out, saying I’m a prude and stuff, and it’s just so unfair” You were on your friends’ bed, there were many bottles of beers discarded on the floor. It was typical for you to hang out like this, talking about everything and anything. “I mean, it’s not like I am some type of prude-“

“Y/N, you are”

You widened your eyes, surprised, then shot Barty a dirty look. “Am not, thank you very much”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, stop lying to yourself and admit it. When was the last time you did something adventurous?”

You rolled your eyes, but, if you had to really think about it, you couldn’t find any examples: maybe they were right, maybe you had become a prude. Still, you couldn’t let them win. “I’m drunk and my brain isn’t co-operating, but there are plenty of examples.”

“Prove you’re not a prude, then.”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “How?”

They both exchanged a look. “How about a little game? You’re going to watch our next game from here, in our apartment: for every goal that we score, you’re going to take off a piece of clothing. If you run out of them, you’re going to tie yourself up, and you’ll be waiting patiently for us here, on our bed. When we’ll come home, we’re going to have free access to whatever part of your body is exposed”

You sat up straight, staring at them, your mouth agape. “What- What”

Barty chuckled. “Evan, I think we broke her. We understand, Y/N, you’re not that adventurous, it’s okay, it’s normal”

You felt your blood starting to boil, you never were the one to back down from a challenge, and you weren’t going to start now. “Okay, bets on. You’re going to score two goals maximum, anyways”

They exchanged a surprised look. “We’re going to see about that.”

You just turned up the tv, anxiety clawing at your stomach. Sure, they couldn’t score that many goals, right? It was nearly impossible; you were going to be just fine. For the first time, you wished their time would loose.

As they started to fly on their brooms, you saw Evan scoring the first goal. Hell, not even a minute had passed.

“And just like that, Rosier scores the first point…” You tuned out the speaker’s voice, seeing how Barty and Evan shared a smirk, the camera focusing on their high five.

“Okay, Y/N, it’s a single piece of clothing” You took off one of your socks.

But as the game went on, you found yourself quickly only in your panties and bra, feeling extremely nervous, praying for them to stop scoring points.

It wasn’t that they both weren’t extremely hot, the prospect of them both focusing on your body making you feel hot and bothered; no, it was the fact that you hadn’t experienced any sexual interaction in more than two years, and, even worse than that, you didn’t know how you would have reacted after the sexual intercourse. When they were finished with you, would you be feeling clingy? Would you develop a crush on them? What if you already were crushing on them?

Before you could pity yourself more, Barty scored another goal, followed by Evan, and you swore you could see them winking at the camera. With shaky hands you took off your panties and bra. Now you had to deal with the damned ropes.

At a certain point, you had fallen asleep, tied up on their bed. You startled awake when you felt a hand caressing your stomach, your eyelids fluttering quickly.

“There she is, our angel”

“Evan?”

He chuckled. “What a good girl, doing what she was told to do. Hope you’ve slept well, because the night has just begun. If it gets too much or you feel uncomfortable, say ‘red’ and we will stop.”

As you were about to reply, you felt a tongue licking up a stripe from your hole to your clit, making you whimper. Barty smiled up at you from between your thighs. “Look at you, so responsive. We’re going to have so much fun”

Evan kneeled, staring at your eyes, his gaze dropping to your mouth before dipping his head to kiss you. You moaned; he smiled in the kiss. “Sounds so cute”

“Rosier, get your ass down here and taste her” The blonde guy rolled his eyes, obeying to Barty. Suddenly, two tongues were feasting on your core, the stimulation making your brain turn to mush. “Oh, God, what the fuck”

The boys chuckled. “Yes, sweetheart, tell us how good we make you feel” You felt their tongues meeting over your cunt, then they stopped giving you attention. As you looked down, you saw them making out sloppily directly over your core, seeing them like that was probably the hottest thing you had ever seen.

You whimpered, catching their attention. “You like seeing us like this, don’t you? Naughty, naughty girl” They went back to focusing on your pussy, and you already felt really close to coming, your moans getting progressively more high-pitched.

“Are you going to come on our faces like a good girl, mh?” As soon as Barty inserted a finger in you, curling it upwards, you knew you were gone for. You let out a loud moan, your mind fuzzy, filled with fireworks and fucking rainbows as they worked you through it.

As soon as you came back, you saw in the corner of your eye Evan undressing, and suddenly you felt uncomfortable. “Yellow” They both focused immediately on you.

“What’s up, sweetheart? Do you want to stop?”

“No, but” You felt embarrassed to tell them this, but you knew you had to. “Thing is, I haven’t done anything in a while, and” You didn’t know how to continue, but they seemed to understand.

“It’s okay, we can go as slow as you can, do you want us to undo the ropes?”

You blushed furiously, shaking your head. They both exchanged a look. “Oh, so you like them, huh? Going to keep this in mind in the future”

You didn’t have time to make sense of the innuendo, because Barty was starting to pump his fingers into you, making you moan. He curled them, hitting a specific spot into you, making you mewl. “Evan, I think I found it” He proceeded to caress it repeatedly, working you up once again, but suddenly his fingers were gone, making you whimper in disappointment.

“I know, Barty’s so mean, love” You felt Evan’s dick at your entrance, he was dragging it up and down slowly, making you feel crazy with need. He put in just the tip, staying there for a minute or two, making you feral.

“Evan, please, pleasepleaseplease, I’m going to be good, just” You weren’t even controlling your words anymore, you just knew that you needed him inside of you, and you needed him now.

“Are you hearing this, Barty? She’s going to be good” He mocked you. “What if I stayed like this?” You whined; you would have pushed it in yourself if you weren’t fucking bound. He kneeled down, kissing your nose and entering you altogether, your breath catching in your throat. “Just kidding, you’ve been such a good girl, it wouldn’t be fair to punishing you”.

Once he started picking up the rhythm of his thrusts, Barty slightly slapped your cheek with his cock. “Open up, sweetheart” You did, starting to suck on the head of his dick, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him innocently. “Fuck, Evan-“ You sucked him even harder, making him whimper. “Fucking hell, I won’t last”

“Neither will I” Evan called out from between your thighs. “She’s so fucking tight, it’s a miracle I haven’t come already”

You were a moaning mess, Evan was somehow capable of hitting all of the right spots, you felt your mind starting to black out as you came on his dick.

“Switch” You widened your eyes as the two boys switched places, the prospect of possibly coming again in such a short period of time making you squirm. Barty entered you with one violent thrust, making you loose your breath. He positioned his index and middle fingers on your clit, making you mewl. “You’re going to come on my dick like a good girl”

You shook your head, Evan giving you a break to speak. “I… Can’t, it’s too much”

Barty cooed at you in fake sympathy. “Awe love, you have to get used to it, just because you’ve been with little boys who can’t make a woman come, doesn’t mean you won’t start now. You will come on my cock, and you will enjoy it” His words were making you even wetter, when he started attacking your G-spot you knew that you were gone for, coming all over him, both og the boys following you.

As you were cathing your breath, Evan started undoing the ropes, while Barty wetted a washcloth and started cleaning you. He smiled up at you. “Guess you aren’t a prude, after all” You scoffed, pushing him away slightly. tags: @sxmnc @peterparkerspersonalplaything @riaaavm @iamawkwardandshy @eeviee4 @mysterialee @famouscrusadeluminary @el1smells @rishofkf @mooonyxoxo @happymaeday @yourfiendlyneighbourspiderman @whyshouldihaveanam3 @amazing-bobinsky @barnesandmetal @just-here-for-ff @remussbitch @sammyreid

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enhaflixer · 21 days ago

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i just finished reading King of Tears and wtf it is so so good that it makes me crave for MORE 😭💓 (as of now it's my fave story of urs, looking forward to that Jake fic abt secret pregnancy btw 😉) ANW, will you consider making even just a short sequel when they already have their child born? like what would be their parenting dynamic and such 🥹

Park Sunghoon had always been a man of control.

He controlled markets. He controlled corporations. He controlled empires.

And yet,

Here he was, utterly powerless against a one-year-old in a pink onesie.

His daughter, Yura.

She sat in her high chair, chubby fingers gripping a spoon like a tiny dictator, staring him down.

On her plate? A single, uneaten piece of broccoli.

Sunghoon adjusted the cuffs of his tailored shirt, exhaling deeply. “Yura, listen to me,” he said, voice even, measured. “If you take one bite, I’ll give you two toys. No, three. Name your price.”

Yura’s round, doe-like eyes blinked up at him.

Then—a slow, dramatic shake of her head.

Sunghoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is unacceptable.”

From across the dining table, you snorted into your wine glass. “What are you gonna do, fire her?”

Sunghoon stared at Yura, expression unreadable. “I might.”

Yura let out a high-pitched babble before promptly smacking her spoon onto the floor.

You lost it.

Sunghoon looked personally betrayed. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I run a billion-dollar company. Why is this my biggest challenge?”

You smirked, resting your chin in your palm. “Because she’s a Park.”

Sunghoon scoffed, shaking his head. “She’s too much like you.”

You raised a brow. “And you’re obsessed with me, so…”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s beside the point.”

But then, as Yura squealed happily and reached for him, his frustration melted away. He sighed, reaching over to lift her into his arms.

“Fine,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead. “But just so you know, you’re not getting away with this forever.”

Yura babbled something in response before grabbing his tie and pulling.

You grinned. “She totally is.”

Chapter Two: The Meeting That Didn’t Happen

Park Enterprises operated with precision, discipline, and absolute efficiency.

Employees walked fast, talked faster. Board members spoke only when necessary. Meetings ran on strict schedules, and no one interrupted Sunghoon unless the building was on fire.

And yet—

The conference room fell into dead silence when a sound, high-pitched and unmistakable, echoed through the speakers.

A baby’s giggle.

Sunghoon, seated at the head of the long conference table, stilled.

His fingers paused over his laptop. His gaze flickered toward the phone on the table—your name displayed on the screen, still on call.

Another tiny babble.

The executives looked between each other, unsure if they were allowed to breathe.

Then—without hesitation, Sunghoon closed his laptop.

“Meeting’s over,” he announced.

Murmurs rippled across the room. One particularly bold executive cleared his throat. “Sir, we still have the quarterly reports—”

Sunghoon’s gaze flickered up, sharp as a blade. “Did you not hear her?” His voice was smooth, controlled. “The meeting is over.”

And just like that, the most powerful people in the company—men and women in tailored suits, billionaires, industry giants—were dismissed.

For a baby.

Sunoo, standing at the door, barely held in his laughter as Sunghoon strode past everyone without a word, heading straight for his private lounge.

Inside, you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, while Yura sat happily in her playpen, gripping a stuffed bunny.

As soon as Sunghoon stepped in, his entire demeanor changed.

Gone was the CEO, the business mogul, the man whose name struck fear into his enemies.

In his place?

A completely whipped dad.

You looked up, smirking. “Did she interrupt Daddy’s scary CEO meeting?”

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, but his attention was already on Yura.

She grinned up at him, chubby arms reaching.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate—he bent down, effortlessly scooping her up into his arms.

Yura immediately grabbed his tie.

Sunghoon gasped. “Did you just pull rank on me?”

Yura giggled, absolutely delighted.

You snorted. “She knows she owns you.”

Sunghoon sighed dramatically but pressed a kiss to Yura’s forehead anyway.

You smirked. “Admit it. You’re soft now.”

He glanced at you, expression unreadable.

Then—a slow, deliberate smirk.

“For you?” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips, slow and lingering. “Always.”

Yura made a noise between them, demanding attention.

Sunghoon pulled back, scoffing. “Unbelievable.”

You burst into laughter.

Sunghoon shook his head, but the look in his eyes was nothing but love.

Chapter Three: A Different Kind of War

Later that night, after Yura was asleep, Sunghoon found himself wrapped around you in bed, legs tangled beneath silk sheets.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in warmth, casting golden light over his sharp features. He looked peaceful—content in a way he never used to be.

“I still can’t believe she hit me today,” he muttered.

You grinned, tracing light patterns over his forearm. “Maybe she’s rebelling against authority.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “She’s one. What does she even have to rebel against?”

You smirked. “Maybe she knows you’re an ex-enemies-to-lovers type of man. She just wants to keep up the tension.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he exhaled, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

His touch lingered.

It always did now.

“You’re cute when you’re soft,” you teased, pressing a light kiss to his jaw.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but his fingers curled around your waist, pulling you closer. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You are.”

He huffed, nuzzling against your shoulder. “Only for you.”

You smiled.

And somewhere down the hall, in the nursery, Yura stirred—completely unaware that she had turned the coldest man in the world into the softest one.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen smau #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen fake texts #enhypen au #enhaflixer: king of tears #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon #sunghoon fic #sunghoon fanfic

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hotchscoffeecup · 26 days ago

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those things will kill you

pairing: javier peña x dea!reader

tags: gun violence, broken glass injury, bullet wounds, blood, no y/n

word count: 5k

summary: attacked in a public bar, javier takes you back to his apartment to get you cleaned up and tend your wounds. an almost kiss leads to an exploration of feelings neither of you were prepared for.

as always, big thanks to muffin for always being willing to help beta my fics <3

The bartender places a bottle of beer, sweaty with condensation, in front of you on the bar top.

After uttering a short thank you in Spanish, you leave a couple of bills on the counter and twist your fingers around the neck of the bottle. The beer is cold and slides down your throat easily, but it tastes bitter in your hollow stomach.

You run your tongue over your teeth and tsk, shaking your head wondering how you ended up in this mess. Everything seems like it’s going to hell in a handbasket and all the government wants to do is tie your hands and everyone else’s in the search for Escobar.

You hate how it all keeps you up at night; the cat and mouse. For every inch you eked closer, Escobar always seemed to be a mile ahead. Even when he is right under your nose, he evades capture and disappears without so much as a trace of evidence.

You think too far too deeply about Pablo Escobar and you know it affects your work. How can the same man who built homes and schools for the poor of his hometown be the same man that would blow up a city street full of school children and their families a week before school starts? The thought of it keeps you awake at night because you genuinely cannot fathom how such a disconnect can exist in the human mind. He is a drug lord. A killer. A criminal. But he was also someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s father. Could he really justify all of this cruelty and malice? You wonder when enough stopped being enough for him. You wonder if a reality existed where he was just that, a man of the people. A family man. In another life, maybe he could’ve actually maintained a seat in the Colombian congress. In all his posturing and speech making, he really did exude all of the makings of a good politician that wanted to see a better and more prosperous Colombia. Instead, he became that which instilled fear in the hearts of those that called the great nation their home.

The clipped click of a lighter snaps you out of your own mind and the sounds of the bar pull you out from under the sea of thoughts you’d lost yourself in.

“Real sharp instincts there,” Javier jabs as he drags on the cigarette between his lips and settles into the seat beside you. “Glad I’m not a sicario. Getting the jump on you would be all too easy now, wouldn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Peña, I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened? Get in trouble with the ambassador or something?”

You direct a hard stare in his direction and that seems to speak for itself.

“It’s an adjustment for everyone. He’s definitely more of a tight ass, but he’ll get used to the way things operate down here. Give it time.”

You scoff. “Easy for you to say. All you and Murphy have to do is posture and dick swing your way into his good graces. It’s not that easy for me.”

The bartender nears your end of the bar and inclines his head towards Javier. He gestures towards the drink in your hand with his cigarette and says, “Lo mismo, por favor.”

With a drink now in hand, he turns towards you and levels his deep brown eyes on yours.

“Cut the crap.”

Your brow arches toward your hairline. “Excuse me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his lips quirks up. “I’m not buying this ‘I’m-a-lady-so-I-have-to-work-twice-as-hard’ bullshit. You’re a damn good agent and that’s why you’re here with me and Murphy. Ambassador knows that. So, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. Pointing the bottle at you he says, “and to be clear, I’m not swinging my dick around for anyone.” His eyes flicker over your face and a glint of mischief enters his gaze. “Unless they ask nicely of course.”

You drop your chin and shake your head. “Just when I thought you were being genuine.”

“Hey, I am genuine,” he protests. He pops the cigarette between his lips and grabs your shoulder, the warmth of his palm pressing through your jacket. “C’mon, what’s really eating you?”

You grab the bottle in front of you and swirl the pale liquid inside, forming a small tornado when you still your hand. “I just haven’t been sleeping, that’s all.”

Javier drops his hand from your shoulder to take the cigarette from his lips and blows out a puff of smoke, angling his mouth away from you but the acrid smell still manages to burn your nostrils.

“Those things will kill you, you know?”

Javier smirks and you hate how good it looks on his smug face. “We work in Bogotá. A lot of things can kill us.”

“No need to tempt fate.”

He moves from side to side as if weighing his options. “Cigarettes, alcohol, working too hard trying to prove ourselves that we don’t sleep at night…we all have our vices.” His eyes linger on yours and you suddenly feel vulnerable being called out like that.

“Consider the reasons I don’t sleep, Javi.” You drain the last of your beer and push the bottle away from you.

You press your hands against the edge of the bar, but before you can push yourself up and off of the barstool, Javier claps a hand over one of your wrists, stilling you.

“You can talk to me, you know?” The browns of his irises flicker as they bear into yours and the hollow pit in your stomach widens. You know you can talk to him. Steve too. It’s just hard to be too vulnerable down here though when there’s so much pressure coming down from all angles. If you even look like you might collapse under the weight of it all you’ll get rotated back to the States so quickly, you won’t even get the chance to say goodbye. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you and you can’t squander it. So, it stays easy to lock it down, despite the consequences.

So, you do just that and lock it down. Forcing a smile you know doesn’t reach your eyes, you shake off his hand and zip up your jacket. “I’m fine, Peña. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He presses his lips together, but doesn’t say anything more. He nods his head in farewell and you turn to leave.

You take two steps before your name rolls off of his tongue and you roll your eyes. “Peña, I’m—” The words die on your lips as you turn, eyes drifting past Javier to the pair on the motorcycle beyond the glass window that makes up the external wall of the bar. The man on the back of the motorcycle aims an automated weapon in Javier’s direction.

“Everybody get down!” You cry out as all hell breaks loose.

You’re airborne as the glass shatters and the explosive sounds of gunfire fill the space. You collide with a thick wall of muscle and hit the ground hard, covering your head with one arm and shielding his body with the other. The gunfire stops almost as soon as it had started and the sound of tires squealing on the pavement echoes off the street.

Patrons scream and cry out as they scramble over one another to evacuate the space. You roll onto your side and groan as shards of glass cut into your arms through the thin windbreaker you have on.

“Javier,” you groan as you reach for him. He’s moving so you know he’s alive. You lean over him and his shocked visage. “Javi, are you with me?”

He blinks hard out of whatever stupor he’s in and sits bolt upright. “Which direction did they go?” He turns his head to look over his shoulder and the gaping frame where shards of glass poke out of the windowsill like jagged teeth.

“They’re gone,” you say on an exhale. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head or anything when I tackled you?”

He breathes out a short laugh and you fear he might be in shock. “Did I hit my head? No, I didn’t—” He stops and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear away a fog. His brow pinches as he looks around at the damage. Tables and chairs are upended and cast aside. Broken bottles line the floor where they shattered upon impact off the shelves behind the bar and litter the ground. You’re surprised to find that, miraculously, no bodies littered the ground in the wake of the attack.

A hand cups your chin and you reflexively reach for the gun tucked into your waistband.

Peña raises his other hand in surrender. “I think you might’ve hit yours though.” His eyes shift just above your field of vision and that’s when you feel the hot sticky substance drip down onto your lashes. You raise a hand and touch it, surprised to find a smear of red staining your fingertips when you look at them.

“I think that’s just from the glass. It’s all in my jacket.”

Javier clambers to his feet and dusts off his jeans. Bits of glass hit the floor as it rattles off of his leather jacket, a much heartier material that you wish yours had been made from.

He extends a hand towards you and you take it, wincing as he pulls you to your feet. With a grunt, you tug the zipper down and shrug out of your jacket. There’s no saving the ripped and bloodied material so you drop it on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re hit.”

The words don’t register as Javi closes the gap between the two of you and the smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you in a strange, yet almost comforting cloud of, well, Javier.

He scrubs a hand over his face as he hesitates to touch you. You hear him muttering to himself, but the words don’t quite register. Funny how a moment ago you were worried about him going into shock.

A sharp sting of pain brings you back to your senses as Javier presses a folded up bar towel to your shoulder. “Hold pressure on that,” he instructs. He turns and reaches back to take your hand in his. “Come on, I’ll get you out of here. I need to get you taken care of.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Javier Peña’s Jeep with blood seeping through a dirty bar rag onto the upholstery of his passenger seat. At some point he reaches over you and retrieves the satellite phone from within the glove box to call in the attack.

“No, Murphy. I’m fine. She’s fine. Minor wounds it seems. No—no, don’t wake Connie. I’ve got a kit at my apartment. Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her. I’ve already called the Ambassador and Martinez. Yeah, yeah. Ok, goodnight. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

By the time he pulls into his garage, the adrenaline wears off and the sharp sting of pain in your shoulder becomes glaringly obvious. Javier gets out and moves to open the door for you. He places a supporting hand under your uninjured arm as you maneuver your way out of the car in the confined space. Your body brushes against the firm plane of his as you do and you don’t miss the way he stiffens in response.

“Let’s get you inside,” he murmurs and drops his hand to the small of your back to guide you towards the door.

His apartment is simple, built in the same style as yours and Murphy’s. They all share the same furniture and simple decorations, though yours doesn’t have quite the number of liquor bottles perched on various surfaces and vaguely remember what he’d mentioned about vices at the bar. The smells strongly of him, of his earthy cologne and cigarette smoke. You’ve grown used to it from sitting across from him at work for the last six months. There’s something oddly comforting about it even though the amount he and everyone else smokes bothers you to no end.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He says, gesturing toward the couch.

You do as he suggests and sit on the couch, only on the edge though. You don’t want to ruin the upholstery like you’d done with his car. Plus, you’re fairly certain there’s still small shards of glass embedded in the skin of your back and the idea of pressing those in any further makes you queasy.

Javi disappears into the bathroom, muttering expletives under his breath in English and in Spanish. He returns with a small red first aid kit, a couple of wash clothes, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He climbs onto the couch and perches on the back of the sofa, his legs spread on either side of your body. “Hold these,” he says, and doesn’t wait to dump the items into your lap.

With gentle hands, he peels the bar rag up and off your shoulder. “Good,” he sighs. “Bleeding’s stopped. Let’s get you out of this shirt.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to look at him from beneath an arched brow and he immediately doubles back. “So we can clean this properly and make sure there isn’t any more glass. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Funny, I thought you liked it there.” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “I know what you meant, but it is fun to watch you squirm.”

Javier shakes his head and you turn back around to pull your tank top up and over your head. You try to do it with one arm to avoid aggravating your shoulder, but the movement jostles the joint and you hiss between your teeth. Javi catches your hand as you try to pull it over the injury and takes over guiding it up and over the wound. He discards your tank top on the ground and sucks in a breath.

“What, Jav? You see women in their bras, or without them, all the time. Relax.”

“No, it’s not that. Wait, what—”

You smirk to yourself. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s just on second thought, I think we ought to move to the kitchen. There’s more light there and there’s still some glass stuck in and around where the bullet clipped you.”

He gently lays the towel back down over the open wound on your shoulder and you follow him to the kitchen and drop your keys and gun onto the counter before perching on one of the bar stools. He kicks the nearby waste paper basket next to the empty stool beside you and arranges the first aid items onto the counter, opening the kit and withdrawing gloves, tweezers, gauze pads, and roller bandages. He zips the kit shut, determining he has everything that he needs and places it in his lap as he sits down.

A strange silence settles over the two of you as he snaps on the pair of latex gloves and sets to work. He removes the soiled rag from your shoulder and drops it into the trash. The pinch and sting of him pulling glass from within and around your injuries dulls over time and you watch as the tiny pile of red stained shards grows on the counter next to you.

“You know there wouldn’t be so much of this if you hadn’t fallen directly on top of me.”

Javier scoffs. “You’re right. Next time we’re in a firefight, I’ll let you fall on me.” The tweezers lock on to another small shard and you grimace as he pulls it free. “I think that was the last one.”

He unscrews the plastic cap from the bottle of rubbing alcohol and soaks a washcloth with it. “This is probably going to hurt worse, but we gotta get this cleaned up.”

You nod. “I know, go ahead.”

When he’s cleaning the dried blood from off and around the skin, it just grazes over small cuts and scrapes that feels more annoying than anything else. It’s when he passes over the open wound in your shoulder that a curse slips past your lips and tears well in your eyes.

“Fucking shit, that hurts.”

“I know,” Javi says apologetically. “We definitely don’t want you to get any infection though.” He swipes the cloth over the injury three more times and just when you start to wonder if he’s a sadist, he finally declares he’s finished and drops the washcloth into the trash. The cool air blowing from the nearby AC unit dries the alcohol and relieves the burning sting. He replaces it with a fresh gauze pad and holds it in place with his left hand while his right works the roller bandage into position. He works quickly and quietly as he winds it around your shoulder and bicep. After securing a knot in the bandage, he sits back and nods affirmatively, content with the job he’s done.

“Now let me see your forehead. We oughta get that cleaned up as well while I’ve got you here.”

You’d almost forgotten about the cut above your eye with the adrenaline wearing off and the pain in your shoulder growing more severe. You reach up absentmindedly and brush your fingers against the now dried and flaking blood stuck in your eyebrow. Javi spills some alcohol onto a gauze pad and your breath catches when he touches the tips of his opposite hand beneath your chin to tilt it towards the overhead light.

He swipes at the dried blood and scrubs it free from your eyebrow. When he passes over the shallow cut, you wince and he apologizes. When it’s clean, he peels open the wrapper on a butterfly bandage and uses the tips of his fingers to try to place it so it’ll pull the cut closed. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him press his tongue to his bottom lip as his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he makes sure the small ends of the bandage don’t tear.

“There,” he whispers when he’s sure it’ll stay put. His face is so close to yours and the breath catches in your throat when his eyes drop to yours. “Just like new.”

Time slows to an absolute standstill and you feel yourself inextricably drawn to him, as if there’s some tether pulling you towards him and you really start to wonder if you did hit your head harder than you thought in the chaos because you’re pretty sure he’s also leaning in towards you, which would be crazy because he’s your coworker, but he’s also tilting his head and his face is incredibly close to yours…

Reality snaps back into place like a rubber band against skin when the first aid kit resting on his thighs clatters to the ground. You immediately pull away and drop down off of the stool to pick it up and Javier immediately chastises you doing so.

“Dammit!” He curses and your name sounds sharp on his tongue. “You’ve barely stopped bleeding, don’t jerk yourself around like that.” He snatches the first aid kit from you and splays a hand under your elbow to pull you back up to a standing position. He tosses the kit onto the counter and stalks off into the living room leaving you at the bar wondering what the hell is driving this one-eighty in behavior as he paces back and forth across the carpet.

“Damn, Peña. I’m not going to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” You smirk. “Your jeep, maybe,” you suggest, trying to make light of the sudden tension in the room.

Javier either doesn’t or chooses not to hear you. He loops his thumb through one of his belt loops as he shakes his head and mutters under his breath. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brow pinches and you hate the heat that rushes to your cheeks. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot and suddenly feel like you’re taking up too much space in the small apartment as he increases the space between you and him. This errant behavior is giving you more whiplash than when you’d taken him to the ground and you’re about to call him out on it, when, without another word, he turns and ducks into his room.

Irritation quickly replaces whatever vulnerability you’d just been feeling. “What the hell does that mean?” You ask, your words clipped and demanding. You walk towards the sounds of him rummaging around inside drawers and come to an abrupt halt as he strides out of his bedroom and presses a ball of fabric into your chest. “This,” he says by way of explanation and takes a dramatic step away from you.

“And by this you mean what exactly?” You know exactly what the this in question is, but you want to hear him say it. Frankly, you’re just as surprised by whatever just happened between you and him, but you’ve worked with each other long enough now to know when the other is severely bullshitting their way through a situation and you have no intention of letting him get away with it.

The smell of his detergent wafts up around you from the shirt in your hands and you take the opportunity to try to awkwardly shrug into it without aggravating the freshly dressed wound. It’s hard to start an argument and be taken seriously when you’re standing toe to toe with someone and you’ve only got on jeans and a black lace bra after all.

As you fumble with the buttons on his shirt, he takes a resigned step backwards and collapses onto the couch. He gestures vaguely at the space between the two of you. His voice is softer when he speaks, tired. “All of this. God.” He runs a hand through his hair and falls back into the cushions. “You,” he says, eyes briefly meeting yours and then at the ceiling.

Your fingers pause mid-fastening. “What about me?”

Javier shakes his head. A wry smile pulls at his lips, rife with disbelief, and it fades as quickly as it comes. “You nearly died tonight.”

You arch a brow and direct a knowing look at him. “Javi, not sure if you were paying attention but we both nearly died tonight. I mean, things moved a little quickly for me to break out my calculator and add shit up, but I don’t think all 30 or 40 of those rounds were meant just for me. I think they were aimed at both DEA agents and they didn’t give a fuck who else got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s not the point,” he responds resolutely.

“Then tell me what is.”

He doesn’t answer, but sits up and pulls the half crushed pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slips one between his teeth. As he rolls his thumb over his lighter, you feel your already short fuse ignite. Without giving it a second thought you step forward and snatch the cigarette from between his lips.

“Hey!” He protests, nostrils flaring.

You snap the stick of tobacco in front of him and toss it to the floor. “Enough of the theaterics, Peña.” You stare directly into his eyes, refusing to let him get away with ignoring you. “Quit bullshitting me and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

The sound of the wall clock ticking fills the space and the silence is unbearable, but you refuse to be the first to break. Fifteen more uncomfortably strained seconds tick by before he drops his gaze to the floor and scrubs a hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

He slides over on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Sit down, will you?”

You do as he asks and situate yourself at an angle towards him with one leg pulled up across your lap.

“Here,” Javi says as he pulls a throw pillow out from behind him and wedges it gently between you and the couch. “I don’t want you to go and tear open anything I got closed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh and thank him, glancing down at his haphazardly buttoned shirt you’ve got on. You notice you’ve completely misaligned what you’d managed to fasten. Ignoring that for now, you kick at his shin and incline your head towards him. “You done with all the tough guy shit?”

Javier presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. I just—”

“Just what?”

He lifts his eyes to yours and you watch the way his coffee colored irises flicker in the lamplight. “There's just some lines you shouldn’t cross.”

“This is Bogotá,” you say, mirroring his words from earlier. “There’s a lot of lines we shouldn’t cross.”

“I’m serious,” he responds brusquely, eyes darkening as he shuts you out once more.

You sit up straighter, undeterred by his obvious attempts to push you away. “Yeah, well tough shit, so am I.”

The way he speaks your name is laced with frustration and uncertainty. He’s holding back and your own frustration mounts. You’re tired, you’re in pain, and frankly, now you’re just feeling plain stupid. You’d heard rumors of Javier’s extracurricular activities with women. Did you really want to be another notch in his bedpost?

You let out a low, wry chuckle and shake your head. “You know what, Javier?” You push yourself up and off the couch, wincing as you do so, and look down at him. “Give me a call if you figure out what side of the line you stand on.”

You turn and swiftly move towards the door, swiping your keys and gun off of the counter as you do so. You use your good arm to shove your sidearm into the back of your jeans and unlock the deadbolt on Javier’s front door.

You’ve barely pushed the door open when Javier appears at your side and yanks it closed. Before you can protest, he pushes you up against the door and presses his lips to yours in a devastatingly desperate kiss.

You can’t control the moan that rushes from your mouth into his as you kiss him back. He tastes like mint and menthols and you suddenly can’t remember why you hate the smell of cigarettes so much. The cuts along your back and shoulder blades sting as the wood rubs up against the shirt Javier gave you, but with his hands pressed against the expanse of wall on either side of your face, you decide it’s bearable.

That is until you reach up unthinkingly to tangle your hand into his hair and a sharp sting of pain reverberates from your shoulder all the way down to your fingertips.

Javi abruptly breaks off the kiss and his eyes flicker across your face, shining with concern. “Fuck, I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment. Did I hurt you?”

You place a placating hand against his chest and feel the erratic beating under your palm. “I’m fine, Jav. Really.”

He licks his lips and you already miss the way they felt against yours. He presses them together and nods. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo. “I guess I should head home though, get some rest. God knows the ambassador is going to want a report on all of this.”

“You got shot, the ambassador can get fucked.”

“Fucked, is what we’re both going to be if we can’t figure out who targeted us.” You sigh and shake off the thought. “I better get going. It’s late.”

Javier stops you from turning to leave. “You’re not walking home alone this late at night.”

“It’s down the street, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not walking alone.”

“Then walk me home. Your strong male aura will keep danger at a bay,” you add sarcastically.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what do you suppose I do?”

“Simple, stay here. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

“And sit on all that blood? No thanks.”

“Okay fine, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

You consider the implications of that and choose the safest route. “S’pose I could sleep on the couch.”

Javier shakes his head. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the fucking couch. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

“And you’ll sleep where?”

“Next to you,” he says smoothly. “If you’ll let me.”

You arch a brow. “And we’ll just…sleep?”

Javi shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs his shoulders, his smile smug. “Tonight, yes.” He steps forward and takes a hand from his pocket to cup your face gently in his wide palm. He places a tender kiss upon your lips. “Tomorrow night might be a different story.”

“I think I’d be quite interested in reading that,” you respond playfully.

“It’s different than what I’m used to,” Javier says and then adds, “but I think change might not be a bad thing.”

You give him a once over and nod. “I think you’re right about that.”

He smiles, somewhat sheepishly, as he says, “I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

The corner of your mouth quirks as you shrug your good shoulder. “I’m not sorry I pushed your buttons like that. It’s about time you open up and actually let yourself feel your feelings.”

He rubs his thumb across your bottom lip and then drops his hand to curve around your hip and rest on the small of your back. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

And that’s how you find yourself lying in bed next to Javier Peña of all people, wearing his shirt to sleep while he snores softly beside you; and you can’t help but wonder how many things had to happen for you to end up here at this moment. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you in against the steady warmth of his skin and you find that you quite like the way you fit so perfectly against the crook of his body.

In the comfort of his arms, you drift off into an uninterrupted sleep and for the first time since you can’t remember when you don’t dream of Pablo Escobar.

#narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier pena fic #javier pena imagine #javier pena x y/n #javier pena x dea!reader #dea!reader #pedro pascal

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riya101 · 15 days ago

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How a Tongue Tie Operation Can Improve Speech and Feeding Issues?

Have you ever heard of a baby struggling to breastfeed or a child having difficulty pronouncing certain words? One possible reason could be tongue tie—a condition that restricts tongue movement. This issue can impact both speech and feeding, making daily activities challenging.

Luckily, a tongue tie operation can help resolve these problems, improving a person’s ability to eat, speak, and even breathe better. In this blog, we’ll explore how this simple procedure can bring lasting benefits.

What is Tongue Tie?

A tongue tie (ankyloglossia) is a condition present from birth where the tissue under the tongue (lingual frenulum) is too tight or short. This restricts tongue movement, affecting speech clarity and feeding ability.

Signs of Tongue Tie in Babies and Children:

✅ Difficulty latching during breastfeeding ✅ Poor weight gain in infants ✅ Trouble moving the tongue freely ✅ Delayed speech development ✅ Difficulty pronouncing certain sounds like "L," "R," or "T" ✅ Problems eating solid foods

If left untreated, tongue tie can lead to long-term speech difficulties, feeding issues, and even dental problems. That’s why many parents choose tongue tie surgery to help their child overcome these challenges.

How Tongue Tie Affects Speech Development?

The tongue plays a vital role in forming sounds and words. When it’s restricted, children may struggle with:

🔹 Pronouncing words correctly 🔹 Speaking clearly and fluently 🔹 Communicating confidently

A tongue tie operation helps free up the tongue, allowing better movement and improving speech clarity. Some children may also need speech therapy after surgery to enhance pronunciation and fluency.

How Tongue Tie Impacts Feeding and Swallowing?

A baby with tongue tie may have trouble breastfeeding, leading to:

Poor milk intake and slow weight gain Prolonged feeding sessions Irritability due to hunger

As the child grows, tongue tie can also cause problems with chewing and swallowing solid foods. Many parents notice their child struggles with certain textures or prefers soft foods.

After tongue tie surgery, babies can latch better, and older children can eat comfortably, leading to better nutrition and overall well-being.

How a Tongue Tie Operation Can Improve Speech and Feeding?

A tongue tie operation (also called a frenectomy or frenotomy) involves cutting or releasing the tight tissue under the tongue. It’s a quick and safe procedure with minimal discomfort.

For Speech: Helps with better articulation and pronunciation.

For Feeding: Improves latching, swallowing, and chewing ability.

For Breathing: Enhances airflow and oral posture.

The benefits of the procedure are often noticeable within days or weeks!

Types of Tongue Tie Surgery

Scissors Method: A simple snip using sterile scissors (quick and effective). Laser Frenectomy: A modern, painless method with minimal bleeding and faster healing.

Your doctor will recommend the best option based on the severity of the tongue tie.

Post-Surgery Care and Recovery

After tongue tie surgery, proper care is essential for healing and ensuring the best results.

Tips for Recovery:

Perform tongue exercises to improve mobility.

Encourage chewing and swallowing practice with soft foods.

If needed, consult a speech therapist for additional support.

Many parents report significant improvement in their child’s speech and feeding within a few weeks after the procedure.

A tongue tie operation is a simple yet effective solution for speech and feeding issues. Whether it's helping a newborn latch better or improving a child’s speech clarity, the procedure can have lifelong benefits.

If you suspect your child has tongue tie, consult a specialist to determine the best treatment. Early intervention can make a world of difference in their development!

Would you like to learn more about tongue tie surgery? Visit TongueTieIndia.com for expert advice and treatment options.

#tongue tie surgery #tongue tie operation

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mysmiledoctors · 4 months ago

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Are there things to watch out for after a tongue-tie operation?

After tongue tie operation, inspect the surgical site for swelling, bleeding, or infection. Mild discomfort is normal, but persistent pain or unusual symptoms should be reported to a health care provider. Follow the instructions for washing or drying the area to ensure proper wound care. Initially, tongue changes may make it difficult for breastfeeding, eating, or talking, but these can improve over time. Doing the recommended tongue exercises can help with healing and mobility. Be alert for signs of reattachment, such as tongue restrictions, that require immediate medical attention.

#tongue tie operation #dentistparramatta #dentalcare #dentalclinic #dentist #parramatta

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mysmiledoctors987 · 7 months ago

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Understanding Tongue Tie Operation

A tongue tie operation, also known as frenotomy or frenuloplasty, is a procedure to treat ankyloglossia—where the frenulum, the tissue connecting the tongue to the mouth floor, is too tight. This condition can restrict tongue movement, leading to difficulties with feeding, speech, and oral hygiene.

What is a Tongue Tie Operation ?

Frenotomy: A quick procedure making a small incision in the frenulum to release the tongue. Often done on infants with minimal recovery time. Frenuloplasty: A more detailed procedure involving sutures and reshaping of the frenulum, typically used for older children and adults.

When is it Needed?

A tongue tie operation may be necessary if the condition causes significant problems like:

Feeding Issues: Difficulty breastfeeding or bottle-feeding in infants. Speech Problems: Challenges with pronunciation and articulation in older children and adults. Oral Hygiene Issues: Difficulty cleaning the mouth, leading to dental problems. Eating Difficulties:Problems with chewing and swallowing food.

Procedure and Recovery

The operation is usually performed in an outpatient setting. Recovery is generally quick, with infants often resuming normal feeding soon after. Older individuals might experience some soreness but can manage it with pain relief and follow-up care.

Risks

While rare, risks include infection, bleeding, and scarring. However, the benefits of improved tongue movement typically outweigh these risks.

Conclusion

A tongue tie operation can significantly improve quality of life by resolving feeding, speech, and oral health issues. Consulting with a healthcare provider will help determine if this procedure is suitable for you or your child.

#dentist parramatta #dentists in parramatta nsw #most affordable dentist near me #pain free dentistry #parramatta dental clinic #snap on smile #snoring mouth guard #tongue tie operation #wisdom teeth removal cost #wisdom tooth removal cost

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starzoutlet · 3 months ago

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Beyond the Game

2. Clashing Egos and Unlikely Alliances

series masterlist

Scaramouche’s POV

“I can’t believe this bullshit! I’ve worked my ass off for years, and she comes in and pretends to be better than me?!” Scaramouche paced back and forth in the common room of the shared house, his steps quick and agitated.

Childe, lounging lazily on the couch, let out a laugh as Kazuha passed him the blunt. “I think you like her,” Childe said, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a teasing grin.

“Hell no,” Scaramouche snapped, glaring at him. “She’s just trying to compete with me, and I hate it.”

Childe shook his head, grinning wider. “Sure, Scara. That’s exactly why you can’t stop talking about her.”

Kazuha chuckled from his spot, leaning casually against the arm of the couch. “You know what they say—opposites attract.”

Scaramouche froze mid-pace, whipping his head toward them. His tone turned sharp, defensive. “Opposites? Good. It’s a relief that we’re nothing alike.”

Childe smirked, tilting his head as if he’d been waiting for that response. “You’re right. She’s actually nice.”

Scaramouche glared, grabbing a throw pillow from the nearby chair and chucking it at Childe’s head. “Shut up.”

Childe dodged effortlessly, laughing as he reached for the blunt again. “You’re so defensive, man. If she didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t be this worked up. Admit it—you’re obsessed.”

Scaramouche clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Obsessed? Hardly. She’s just annoying.” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “And if I hear one more word about this, I’m leaving.”

Before anyone could respond, the shrill ring of the phone interrupted them. The sound startled everyone, cutting through the smoky haze of the room.

Meanwhile

You lay sprawled on the couch, your cat Velvet purring softly in your lap as your teammates chatted among themselves.

“I mean, it sucks that we worked so hard only for it to end in a tie,” Lumine sighed, flopping onto the bean bag nearby.

Venti, seated cross-legged on the floor, gave her an easygoing smile. “Come on, Lumine. Look at it this way—Scaramouche’s team has been playing for years. We’re practically newcomers, and we still made it to the finals. That’s something to celebrate!”

Lumine rolled her eyes. “Oh no, Venti, your idea of celebrating probably involves dragging us out for drinks. We don’t have time for that—we still have to meet with Ei about the...announcement.”

Before anyone could respond, the phone began ringing.

“I’ll get it,” you said, slipping Velvet onto the couch as you got up. Picking up the receiver, you listened carefully.

“Mm-hmm... Okay, thanks... Alright, we’ll be there soon.” You hung up, turning to face the others. “That was Ei. She wants to meet us as soon as possible.”

Time Skip

The familiar hum of the building filled your ears as you walked through its halls. The quiet murmur of voices and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards blended together, a constant backdrop of activity.

Lumine reached for the meeting room door and opened it, stepping inside. You followed her, your heart quickening when your eyes landed on Scaramouche. He was already seated with his team, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on you as you walked to stand nearby. You grimaced but said nothing, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened under his scrutiny.

At the head of the table stood Ei, her expression calm yet serious. Yae Miko stood beside her, flipping through a folder without saying a word.

“You’re all aware of the current situation,” Ei began, her voice steady and authoritative. “Due to recent developments, I’ve decided to merge your companies into one. Moving forward, you’ll operate as a single team.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the room, but Ei raised her hand, silencing everyone before any questions could be asked.

“Another company has been rising in prominence, becoming a direct competitor. Unfortunately, none of the other teams under our company have been competent enough to handle the challenge. That leaves it to you.” Her sharp gaze swept over the room.

You exchanged a glance with Lumine, your chest tightening at the weight of her words.

“The tournament will not take place immediately,” Ei continued, “which will give you time to prepare. However, understand this: the stakes are higher now. You must prove that you’re capable of handling this merger and defeating the competition.”

The room fell silent as her words settled over everyone.

Scaramouche leaned forward slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but Ei’s hand shot up again.

“If you have a comment, Kunikuzushi, I suggest keeping it to yourself,” she said sharply.

Scaramouche clenched his jaw, sitting back in his chair with a huff.

“Good. You’re dismissed,” Ei concluded. “Prepare yourselves, and don’t waste this opportunity. Goodbye.”

Everyone stood silently before filing out of the room. As you walked past Scaramouche, you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back. The tension between you both was almost palpable, but you refused to look back.

You couldn’t. Not when the weight of what Ei had said was already pressing heavily on your shoulders. You sighed as you walked out of the building. Childe proceeds to walk over to you, Kazuha and Heizou following behind, dragging Scaramouche along.

Childe smiles brightly giving a small wave “Heyoo, we thought it was a good idea to invite you guys to our place, to get know each other better that is !”. You look up at him at a loss for words, A chance to be in your biggest idol’s house. Fischl steps in throwing her arm around your shoulders “What yn means here that we would love to come over, right yn ??” Fischl turns her head to face you. “Oh of course we would love to be your guest!” “wait crap i can’t look desperate” you think to yourself. “Well besides that budget Diva over there” pointing at Scaramouche. He sticks his middle finger up at you and walks towards his car. Childe sighs “Don’t worry about him he’s just grumpy, be at are place at 6! I’ll send you the address on instagram!” He says while walking away. Kazuha and Heizou waving a goodbye following Childe to the car.

Your eyes beam brightly as you turn to your friends. “A chance to hangout with Scara!” You squeal unable to hold back your joy. Your friends sigh as you all decide to go home.

Chapter twooo, don’t forget to follow me for updates. Feel free to send in asks, questions, head cannons, etc! WHAT DID YALL THINK LMK ??

Lumine and Venti are the only ones with liscences 😅

Yn’s friends are the “only” ones that know about her crush on scara.

In this Au scaramouche is nickname while Kunikuzushi is his REAL name (sorry for any confusion)

TAGLIST 📩

#BTG Stuff #genshin impact #scara smau #scaramouche smau #genshin scara #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x you

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heian-era-housewife · 7 months ago

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Synopsis | Tired of being overlooked by your handler (and longstanding crush) Shiu Kong, you decide it's time to show him what a knock out you really are. Will a trip to the aquarium finally help open his eyes?

Content | g/n assassin!reader x shiu kong, fluff, swearing, cigarettes/smoking

Word Count | ~3.5k

Prologue ○ The Date ○ The Photos

Most assassins start out the same. Down on their luck. Blessed, or cursed perhaps, with a particular set of skills. Nothing that could be considered useful in a typical workplace, of course. Lonely. Desperate, maybe. A bit apathetic.

Then, one way or another, the opportunity presents itself. An offer that comes to them in their most vulnerable hour. A chance to meet two needs at once:

The first is money. Afterall, murder for hire doesn't come cheap. For someone who's had so little for so long, that kind of payout is hard to ignore.

The next is acceptance. Let's face it. The would-be assassin is usually a bit odd. And that "particular set of skills" mentioned earlier? They tend to fall firmly in the "red flag" category. So when those skills are met with intrigue and your peculiarity is given worth, you suddenly find yourself being valued. And who doesn't want to feel needed?

Yes, most assasins start out the same and you were no exception. These, plus your friendship with one Toji Fushiguro, are what led to your humble beginnings as an operative for notorious handler Shiu Kong.

You always had a knack for stealth. Sneaking up on people, going unnoticed, it seemed to come naturally. Perhaps that's why you always felt a little invisible. While Toji was a master of speed and weaponry, you could melt from the shadows like darkness itself. So, when Toji brought you in on a high-stakes heist, and you more than proved yourself as a capable (not to mention frighteningly lethal) ally, Shiu held out his hand and gladly welcomed you aboard.

Shiu was, in many ways, your opposite. Classy and sophisticated. A smooth talker with a gift for persuasion. Bit of a politician, really. You, on the other hand, were a classic maverick. Loose cannon with a loose tongue. Slipshod and off-color. You were friends with Fushiguro, after all. But, if you and Shiu had anything in common it was your keen eye for detail. He- an ex-detective with the skills to match. A regular Sherlock Holmes. You- a master of stealth and duplicity. A proverbial "fly on the wall". It became somewhat of a game to sneak up on your handler. What a thrill it was when the man who noticed everything was rendered flustered and shaken by your unexpected presence. It was through these little games, and your rapt observations, that you began to fall for the man who liked cheese and tropical fish.

And it was these same circumstances that led to your current predicament. Heart racing. Stomach in knots. Hand in hand in front of the Okinawa Aquarium with the very man you just kidnapped aprehended.

But now wasn't the time for nerves.

Pulling him along, you dashed up the long stairs before you, laughing as you looked back over your shoulder to see the sophisticated man stumbling along behind. He joined you in laughter, free hand grabbing at his fly-away tie, struggling to keep up. He looked boyish. Full of life. Hardened features and tired eyes giving way to playful innocence. Gaining his stride, he played along, chasing you the rest of the way up the stairs garnering a squeal from you where the toes of his dress shoes nabbed at your heels.

"Two please!" You gasped, catching your breath as you reached the ticket counter first.

"Please, let me." Shiu offered, patting his pockets. "Just gotta find my-"

"Money?" You finished, waving his own leather-bound wallet as you pulled it from your pocket with a cheeky wink.

"You little-"

"Thanks, boss!" You said with a wry smile. "I'll get us next time." Behind his annoyance, he could hardly conceal his smile. This strange date had barely begun, and he already liked the sound of "next time".

You reached for the pocket of his suit jacket, replacing the stolen wallet and swapping it for his pack of cigarettes.

"You know you can't smoke in there, you gonna survive?"

"Thief." He accused, snatching back the little red and white box.

"Addict." You shot back.

"Narc." He glared. "I'll be fine."

"Whatever you say," you shrugged, reaching up to fix his tie. Then, with a wink, "just let me know if that mouth of yours needs a distraction..." Shiu blushed a deep red that spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "...'cuz I brought gum." You finished cheekily, unwrapping a stick and popping it into your mouth before snapping a small bubble between your teeth.

You really were dangerous, he thought to himself. Not just in the silent assassin sort of way, but in a way that could leave him more damaged than any weapon. You were a heartbreaker.

"What are those?" You asked, doing little to hide your disgust.

"I used to catch these. As a kid. Back in Korea." A distant look in his eyes reflected a memory you could not see. But that didn't stop you from imagining. You smiled thinking of the serious man as a young boy, exploring tidepools and combing the beach for shells. You wondered if his upbringing contributed to his interest in fish. You wondered what he was like as a child. If he grew up to be the man he wanted to be. You wondered-

"They're sea cucumbers, by the way." He said, pulling you from your daydream. "Crazy little things. No face, no limbs, just a digestive tract."

"Weird. So, what do they do?"

"Not much, really. Pretty much just eat, shit, and lay around."

"Oh, so just like Toji." You said with a grin.

That got him laughing. "You want to touch one?" He waved you closer. Truth be told, you'd been maintaining your distance for a reason. As an assassin, you had a high tolerance for the gross and grotesque, but something about the little turd-like creatures made you oddly squeamish. "C'mere." He said.

In an instant your hand was in his as he gently pulled it under the frigid water. Sliding his hand over the back of yours, he lifted two of your fingers and guided you down the length of the sea cucumber's back. It was soft and rubbery. Almost velvety in places, contracting like a muscle under your fingertips as you and Shiu drifted over.

Despite the unique sensation, you found it hard to focus on anything other than Shiu's touch. The warmth of his hand under the cool water. The confidence he'd gained just by entering the aquarium.

He was too rapt in the moment to realize he'd moved in closer. It was like a dream come true. Minus the slimy cucumber. But, you had to admit, even that was starting to grow on you.

The next hallway opened up to a kaleidoscope of bright colors and shimmering light. You had to shield your eyes a bit just to take it all in. Thousands of vibrant tropical fish swam in all directions, darting in and out of equally vibrant corals. A sign overhead read, "Sea of Tropical Fish". Your mind jumped to the image of Shiu's dating profile, "tropical fish" listed under his interests. His only interest.

Your chest swelled as you turned to look at him, hoping to glimpse the approval on his face. Instead, you found yourself standing alone, Shiu no longer behind you.

"Chromis viridis." You heard him mutter.

Where the hell was he?

"Chaetodon lunula."

Oh. How'd he get over there? The suited man was crouched, childlike, toward the floor of the exhibit. Entranced, it seemed, by what he saw.

"Zebrasoma veliferum!" He breathed in excitement.

"Boss...?" You approached slowly, not intending to startle him...this time. "Sh-Shiu?" You offered tentatively, never having used his given name before. It dripped from your lips like honey.

He spun around, eyes wide, a sharp frown hardening his handsome features. For a moment, you thought he might scold you for your breach of formality.

"Scarus spinus." He said jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the tropical display.

"Come again?" You asked, beyond confused.

"Scarus spinus. The Greensnouted Parrotfish." He said thoughtfully. "I don't have this one at home."

"Wait, wait, wait." Your eyes shot open, gleaming in the brilliant light. "You've been over here spouting off the Latin names of all these fish??"

He nodded. A sense of pride washed over him as he awaited your words of praise at his impressive display of knowledge.

"Oh my God!" You stared at him in disbelief. "Shiu Kong..." His smile broadened. "I can't believe it! You're a gigantic fucking nerd!"

His face fell flat as you burst into raucus laughter. He stood, brushing his tailored slacks and turned to walk away, cheeks once again taking on a rosey hue.

"No, no, no, come back here, you!" You said, grabbing his wrist and halting his hasty retreat. "You don't get to walk away that easy. I came here to learn about fish, and you're going to teach me!"

He cast you a cinical look as you wiped a tear of laughter from your cheek.

"I'm serious." You said, smiling up at him. "Show me what you got, "Jacques Cousteau".

Setting his bruised pride aside, he told you the names of the tropical fish. Which ones he had, which ones he didn’t, ones that he wanted, and ones that were highly endangered.

You learned about mouthbrooders who held their babies, sometimes hundreds of them, deep in their mouth- throats and gills expanding to accommodate their many offspring.

You learned about corallivores. Fish that eat coral through a variety of adaptations. Some, called "excavators", even had human-like teeth and molars.

You learned about parrotfish who make mucus coccoons before they sleep to protect themselves from parasites and predators.

Most importantly, you learned that Shiu was so much more than what meets the eye. Smart and patient, charming and quirky. His serious nature and mob boss persona all just a front for a man whose essence was smoother and softer than silk.

"So, do you name them?" You asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your fish! Do you name them?"

He laughed, waving off your question with a look that would fool no one. Certainly not you.

"You totally name them!" You jeered, nudging his ribs with a teasing elbow.

"One. One!" He caved, finally. "My first fish, 'Lucky Strike'."

"Like the cigarettes?" You said incredulously.

"Like the cigarettes." He agreed. "He's a silver arowana. Some people call them 'cigarette fish'. Maintaining their health is said to bring you luck."

"Hah!" You laughed. "How fitting. You said he was your first?"

"Mhmm. 15 years and still young. We've been through a lot together."

"That's...really sweet, actually."

Display after display led to more illuminating moments.

Your favorite areas were those that were dark and hushed. The dim light casting everything into monochrome, filtering through the water in soft lines like a film noir. Shiu's warm breath fanned your ear and neck as he spoke, low and quiet in these muted spaces. His face so close you could smell his aftershave. His hand now a constant presence in yours, as though he feared letting go might mean losing you to the shadows.

It was in one of these darkened hallways, bathed in dreamy blue light, that you caught your first glimpse of a massive spotted fin.

Gliding noiselessly by a large window, a tail, inky black and as tall as you, blocked the light momentarily as it drifted by. You tensed, startled by the unexpected sight, shrinking wordlessly into Shiu's arms, his chest shaking softly against your back with silent laughter at your trepidation. But as the hallway ended, the laughter stopped, both of you forced to hold your breath at the sight that followed.

From the second floor of a gigantic room, glass stretched wall to wall, floor to ceiling, you watched as two gargantuan whale sharks slid past each other in lazy circles. The creatures were stunning. Each the size of a city bus, they dwarfed the hundreds of fish that shared their tank and the dozens of people who had come to see them. Their beauty was unrivaled. Their magnitude, unbelievable. Every upturned face hung, slackjawed, in their shadow. Every awestruck eye was on them.

"Hey," Shiu hummed, lips intoxicatingly close to your ear. Goosebumps sending shivers in waves over your skin as he spoke. "Did you know there are over 80 species of coral in this tank?"

"Shiu Kong, you absolute nerd!" Your words came out as something of a choked whisper. "You're the only person here who cares about the damn coral!"

"You think?" He asked sincerely.

"I think you're missing the bigger picture." You laughed softly, gesturing to the giant fish before you.

"Or maybe," He said, bringing his cheek to rest against yours as he held a hand out indicating the tank's entirety, "you're only seeing part of it."

As you pulled your eyes away from the sharks, you began to see more of what he meant. An entire world of oceanic technicolor, rich in intricate detail, each as fascinating and beautiful as the next. Maybe you really did need to broaden your view.

Or maybe, you thought to yourself, settling further in Shiu's embrace, the best view was standing right behind you.

The tip of Shiu's nose was mere inches from yours. Steely eyes gazed warmly into your own as you stood, captivated by one another. Every feature, every crease, every striking detail as clear to you as ever. You felt like you could reach out and-

Bonk

"Crazy, right?" He said, stepping out from behind the 2-foot-thick acryllic.

"It's like it's not even there!" You shook the pain from your fingertips where your hand had jammed the crystal clear material.

The acryllic pillar was part of an educational area beyond the main ocean tank and served as an example of what the tank itself was made of. Despite its thickness, it appeared as thin as the average window and was so clean you could easily fool yourself into believing it wasn't there at all.

Beyond this lay a room of other hands-on displays and activities including-

"Origami!" You chirped, bouncing over to the station clearly intended for younger participants.

"Yeah...I don't think we need to-"

You shot Shiu the most soulful puppydog eyes you could muster, sidling up to the small table where a friendly attendent stood, teaching kids and parents how to fold tiny paper sting rays. He was utterly powerless.

20 minutes and several crumpled pieces of paper later, Shiu held in his hand a perfect paper sting ray and you- well... yours was... you tried.

"Stay close." Shiu said, not giving you much of a choice as he wrapped his arms around you. "Don't want you disappearing on me," he whispered into the shadows.

The final section of the aquarium, "Journey to the Deep Sea" was an immersive exhibit with almost no light, housing only those creatures who lived on the sea floor. Tank after tank featured deepwater sharks and wide-mouthed groupers, fish with no eyes and luminescent corals. Each creature more alien than the next, so bizarre they seemed like the work of fiction.

You were about halfway through this final floor when you noticed a shift in Shiu's behavior.

At first you chalked it up to nerves. Perhaps the real reason he held you so tight was not for concern of you slipping away, but for fear of the dark that he dared not mention, or an uneasiness brought about by its grotesque inhabitants.

In time, shaky hands became shaky arms. Squinted eyes against the darkness took on a pained expression, and his speech changed from informative quips to downright nervous rambling. "Mr. Composed and Sophisticated" appeared to be slowly falling apart, and it wasn't until his jittery hands left yours in order to take up desperate search of his pockets that you understood the reason.

The poor man was in dire need of a smoke.

“Shiu.” You said gently, working his hands in your own. “We're almost done, okay?” He looked confused. Hurt, even.

“I…don't want to be.” He admitted, an unsteady hand grazing the back of his neck.

“Me neither.” You smiled.

It wasn't the whale sharks or the giant manta ray that got his attention. Not the dolphins and their tricks, nor the many types of exotic sharks. It was the tiny spotted garden eels emerging from their sandy burrows. The glass shrimp that were nearly invisible with their transparent carapace. He liked the small and nameless fish you could find at any pet store. Even the sea grass, which you doubted anyone had ever cared about, earned a look of admiration from the modern-day mobster. He had an eye for the unseen and a heart for the unfavored. It was no wonder he had been such a skilled detective.

As you watched him take it all in with wide-eyed wonder, you realized too late you'd been tossed overboard- swept out to sea. Caught up in the tides of affection and left drowning in the deep. Without even trying, he had you- hook, line, and sinker.

It was both to your horror and your unwavering joy that you found yourself desperately, hopelessly, shamelessly, and inescapably in love with Shiu Kong.

Choosing his words next words carefully, he mused, "So…remember that gum you mentioned earlier-"

His eyes went wide as your lips interlocked, your palms on his cheeks, fingers framing his ears. Then, closing his eyes, he pulled you in hungrily, passionately. One hand on your back, the other on your hip. Drinking you in with an unquenching thirst. You wondered if others might condemn your indecency, then realized you didn't care. This is why you brought him here. This is what you wanted. All these years of playing "gun-for-hire" it was all for him. The man who was tired of drinking alone. Who smelled of fine whiskey and cheap cigarettes. Who was so full of contrast and contradiction. The one who found beauty in the the places no one thought to look.

The man who liked cheese and tropical fish.

Shiu stirred, throat dry and eyes bleary.

What time is it?

Twilight shone through his parted curtains, bathing him in deep blue. For a moment, he felt like he was back in the dewey atmosphere of the Okinawa Aquarium.

The Aquarium.

Shiu scrambled out from under the covers, looking for his phone. 5 am. No messages. He looked down to see his usual sleepwear- a white t-shirt and pair of boxers.

Was he losing his mind? Had he dreamt the whole thing?

In the bathroom, no amount of face-splashing nor mirror-staring could help him recall how he'd gotten home, what happened after the date, what happened after the kiss...

His entire ride to work was a dreary blur. Memories of stingrays and jellyfish swam through his mind's hazy periphery, but sitting at the forefront was you. You with his wallet and that cheeky smile. You with your hand held warmly in his. You with your eyes so full of the ocean's depths. Surely it wasn't all just in his head.

Right?

At work, Fushiguro made no mention of his absence. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Staring blankly at his computer, worthless dating profile still up on the screen, he stiffened as you melted from the shadows behind.

"Still on that old thing?" You gestured to the screen.

Shiu stared, lips parted, scanning your features.

"Speechless, huh? I get that a lot." You winked. "Did'ya do anything fun this weekend?"

He gulped. Mouth dry. He thought he had. Now he was forced to admit it had all been some maladaptive daydream. A desperate wish conjured up by his own drunken loneliness.

"I...I don't know..." He said with a faraway look.

"Ah well," you said with a wave as you bounced toward the door in a cheerful saunter. "They can't all be memorable."

Casting his gaze downward, a small black and white something caught Shiu's eye.

A bit of paper sat upon his desk. In the low light of the office it looked like trash at first, something he had crumpled up in frustration. But as his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the vague features of a small, poorly folded bit of origami in the shape of a-

"Sting ray..." Shiu whispered to himself, thoughts firing fast.

"Pardon?" You paused in the doorway.

Confidence returning, a growing smile flickering across his face, he asked, "Do you want to grab a drink with me later?"

A bashful hand flew to your mouth as you feigned your reserve. "Mr. Kong, are you asking me out on a date?"

"You can save the theatrics." He said with a sly grin. "This one's on you, remember?" He said, searching his pockets.

"Looking for this?" You held up the leather-bound wallet with a teasing wink.

"You little-"

Darting from the room in a fit of laughter, Shiu went to give chase before pausing and returning quickly to his computer. He hovered for a moment over the still-open dating profile, considering, before making up his mind.

As he ran from the room, long legs quickly catching up to your stride, leather dress shoes nabbing at your heels, two words remained on the illuminated screen:

Account deleted.

Special shout out to @heian-era-househusband who not only came up with the idea for the ending of this story, but listened to me gripe, moan, and reread this horrendous tale for WEEKS until we were both blue in the gills.

Fun fact (if you're still here): Mr. Househusband proposed to me at an aquarium, in an underwater tunnel, surrounded by sea lions. He is now and forever more my one and only aquarium date. And I have been known to steal his wallet on occasion.

Fin.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk fluff #shiu kong #kong shiu #jjk shiu #shiu kong x reader #shiu kong x you #shiu kong x y/n #shiu x you #shiu x reader #shiu x y/n #shiu #jjk x reader

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denkidere · 8 months ago

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unwind

nanami x reader

1.3k words

drunk sex, submissive nanami, oral (reader receiving), overstimulation (if you squint)

nanami comes home from a work dinner (really, a work drinking event) with you on his mind.

nanami coming home late was nothing out of the ordinary. it wasn't strange, either, for him to stumble in, drunk out of his mind, bruised or bloodied from falling down on his way home. you always wished he would at least call and ask you to walk back with him, but on the worst nights it seemed like he was hardly able to operate his phone. getting onto him about it was useless; he always insisted that you just didn't get it, and you supposed that much was true. if you weren't already awake, his fumbling with keys or ramming into furniture usually woke you, drawing you out of bed to help him half undress and ice his bumps and bruises, feeding him aspirin and sips of water in a weak attempt to stave off an inevitable hangover. the times that you didn't wake, you would find him in the morning slumped awkwardly in the chair or draped across the couch like a tarp, half-scuffed dress shoes still on his feet. the apparent encouragement from his superiors and colleagues to drink himself into a stupor always slightly disturbed you, but you were both helpless to change it.

that night, you had been on the verge of sleep, pulled out of it by the helpless scrape of nanami's keys against all the wrong parts of the door. the curses under his breath came to an abrupt stop as you unlocked and opened the door for him, blinking in your pajamas (or, rather, underwear and one of his retired work shirts). his expression turned from frustration to admiration as he processed what he was looking at, stepping into the apartment haphazardly. "babe," he breathed, smelling of sake and cigar smoke, "you have no idea.. no idea how good it is you're awake." he planted his hands on your shoulders, wobbling slightly.

"you need to sit, nanami. i'll get you a drink," you said softly, trying to herd him towards the recliner. he shook his head slowly as you helped him sit, grasping at your forearms desperately.

"no, i'm okay, i'm okay, i don't need that yet," he insisted, grip tightening a bit. "need something else, babe." his eyes were tired but pleading.

"what do you mean, something else? it's late, nanami," you mumbled, freeing yourself to go hunt down the aspirin. he whined, the chair squeaking as he leaned back in defeat. you made quick work of filling his glass, afraid as usual of him passing out in the living room before you could get him to drink anything. that time, though, you didn't hear the telltale slowing of his breath over the running tap. aspirin and water in hand, you sped back to the living room, hardly noticing the noises coming from nanami's mouth. you paused at the edge of the carpet, eyes finally falling on him. his pants had been unzipped and pushed down, sure to wrinkle and crease, tie loose around his neck, eyes half-lidded as he palmed himself through his underwear. his sleepy smile returned when he noticed you, not pausing his movements for even a second.

"need you," he mumbled, free hand struggling with the buttons of his shirt halfheartedly. "please, sweetheart, i can't think." you moved towards him slowly, heartbeat quickening. nanami, always in starched whites and polished cuff links, always rational and put-together, was disheveled, drunk, and begging for you. standing above him, you sat the water on an end table, taking his face in one hand.

"aspirin first, okay?" you cooed, easing his mouth open with your thumb, pressing the small pill onto his tongue. he reached blindly beside him for the water, eager to swallow if it meant you would oblige. "good," you said softly, releasing him. "now, what do you need from me, nanami?" his eyes widened, mouth still slightly open.

"ah, anything, just please," he whimpered, eyes pleading. you considered asking teasingly for specifics, but he seemed to already be at his wit's end. dutifully, you sank to your knees before him, hands resting on his thighs lightly. without a trace of hesitation, he spread his legs enough to let you in closer, pulling himself out for you. he was panting before you had even touched him, twitching as soon as you had him in your mouth. his hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white. he groaned, looking down at you with needy eyes. he freed one hand, placing it on your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. you traced a long vein with your tongue. suddenly he gave your face a gentle shove, pulling his dick out of your mouth with a small pop. "babe, s-stop, no more," nanami panted.

"not enough?" you teased, pumping him slowly with a hand instead. he gave his head another slow shake, drawing in a shaky breath.

"i need more," he managed to say, placing a hand on your head as he rose to his feet. "so good, but i need to fuck you." he helped you up, nearly falling over himself, and spun you around, bending you gently into the chair. "you look so nice," he mumbled, admiring how his shirt draped over your frame. hastily, he shoved your underwear down, jutting against you eagerly. "so sweet to me. did you want me, sweetheart?" he asked, continuing to tease you. "already so wet, hm?" you could only respond with a small moan.

you gasped as he bucked into you, his hands gripping your hips. his breath was hot on your neck, muttering about how tight you were around him, how badly he needed you, how he couldn't stop thinking about fucking you at his dreadful work dinner. you grasped at the fabric of the chair, unable to speak. one of nanami's hands found itself at your chest, squeezing roughly. you had been so eager to please him that you had both failed to worry about protection. unlike most times, you could feel the vein your tongue had traced. you felt him twitch inside you, his thrusts getting erratic.

"baby," he breathed, "i'm so close, i'm gonna cum in you, okay?" he kept up his pace, but his voice remained steady. "i'll clean you up, okay, don't worry. so close," he murmured again. you felt him release, his groan delivered into your back. as he pulled gently out of you, you turned around again, curling up in the chair. he settled onto the floor to catch his breath, reaching for the water again.

"what were you saying about cleaning me up, nanami?" you purred, looking down at him. he had made quite a mess; you were afraid the chair might stain. the drunken smile made its way back to his face. he discarded the water again, crawling over to you. he placed a large hand on one thigh, pushing it to the side. nanami leaned in, placing a sloppy kiss at the innermost part of your thigh.

"you know how i am, darling. i don't like to make messes, and i have to finish what i start." his breath tickled you, making you squirm. your hand flew to his hair impatiently, which was already falling out of its style, burying his face in the wet mess. he wasted no time, lapping at it hungrily, drawing squeaks and moans out of you as he licked higher and higher. you grasped harder, tugging his his hair gently.

"nanami," you gasped, eyes screwed shut as he sucked and nipped at you, pressing hot kisses into your clit. his hands squeezed at your legs. already, you felt close, but he was unrelenting.

"not done yet," he whispered into you. your legs squeezed around him as you came roughly, fingers knotting into his hair. he drew a whine out of you with his refusal to stop, his chiseled face already doused.

"please, nanamin, no more," you managed to squeak, finally pulling his head out from between your legs. he looked up at you with sleepy eyes, dazed. "you did so good, handsome," you praised, but he had already slumped into the carpet, dozing off.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami ✭

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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Operation Apollo | 2.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, guns, serious injury, mentions of potential character death

…

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice is dry, hoarse. Worn out from crying and screaming, breaking your hurt and cursing his name. Jake presses his tongue softly to the inside of his cheek, setting his hands in his lap, staring at a cigarette burn on the window ledge.

You’re sitting in the bay window of Allen’s youngest daughter’s room, head leaned back against the wall behind you, your heart aching. It’s raining tonight, which seems fitting. A peaceful and sunny afternoon, washed away by the events of this evening. Allen had mown the lawn earlier. It still smells of wet grass and fresh air.

Jake cracked the window a while ago to see if it would get your breathing back in check. He glances towards it now, and back at you, wondering if he should shut it before you get too cold.

Out of your dress and wrapped up in more of Allen’s daughter’s hand-me-downs, you should probably be trying to sleep. There’s no way you’ll be able to.

“I need you to know that I did everything that I could to stop it from happening.” Jake says quietly, his tie has been discarded and his jacket is downstairs on the back of an arm chair. He sits beside you now, a white shirt with a blood-stained collar and circles under his eyes.

He should be letting you sleep, Allen told him to just give you some space. He couldn’t. Even with what you had said to him, he can’t leave you like this.

“You didn’t fucking tell me.” You answer immediately. Jake closes his eyes. Exhausted, you close your eyes and grit your teeth, certain that you must be out of tears by now.

“I know,” He nods slowly. “I believed what they said — that you would be safer if you didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, this wasn’t what they told me —“

It all feels so obvious now. Jake hates this feeling — perspective, wondering if he is a fucking idiot for not seeing it coming all along. Copper on his tongue, his ears are still ringing, and his heart is beating so fast that he can hear it.

“What did they tell you? - What was supposed to happen?” You interrupt him this time, growing tired of his excuses. You pull your knees up to your chest, drawing further from him.

Allen’s place is cozier than you were expecting. A real family home, just as warm as Jake’s. Even the clothes feel softer. You haven’t been left alone once since you got here. Allen’s wife sat with you for forty minutes, coaxing you out of your dress and into warmer clothes, washing the blood gentle from your skin with a warm washcloth.

The dull ache, the violent envy that you have always pushed to the back of your mind, it sits in your very core and threatens to consume every smiling family portrait in this home.

Jake stares at the ground, fidgeting with his hands. He can’t look at you to say it. There’s no justifying it. He wants to touch you. To graze his palm against your ankle and make you understand. He doesn’t even understand it. He knew that it was wrong and he let you walk in there.

You just can’t stop thinking about every opportunity that he must have had to warn you. Your mind goes back to the last time that you were in D.C with him. Sitting in the bathtub with your back to his chest, telling him how terrified you were.

The thought crosses your mind that he must have known. He must have remembered that conversation in the bathtub too, remembered holding you and promising you that he was going to protect you. Bullshit. Anger bubbles in your stomach, watching him stall.

“It… I was told that it was a kidnapping plot. But we had a plan, we — I — I wasn’t going to let anything-“

“Oh my god,” Nausea rising in your core, you stand up a little too quickly and ignore the head rush and black spots in your vision as you stumble back. Jake stands with you, brows knitting together as you bump into the bed frame behind you. “You son of a bitch!”

You reach behind you, for something, anything that will work as a projectile. A stuffed animal first, it hits his shoulder and falls to the ground. Then, a pen holder filled with colourful markers on the nightstand.

Manny glances up at the ceiling as a loud thud comes from above him, then winces sharply as the needle drags through his arm.

“Hold still, son, gotta make sure this is closed up and clean.” Allen mumbles, somewhat tenderly, pushing his glasses up his nose with his shoulder. He hasn’t worked with stitches like this in years. Manny doesn’t have the luxury of a hospital tonight. He’s luckily that he was just grazed by a fractured bullet, no real harm done.

“You fucking asshole! I can’t fucking believe you! Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

They both glance up at the ceiling together as the screaming continues again after maybe fifteen minutes of quiet. More thudding as you throw what you can find at him.

Allen shakes his head, “Told him to leave her alone.”

“So, you, uh — you knew about them?” Manny’s knuckles whiten around the edge of the table, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He hates needles. He stares at the ficus in the corner.

“You didn’t?” Allen scoffs.

Manny chuckles dryly and rubs at his temple, giving a soft shake of his head, “Plausible deniability, man. I didn’t know a thing.”

They exchange half-amused, knowing glances. This entire thing is just a time bomb, and after what Jake did tonight, it’s only a matter of time. Only now, the entire world is going to have eyes on you and your family for the next few weeks. With the election drawing to a close too, it’s going to be quite the scandal to end your father’s time in office.

Manny finally looks away from the ficus and happens to glance upwards, catching sight of the muted news broadcast on the television to his right. He reads over the information at the bottom detailing the events of the attack. Suspected terrorism. Four dead, nine injured. The First Lady in critical condition at Walter Reed Military Medical Centre.

“Oh my god,” Manny breathes out, brows knitting together. He swallows quickly and reaches for his phone. “Did — did anyone call you? — Shouldn’t someone have called us?”

“Stop — Stop it.” Jake grabs your forearms and holds them down at your sides, eyes stormy, jaw clenched. Your features ablaze, you thrash against him, trying to pull your arms free. “I’m sorry, okay? — I didn’t fucking know.”

You struggle against him, growling in frustration and kicking at him in an effort to get free, all the while still yelling. “You listened to me sit there and apologise to you tonight and you knew that this was going to happen — you let me, my family, walk in there!”

“Your family? — Your family fucking knew!” Jake barks back. It’s cold and maybe he should have lied to protect your feelings, but he’s done protecting those people. They wouldn’t do the same for you. “I begged your dad to do something, I called him every day for a week.”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with your shoulder, sniffling as you tug against his grip. Exhaustion sets in, aching each muscle that you flex in the struggle. You swallow the whimper in your throat. “Are you kidding me, Jake? — Do you seriously think that he would let me, my mom, walk in there if he knew that it was going to be like that?”

“Do you think I would?” Jake answers back, shaking his head. Stepping closer, trying to hold your gaze, Jake wills you to see what he’s trying to show you. “I have been with you every single day and night for four months. I love you, and I’m sorry that I let you down. But I’m not lying, your dad knew about all of this.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whimper. He wouldn’t risk his career for this. You, maybe. It doesn’t even hurt you to realize. But his career? — Never.

“Believe what you want,” Jake squeezes your forearms, brows knitting together. He exhales slowly. “I love you, and I did what I had to do — but you have to trust me,I—”

“I don’t trust you!” You snap at him, voice trembling.

The door to the bedroom swings open. Allen glances between the two of you. You, with your tear-stained cheeks and furious glare. Jake, with his heart in your hands.

“Sweetheart,” Allen says softly, taking a cautious step into the room. You didn’t think you heart could have possibly sunk further. Jake slowly lets go of your arms. “It’s your mom. I think you should let me take you to see her.”

Jake thinks back to the voice in his ear, the urgency and the panic and you barely conscious enough to stand in his arms. He could have gone back, he chose not to. You’re standing in front of him now. He doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

You stare at Allen, wordless.

“She’s in surgery at the moment, I think that you should be there.”

Walter Reed is one of the best facilities in the country. A punctured lung is practically a broken wrist to them. A splintered bullet, sitting in three different spots amongst the large intestine, that’s complicated for anyone. It’s a tricky procedure, and she lost a lot of blood — but no doctor wants to be responsible for the death of the President’s Wife.

You’ve lost track of what time it is by the time you arrive there, still in Allen’s daughter’s pyjamas. Dropping Allen’s hand, you rush forwards and your father opens his arms. Jake tucks one hand into his pocket. Once you’re wrapped into a warm looking hug, all attention turns towards Jake.

Matthew looks at him over your shoulder.

Everyone heard him over the comms, his defiance is practically headline news amongst the White House staff. He couldn’t care less, you’re standing here to witness the trouble that he’s in and that’s all that matters.

Including this moment, Jake has seen your father hug you twice in the past four months. Your mother maybe five times. Still, easy enough for him to count on one hand.

Arms crossed over his front, blood on his collar, Jake watches your father with discontent. A furious look in the green of his eyes. He isn’t listening to the conversation that you’re having, he doesn’t particularly care about whatever it is your father has to tell you. Lies, probably.

For a man who almost lost his wife and daughter in the same night, Jake notices that Matthew looks pretty put together. Hair still styled neatly, suit perfectly in place. Not even his tie loosened.

He seems calm. Well prepared. Jake stares calmly, studying him as the two of you talk. He can’t help but wonder where all of this intel came from. These tip-offs, anonymous warnings of what was to come. All of them directed at you, not one at your father. Something that left the entire staff hideously under-prepared for tonight.

It’s absurd — a baseless and ridiculous accusation, but he’s not even sure of the motive behind all of this. Something Matt had signed off on that an activist group was upset about. That’s as much information as Jake has ever been given.

It doesn’t make much sense. That they’ve never once targeted your father in these past four months.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course, princess. She’s sleeping but you can go in and sit with her,” Matthew smiles at you calmly, squeezing your shoulder gently. “I’ll be right in.”

Eyes on the ground, you walk by without a word. You’re glad that he doesn’t reach for you, you’re not sure that you could take it right now.

“Seresin.” Matthew’s attention is on Jake from the moment that you’re out of the room. Jake uncrosses his arms and gives a nod of acknowledgement. More defiance, a blatant disregard for the highest figure of authority that there is. “Heard that you were quite the hero tonight.”

Jake shrugs.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe,” Matthew slips his hand into Jake’s clasping their palms together in a firm handshake. Jake stares at him, cold. Matthew leans in slowly, his polite smile fading once he is close enough to Jake to whisper.

“If you ever disobey orders like that again, I’ll see to it personally that you never work again.”

Jake squeezes his palm a fraction tighter and nods, his face stoic. “If you ever put her in danger like that again, you’ll wish you had gone out quick and easy tonight.”

“Are you threatening me, son?” Matthew squares his shoulders and steps towards Jake like he is something to be feared. Jake stands up straighter, silent.

It takes either a lot of guts or a real lack of brains to be speaking like that in front of all of these people. Matthew studies Jake. Having worked as a politician now for longer than Jake has been alive, Matt is an expert at calling bullshit.

People try to lie to him regularly, he lies to other people even more frequently. He has become pretty skilled at calling someone’s bluff. He knows that Jake isn’t bluffing.

Standing down, Jake gives your father a shake of his head and turns away. In search of a coffee machine, or water — some reprieve from your fucking family, perhaps.

“How long has he been working with my daughter?” Matthew asks, brows furrowed as he watches Jake walk away.

“Um, around four months, Sir. Since the end of April.” An assistant answers sheepishly. Four months is a long time. Matthew hums in annoyance.

“Do some digging. Camera feeds, paparazzi that we might’ve paid off — come get me if you find anything.”

…

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#jake seresin smut #jake seresin au #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #operation Apollo

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