#would he even care that much to do something like that??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seosracha · 1 day ago

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⸻ SAINT MATTHEW'S ACADEMY II

SYNOPSIS ⸻ heeseung feels helpless as you continue to deny him love, and give it to the one person he can't come to accept- park sunghoon.

PAIRING ⸻ sunghoon x fem!reader x heeseung

GENRE ⸻ rich kids au, smut, fluff, angst

TAGS ⸻ love triangle, cursing, foul language, underage drinking, degrading names, smoking, mentions of doing c0ke, partying, gaslighting, religious themes, obsessive behavior/thoughts, unrequited love, fighting (verbally), mention of physical abuse and blood, desperate sunghoon :D, making out, penetration, unprotected sex,

WORDCOUNT ⸻ 15.2k

PART ONE

MDNI. This is a work is meant for entertainment purposes only. References to products and brands are imaginary and not meant to deprecate their image.

You close your eyes, repeating the words, painting the scene and your back in that room. Those words spoken with so much collapsed indifference by a person that didn’t care to see or talk to you again. There was no point in burdening your memory with the idea of him, the idea of a Lee Heeseung that in this universe, didn’t quite exist.

Yes- he carried his father’s surname, his name Heeseung- meaning bright and successful. Those were the things that would never change, the things he could never replace or hide. He would always and forever be remembered as Lee Heeseung, son of the hotel giants, and brother of Lee Haejun, the family heir.

For all his miserable and lonely life he struggled to create a name for himself. For all the 19 years he managed to wrestle with life, the fate stayed the same. He wanted his parents to think of him in any way, even if it was bad, even if it meant he’d be a failure in their eyes. He craved to be something more, something beyond the body he was born in.

Winter wasn’t his favourite season. He hated wearing a puffer jacket, long socks and heavy boots. He hated the additional weight of all these things with the already pre existing heaviness of his being itself.

You liked winter- he knew that. He knew how happy it made you to catch a snowflake that’d melt away within seconds of meeting your warm hand. Heeseung also knew he probably ruined it for you on that night- 22 of December, the day that welcomed winter.

He hasn’t really spoken to his friends since that night- his phone’s been on silent mode and his house, abandoned by him for now. Usually he’d enjoy this, maybe even have a friend join him, but this winter break, the vacation felt insufferable.

Warm Sydney, Australia, the colour of the inside of his hand almost as light and soft as the skin of his neck and the underside of his forearms, which were rarely exposed to the sun. He remembers how 2 years ago, just a month or two later he was here with Sunghoon, lounging around and sleeping off the scorching heat until one of them finally suggested they should go to the rocks to swim.

Well this year, he couldn’t quite find himself leaving the white sheets. Heeseung had left so many things unsolved back home, and he feared that by the time he’s back- it’d be too late. He’d leave the air conditioner blasting all day and night, his thoughts running off to all the things he did wrong.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you, maybe he shouldn’t have asked his friend for help, maybe he should’ve just left you alone. But how could he- it was stronger than him.

While the summer in Australia left an unquenchable thirst for more, winter in his hometown was as quiet as ever.

The inexplicable animosity hung heavy in the air as you, and everyone else went about their life, trying to forget yesterday, and live with the thought of tomorrow.

You spent most of your days alone. Sometimes, Jake would drop by. Or Jay. It depended on who made an excuse that day.

In the midst of a fiery conflict, you found comfort in them. The same people who encouraged behaviour that led you here. It was all broken anyway, so was there really a point in finding the lesser evil?

Neither of them have spoken to the two boys. Maybe they didn’t want to take sides or maybe, just maybe all of them were waiting for the right moment to end this. This wasn’t friendship, not in the slightest. It was jealousy and competition.

Trying not to think about it came out to be much easier. Only the countless texts reminded you. The unanswered calls, disconnected lines and unspoken words.

No more words, you said no more words after his confession. You stayed silent, and that pain flooded you today. The silence stayed with you. Every night you’d spend on a phone call with him, laughing because no matter how hard you begged him, he wouldn’t hang up first, was now filled with heavy breaths and drowning darkness.

Sunghoon hadn’t gone anywhere this winter. He was supposed to- the first class tickets to Sri Lanka already booked by his mother. When she knocked on his door, 12 hours before they were supposed to leave, he told her he'd fallen ill. Very ill.

Before Heeseung blocked his number, he sent him a short message. Sunghoon sat in a cold corner on the white bathroom tiles, reading the message. It was enough to let him know that it was over. And even though the unyielding pain in his stomach grew stronger, a small smile twitched at the corner of his bloody lips. He tried to reply, but the text went green.

When Heeseung first asked him for that favour, he assumed it was just another sick way for him to assert his dominance over you. Another way to make sure you knew Heeseung created what you are today, and no matter what, you’ll always have a piece of him. Sunghoon never thought the boy would tell you the truth in the end.

Two days before New Years Eve, Jake texted you.

“Is your brother home?”

He also attached a photo, indicating that he was already in the area.

“No”

The simple reply quickly sent through, and without even checking for another response you flip the phone over.

Each sound, each notification, you hoped it was from one of them. Heeseung never turned off his location sharing, so you already knew he wasn't around. Sunghoon, well, you had no idea.

You didn't really know anything about him. How he went about his day, before and after school or on vacation or just on a simple Saturday. You didn't know his favorite color, his favorite food or his favorite song.

It was never easy to talk to him- he didn't share much or make space for new people in his life. You rarely saw him enjoy things or even crack a smile at the jokes his friends made. That’s exactly what made it hard to figure out if he really meant the things he said and did.

Your doorbell rings. You turn your phone and see another message from Jake, indicating he’s here. It didn't take him longer than 5 minutes to get here.

“Hey” you scratch the back of your head, welcoming him in. He’s not awkward in the slightest, kissing your cheek as he enters.

Jake hasn't been the same since. You can’t quite remember if he’s always been like this or did his friendship with the boys actually influence him that badly.

Something you always noticed about Jake is how easily influenced he really was. It took one word, one word and he’d be at Heeseung’s feet just waiting to do whatever the boy wanted. He tried so hard to impress them, he fell through with everything in his life- his grades faltered, his relationship with his parents started to rot, and his self respect declined with every passing day. He ruined himself for them.

Jay wasn’t like that. He never really listened to Heeseung in the first place. And Heeseung realized that pretty quickly. They weren’t particularly close either. Jay had legions of friends outside of school. He didn’t need Heeseung, Sunghoon or Jake but in a way, they needed him. He stuck around because loneliness wasn’t a good look on him, and his peers at school, well, they weren’t quite fond of him.

“I brought wine” he announces and hands you the bottle of red wine that’s gotten quite cold by now.

“You know I don’t drink” you look away from the label, now focusing on the boy who’s fixing his hair in the mirror. He doesn’t seem to register what you said as a piece of his brown hair keeps falling onto his forehead.

He wiggles out of his leather jacket, hanging it on the clothing rack before taking the wine back into his hands “It’s only 12%. You won’t feel it” he ultimately replies.

He wanders off into the kitchen while you sit down on the grey couch. Jake doesn’t really ask, he never does. It doesn’t bother you, not as much as it used to at least. He searches your cabinets looking for wine glasses which after a short moment, can’t be found in any of them. He settles down for something less extravagant.

You wouldn’t even dare inviting any of them just a couple months back. You were embarrassed, their houses the size of your whole street. A lot of things have changed since then.

"Jungwon is hosting for New Years” he started, handing the glass to you. He sat down, his body facing you “Do you want to come?”

Yang Jungwon was in your grade. His father was a software engineer who developed his own app but also helped countless companies start theirs. Jungwon was the one who helped Jay start his long abandoned website. He always watched his father doing big things, he wanted that too. His mother was a divorce attorney, specializing in family law, charging around $500 per hour. She was the go-to of every miserable wife and all the tired husbands. Jungwon was a pretty normal boy- he grew up with two loving parents that got lucky enough in life to spoil him from the moment he was born.

“Who else is coming?” you ask, and he shrugs, gulping down almost half of his glass.

You look down at yours, uninterested. But before he manages to reply, you copy his action. It doesn't taste good.

“Probably the same people as always” he leans his head on his hand looking over at you “But from the people you’ll know, uh, Niki and Wonyoung are going to be there for sure. Sunoo probably has nothing better to do and Jay already told me he’s coming” Jake added after a moment and you nodded understandingly.

“Niki and Wonyoung, huh?” you laugh mockingly, downing the other half of your drink. You wonder how in the world this could be a pleasure to middle aged women “Sunoo told me she went over to Sunghoon’s house two days ago”

“Jealous?” Jake laughs and you raise your eyebrows.

“No” he repeats your action and you can tell that he doesn't really buy it. Neither do you. “I’m not jealous, Jake. They can do whatever they want”

His lips turn into a downwards smile “Sure, sure” he nods, and you playfully kick his leg. He winces at the action in a joking manner, before continuing “Heeseung and Sunghoon might be there too. So if you don't feel comfortable with that, you don't have to go. But me and Jay want you to be there” his tone softens.

How would it end up this time? Which one of them would say something this time? Do something this time? Or would they ignore you, just like they are now.

All you wanted was an answer. Nothing more, nothing less. You could even go by without a ‘sorry’.

“I don’t care. I’d have to face them at school anyways” you answer with a straight smile.

“Didn’t you hear?” he asks, painting your face with confusion at the statement. You shake your head, and he sits up straight “Karina’s parents are close with Heeseung’s, and she’s been saying some about him changing school’s mid February”

You are even more confused now. It didn’t make sense. Where would he go? It’s probably just a rumor.

“But you guys are graduating this year. That can’t be right” he shrugs, just as curious and confused as you.

“Yeah, I doubt it” you nod with a small sigh, looking outside the window.

The sun set so much quicker in winter. You barely got to enjoy the day before darkness settled. It was setting pink today.

“I’ll go with you guys. On New Years. Just, pick me up if you can” you say and he nods with a small smile.

______

On that same day, Heeseung landed back in town. His father asked him to come back in time for the New Years event he was hosting, once again.

“What a fabulous suit, truly!” a middle aged woman comments, amused. She has a wide, bright smile on her face as she eyes Haejun “Let me guess, Canali?” she coos, a smirk creeping at the corner of her lips.

Heeseung’s brother chuckles, the forced elegance lacing his fake smile “Both the suit and overcoat. It’s nothing special though” he smiles, and soothes down the cashmere mantle.

Lee Haejun runs a hand through his dark, silky hair, his posture relaxed in a ‘cool’ way.

Heeseung thinks it’s pretty humorous, the way Haejun is flirting with a 40 year old woman, whose hair is visibly turning gray. Her husband is probably somewhere in this crowd, trying to get closer to his father, just like all the other men who were lucky enough to even be invited.

The lady has been ogling his brother for the past 5 minutes, not even noticing Heeseung who stood right next to him.

He scoffs.

“Oh, Heeseung. I didn’t notice you” she smiles faintly, but her eyes don’t even linger on him for a second longer, already back in conversation with Haejun “Oh and this scarf! Haejun, you have such phenomenal taste!” she celebrates him again, and he just chuckles at her excitement.

Heeseung doesn't feel like standing there, looking like a fucking idiot that’s just waiting to get complimented on his Saint Laurent overcoat that quite frankly, was more expensive than Haejun’s.

He doesn’t feel like being here at all.

He thinks about everything; how these annual New Year’s dinners have ruined the holiday for him all together, how the man at the table in front of him has a giant bald spot on his head, how the hardbody on his right has pretty fuckable tits even though she’s probably in her mid 40s, how his mother is obviously having an affair with the hotels revenue manager, and most importantly, about you.

He hasn’t felt anything since that unlucky Sunday night. It was suffocating, to be so conscious of his own decisions. But just like he’d been a coward that time, he still was too afraid to reach out and apologize.

Maybe soon enough he’d find himself at your front porch, knocking on the door softly, a nice gift in hand, the smile you adore plastered all over his condescending face.

That’s how it usually worked in his life; even the worst of heartbreaks and fights could be resolved with a pretty bag, new sports car or nice jewelry. That’d work on you too, wouldn’t it? He’d ask one of the maids that looked after his home to pick out something she’d like to recieve, and you’d probably be satisfied with that, maybe even suck him off later.

Seeing you with Sunghoon enlightened something deep in his soul, something he’d never admit to himself. Heeseung didn't know if it was Sunghoon he was jealous of or you.

Sunghoon had experienced love in many forms throughout his life. A gentle and mannerly boy cherished by the women in his life. His kind, youthful energy seemed effortless—something completely out of reach for someone as weathered and unsteady as Lee Heeseung.

You loved him, he already knew that much. So why was it so hard for him to give that back to you, show you that he feels the same?

He was such a selfish person-he didn't want to see you surviving on your own, or not needing him just as much as he needs you.

Heeseung understood he could never give you the love you deserved. Yet, the idea of being replaced by Sunghoon was something he refused to accept.

His eyes wander across the dimly lit space, desperately looking for someone who could give him a reason to leave his table. But he couldn’t stand any of them. He hated their fake pleasantries, their overblown gestures, and the emptiness behind their eyes.

They weren’t here to celebrate the passing year, spread joy and excitement for the coming days.

All these lost, desperate people were here, hoping, praying to God that maybe this is the day his father notices them, gives them a chance to become as wealthy and glorious as him.

“I was thinking about Oxford, possibly this upcoming September” he picks up on Haejun’s words and if not for the people and photographers that seemed to be on every possible side, he would’ve punched the shit out of his brother.

Oxford, Harvard, Princeton, who gave a fuck?

He sighs again but this time neither Haejun or the lady in front of him pick up on his mannerisms.

He feels a sudden tap on his shoulder, the feeling making him jump back a bit.He groans under his breath, the sound inaudible for the one behind him, and turns around slowly.

He didn't expect to see Park Sunghoon here.

…

“They don’t have a nice bathroom to do coke in” Heeseung shrugs, nibbling at his bottom lip as Sunghoon breathes out a laugh at his inquiry.

He looks around the tiled, black bathroom, which is surprisingly empty. The light above the sink flickers in a weird way, and Heeseung wonders if it’s supposed to be like that.

“We don’t do that anymore” Sunghoon mutters, leaning against the cold, slippery surface of the wall, his head slightly slumped.

He looks up at Heeseung, his reflection much more familiar in the mirror. They are much closer than he thinks, the same worn out expression all over their faces.

“Yeah… Guess those days are over” he smiles weakly, although the growing pit in his stomach makes him feel uneasy.

He’s avoiding the topic, throwing random words in the air as his heart speeds up. Sunghoon’s avoiding it too. The words linger on their tongues but it feels like they're stuck. He can’t stomach starting a serious topic with his friend who's never been there for him in an emotional way.

“I remember that party so vividly” Heeseung chuckles lightly, watching Sunghoon intently through the mirror. The boy is avoiding eye contact.

“When Jay took a line and we thought we’d lost him, huh? I remember, yeah” he forces a smile although the memory is definitely not a sweet one.

Heeseung chuckles softly, his thoughts drifting to when they were actually good friends to each other. It wasn’t even that long ago, but so much has happened since that Heeseung almost forgot those times.

He felt it with you again. In a way you brought that comfort back to him with your soft spoken voice and tender smile. But with you, he was on the brink of inescapable change. Heeseung knew that everyday he was teetering closer to the end.

He looks back up at Sunghoon, and although his vision is slightly blurred, he notices that the wounds are completely healed now. The only tangible evidence of that night is now gone.

“Did it leave a scar?” he asks, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, turning to face Sunghoon, who touches the corner of his lip softly.

He shakes his head “No”. His tone is stony. He suddenly reminds himself to garbage the white button up in his wardrobe.

“That’s good” Heeseung hums and the silence overcomes them again. It’s uncomfortable and the awkwardness between them bears so much unfamiliarity. It’s such a foreign experience.

The tension grows thicker as Sunghoon speaks up “You know we can’t avoid it, right?”

Heeseung feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he ponders the suggestion. What could he possibly say to make it better, to make it disappear? He nods and meets Sunghoon’s unrelenting expression.

“I don’t really think we could ever be friends again” Sunghoon says, his lip twitching slightly as the words finally roll off his tongue, the admission much more painful than he thought it’d be “Not when we both want the same thing”

“What?” The words sink into his bones, his flesh shivering as he searches for at least an ounce of discomfort on Sunghoon’s face.

“No matter what you told me that night, no matter how much you begged me to tell her because you didn't want to know how she’ll react, I know you feel it too. You said you didn't care, but you do, Heeseung. I care too” he explains, his voice stable. It’s almost as if he’s rehearsed this.

It came to him during that long awaited shower. As the water came over him, so did the realization.

“If you like it or not, I will keep on trying even if it doesn't work out. But either way, I think this is where it ends between us. I don’t want to be stuck on the idea that it could ever be the same” the air felt heavier with the tension that separated them.

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Heeseung never thought it’d come to this.

“You like her, right? It wasn't something to make her feel better..?” he asked, glossing over the fact that this exact spot set the end of their friendship.

Glossing over the fact that the relationship between you and him complicated his whole life. Yet a part of him still yearned for you.

“I’m not like you, Heeseung. I don’t tell girls I like them to make them feel better” he chuckled lowly as Heeseung's expression darkened, taking offense to his words.

Heeseung scoffed, not quite enjoying the cutting reminder of his bad habits.

“Do as you please, I don’t give a fuck. But I also don’t plan on making it easy for you. I don't give up what’s mine just like that” Heeseung’s words carry a playful edge, but there’s an undercurrent of expectation, a reminder of the shared history and intimacy.

Sunghoon turns his head to the side, a stubby chuckle slipping past his parted lips. His gaze falls onto Heeseung after a moment, the boy leaning against the counter with an indifferent expression.

“What, do you think she forgot? You think a couple racks can erase what you did? Bet you're not the one she calls everyday” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, as he looks at Heeseung’s changing face.

“You think that just because I wasn't here I don’t know what goes on? She couldn't give two fucks about you. You don’t intimidate me, Sunghoon” he retorts, his eyes dark as he pushes himself off the sink and shortens the distance between him and Sunghoon “Couldn’t even get past her underwear, fucking pussy” he whispers.

He nudges Sunghoon’s shoulder during his exit, scoffing angrily as he slams the door shut, leaving his once best-friend alone with the afterthought of his words.

Sunghoon doesn't regret it. He feels good. He feels the weight drop from his heart, his blood flowing calmly as his eyebrows don’t furrow in annoyance anymore.

He watches the door for a moment before turning to the mirror, adjusting his jacket and hair, smiling as he takes in his reflection.

_____

On New Year's Eve a car parks in your driveway. Your brother wasn’t home, and by the looks of it, he wasn't going to be any time soon.

You don’t really remember the last time you sat down for a meal with Eunseok. You couldn't blame him though. Your parents always repeated that saving another human's life will always be more important than spending time with family. Your brother would always stay your brother even if you started to forget the sound of his voice.

Jay enters your house first. You can notice Jake sinking his head into the trunk, looking for something.

The last time Jay was here his hair was still blond. He seems to have gotten a new haircut and dyed it back to black. He looked much softer now.

“Back to black?” you smile and reach out to grab his coat. It feels illegal to hold and hang his black Prada corduroy jacket. It looked so out of place next to your own coats that were all bought at basic chain stores at the mall.

“You like it?” he asks, quickly turning his head to check on Jake. Jay’s gaze falls back onto you, a soft glimmer in his eyes.

He changed. He wasn't the same misogynistic narcissist that you were initially introduced to. He became much kinder- a person you actually found yourself getting along with.

Jay came home extremely drunk on the 22nd of December. Screw walking a straight line when the boy couldn't even walk at all. Just like it had been unlucky for his friends, he too was met with his demise as his father sat in the living room with a girl Jay didn't recognize.

Probably his new girlfriend.

He was furious. He went through Jay’s phone that night- every photo of his son with girls in more or less intimate situations, every message between Jay and his dealers, every single bank transaction at the liquor store. He saw it all that night.

One word too much on Jay’s behalf, and suddenly, there’s a stinging pain on his left cheek. And before he can react, his father slaps him again. And again, harder than the last.

He saw himself in his son for the first time. He realized what he had done to his own, precious child. The look in his eyes, pure fear and disgust. They weren't much different after all.

“Yeah, it’s nice. You look good” you nod with a straight smile, and he looks a bit embarrassed at the compliment.

Jake finally runs into the home, a smile on his face. Without saying a word, you nod your head towards the now closed trunk.

“We thought the bottles shattered” he explained and you looked over at Jay, confused.

“I thought you were done with drinking” you asked, and he grinned sheepishly.

“Today is the last time, I promise. New year, new me, let’s say”

They walked around your home, visiting every room, every bathroom, checking every picture. You couldn't care less, focusing on getting yourself ready.

“You used to be emo?” Jake laughs, walking back to your room. You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly what picture he was talking about.

“Your brother is really hot,” Jay says, leaning his hands against the backrest of your chair. He looks at himself and you through the mirror “You look hot too” he adds with a sly smirk.

Your only reply is a smile, not being the best at receiving compliments. His eyes stay on you for a little longer than they should.

“Jungwon just texted me,” Jake announces, his body turning in your fresh sheets. His dirty shoes have left marks on the white fabric, but he doesn't seem to notice. “Heeseung just arrived. He’s with fuckass Seora” he laughs along with Jay, while you try to process his statement.

It didn’t take him long to find your replacement. You remember the girl, having been paired up with her for a science project at the beginning of the semester. She was so beautiful.

“That fucking nerd? What’s wrong with him” Jay comments, and you realize how you too were once like Seora. Heeseung hasn't changed, not at all.

Jake’s phone rings, his eyes darting to the screen. He excuses himself, the call seemingly important as he leaves the room swiftly.

You are left alone with Jay who mindlessly scrolls through his Instagram homepage, liking and commenting on his friends posts.

“Can you help me?” you ask, and his reaction to your voice is almost immediate. He sets his phone aside, his full attention once again falling onto you. A hint of concern flashes over his eyes as your expression seems troubled.

“Mhm?” he hums, walking over to your figure.

“Can you zip this up for me?” you ask, turning around.

He stays silent for a moment, before brushing his fingers against the bare skin of your back, grasping at the slippery zipper. He carefully brings the fabric together, taking care not to pull too tight or snag the delicate material.

He steps back, looking at you, smiling warmly “There”

Whenever his sister would ask him, he’d flip her off and tell her to leave his room.

Jay’s eyes take in your figure, the way he’s never really gotten to see your nice body under all the baggy clothes you’d wear. It feels wrong to think about you like this, but it’s not like this is the first time either.

He may have changed, even in the slightest, but there was always that one person who was too late.

…

Shot after shot of vodka find themselves appearing in your hand as you down each one with a twisted expression. The people around you seem much more cheerful than you, and you wonder how long it’ll take for this alcohol to finally start doing its thing.

You turn to Jake, who’s been gripping your hand tightly, at least that’s what you thought. Instead of a smiley Jake, it’s Kim Sunoo who has been apparently keeping you safe. That would be all for ‘we want you to be there’.

“Going already?” Sunoo perks up, loosening his grip on you as he sees you trying to squeeze through the crowd.

“I just need some fresh air” you offer him a small smile “I’ll be back”

It’s 10:37. Only an hour and 23 minutes until midnight. By that time, half the guests won’t even be awake to witness it. You wonder what fireworks look like on this side of town.

Jungwon’s house isn’t that hard to navigate. It was big, but you imagined bigger. It’s mid-sized, maybe. You note how his parents have good taste- the mediterranean estate very much to your liking.

You find yourself on one of his acacia armchairs in the backyard terrace. Most people are inside. It wasn’t the warmest day.

There’s no wind today, not even snow. The temperature hasn't dropped below zero celsius this season. You really wanted the snow to fall soon.

You can tell from the corner of your eye that someone has accompanied you on the chair next to yours. You assume it’s someone just as tired as you, someone who's just counting down the minutes until midnight so they can get out of here.

Maybe it’s Jake. But you swore you saw him hitting up some girls on your way out.

“Want one?” you almost don’t recognize the voice. It’s been so long.

The person extends a pack of cigarettes in your direction, and that’s when you decide to face them.

You haven't spoken to Nishimura Riki in a long time. He doesn't even look the same. But it’s only been 4 months?

“I don’t smoke” you reply, and he nods, lighting the stick in his mouth, protecting the flame with the palm of his hand.

He hisses, exhaling the smoke. It blows in your direction, and you scrunch your nose at the smell.

“Where’s your sweet boy, Heeseung?” he asks, his tone mocking. You roll your eyes, exhaling deeply.

He laughs at your silence, but still waits for you to respond, taking another puff.

“We don’t talk anymore” you could lie but honestly, it seemed meaningless now. It didn't matter what you’d say, things wouldn't change.

“Lasted the longest. Can’t say I’m not impressed” he replied with a chuckle. Only God knew how much you wanted to slap the boy next to you right now.

“Fuck off, Niki” you groan, and he puts up his hands, laughing. He’s slightly taken aback by your candidness- he didn't meet this version of you.

Niki remembers you as the sweet, innocent and most certainly lost girl that had no idea what she was getting herself into. Now it seemed as if Heeseung had drained all that life out of you.

“I’m not here to make fun of you” there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he still gauge's your reaction to his jab.

You hum, unamused “Sure”

He sighs, trying to hide the annoyance caused by your stubbornness. Niki throws what's left of his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his shoe. Rick Owens, you note.

“I know you and Wony aren’t on the best terms but she cares about you. I do to” his tone softens “I just want you to live on your own now. Don’t let him take over your life again”

Niki follows all the patterns the stars are forming with his eyes, while you notice the sincerity in his face. Today the moon is barely visible. There was a New Moon yesterday, so tonight, not even 3% of the orb is visible.

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask, and he shrugs.

The air seems to vibrate with unspoken tension. Niki stays silent for a moment, because he doesn't really know if he has an answer.

He shouldn't care. He doesn't know you, and you don't know anything about him either. Jesus, if Wonyoung saw him here, he’d be on probation until February. But he saw this happen countless times and every single one stung just as bad.

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to know” he finally answers, a genuine glimmer in his eyes as they fall on yours for just a second.

You can’t muster up a smile. It’d be too forced anyway. You hope that the nod is enough for him to understand that you do in fact appreciate his words.

He doesn't say anything and neither do you. It’s mostly noiseless, apart from the faintest melody that flows through the cracks in the window. The only people out here with you are either smoking themselves or talking to someone on the phone.

You hadn't really told anyone what happened. Of course, you could probably tell Niki, he wouldn't forward it to Wonyoung or anyone else. You could call the boy many names, some better than others, but you knew you couldn't call him untrustworthy. He always kept his word, no matter what.

But you bite back your tongue.

“Nice chat, huh? Can I steal her for a moment?”

Lee Heeseung.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to see him tonight. You weren't wondering if you’d see him, rather when and how. He couldn't run away from talking to you, and well, it appears that he didn't want to anyway.

With what feeling would you look back on this moment? With sadness? With shame? Indifference, you hoped.

Would you regret it? Because maybe some things are better left unsolved, right? Sometimes it’s okay to not have an answer. You’ve already learned that firsthand.

It was too late, Niki already letting the older boy replace him on the armchair, his face filled with remorse, maybe even guilt as he walked back into the house. He only hoped that you were smarter this time.

You turned your gaze away, because he was looking at you, and it obviously flustered you. He saw your expression, and even though your face twisted in annoyance, you still wanted him to look at you.

It wasn’t him you hated, but what the two of you did.

The secret was forever meant to stay between the two of you. And as long as that’s true, it's always casting a shadow over everything good in you.

“How was Australia? Did you have fun?” you sounded unimpressed, and he noticed.

Heeseung felt oddly embarrassed to be here with you. He left you with no explanation, and yet you're still asking how his vacation was. Honest or not, he feels like half the man he was before.

“How did you know?” he asks, a glint of playfulness in his voice.

“You still share your location with me” you stated, and he nodded. He knew. You were the only person he shared it with in the first place.

“You check my location?” he chuckles, trying to alleviate the charged atmosphere. His attempts brought no fruit as your expression stayed the same- cold and uninterested.

“No” he can’t figure out what to say next. It used to be so easy to talk to you.

But you were the same when he first met you- stand-offish and unwilling. It won’t take him long to figure the right words out, he’s sure of it.

Heeseung doesn't know why he’s trying this hard. Maybe it’s because now he knows his friend wants it just as much. In what universe did Park Sunghoon have something Heeseung didn’t? Not in this one, and the latter was continuously making sure of it.

“Can we talk about us?” he finally speaks up after the prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence. He doesn't really know what ‘us’ was. Definitely not a relationship. He doesn't do that, never has. He just prays that you actually had something smart to say.

“Us?” you bark back a laugh, and he leans against the beige pillow with a sigh.

Heeseung had been willingly ignoring the messages he saw you sending. He could always disguise that as not wanting to talk about it over text. But in reality, he didn't want to talk about it at all. He just hoped that a ‘sorry’ would be enough.

“You know what I mean. Don’t be stupid” his voice is laced with a twinge of irritation. He didn't expect it to take this long for you to break.

“What the fuck are you even talking about, Heeseung?” you turn to face him fully now.

His hair is no longer dark red. It’s brown, almost black. And he has a completely different haircut. It compliments his tan skin. He’s also dressed differently. You can’t quite recall seeing him like this.

“Seriously, what do you want to talk about? It wasn’t real, not to you at least. So please, tell me what exactly it is that you want to talk about” his expression is a mix of annoyance and anger now. His jaw clenches as his eyes narrow. You surely allowed yourself to say too much, didn’t you?

“Careful, Y/n. Watch your tone” he laughs menacingly, standing up from his seat. His hands grip the sides of your chair, as he stares down at you, his face too close for comfort.

“Downplay what we had, and what’s still between us all you want. But you know it’s real. You might be wiser now, but you haven’t really changed. You still want it just as much” his expression darkens, a defensiveness to his voice.

All he did was see the potential in you, the spark hidden beneath your innocent surface. He fed that fire, helped it grow until it burned through them both. Heeseung taught you to be a woman. He didn't wrong you, he helped you.

Leaning in, he nuzzles your neck, his breath hot on your skin “So how about you quit acting all tough and just let me have you again, yeah?”

He no longer knew how to control himself. No one did.

When he was younger he believed in God. Even when he started at Saint Matthew’s, he considered himself religious. Maybe he liked it because it made his nights just a little less lonely, or maybe because it filled him with a sense of identity. He knew that no matter what, there’s always that one person, an otherworldly figure that will love him endlessly, have control over him.

And when he felt himself drift away from his faith, it became a saga of bad decisions after bad decisions. Not because he stopped believing, but because there was no longer anyone to control him.

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think I’d do that” your lips are parted as he continues to brush his past your neck, jawline and mouth.

“Keep talking to me like that and you’ll regret it” he whispers with a sinful grin, his fingers reaching up to caress your cheek “Let’s just forget about what happened. You know I meant what I said”

“That you love me?” you laugh, and you can notice him bite down on the inside of his cheek. “Just leave me alone, Heeseung. Go find someone else and I’ll do the same” you try to be as calm as possible. He can’t know it’s affecting you.

Someone else? No, that can’t be possible. You are the only one who listens to him, you are the only one that’s there for every one of his requests. He can’t just let you go like that. It wouldn't be that easy to replace you.

“Sunghoon, right? That fucking prick, seriously?” he straightens his figure, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I never brought him up” you mutter, and he scoffs.

Heeseung’s eyes slightly narrow, while his lips press into a thin line.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled only by the quiet chatter of other people that were out here with you.

“Please, Y/n. You can’t do this” his tone becomes softer as a pleading look decorates his features.

You don’t really know what else there is to say.

His words- louder and longer, were given a physical form and longevity as if they had a life of their own now.

It almost made you think you forgive him.

____

During morning prayer you saw him again.

He still had that lifeless look on his face, as if nothing had really changed at all. As if nothing ever happened in the first place. He was two rows in front of you, next to Niki and Sunoo.

You wanted to catch him looking at you, to have his eyes on you.

All the students gathered in the chapel next to the school at 7:30. Punctuality was key. Under no circumstances was tardiness allowed- those who dared to come in a minute late were not allowed to participate and got punished with after-school detention.

Heeseung knelt down next to you. You hoped Sunghoon wouldn't see it.

‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen’

He signs the cross and so do you. “I missed you” Heeseung whispers, his hand softly brushing against your thigh.

“Don’t” you mutter back, swatting his hand away.

One of the students was leading today's Morning Offering.

You tried to focus on Sunghoon. Maybe his hair changed, or maybe his skin got tanner. He got a little skinnier, you note. Sunoo whispers something to him but he doesn't seem to listen.

“Stop,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your skin. You move away from him, watching how amusing this is for him.

“What?” His presence is strong, the pull almost working involuntarily.

‘...Or does so much bad feeling accumulate within us that we learn to mold it into a big lump of emotions, with amnesties and pardons? Or does the presence of the other, who yesterday morning was almost like an intruder to us, become more and more necessary, because it protects us from our own hell?’

You can’t listen, you can’t comprehend. No matter where, there's something pulling your attention.

“Don’t look at him” Heeseung’s voice is firm, his eyes on you. He’s always watching.

After a short reflection is spoken, a brief moment of silence follows. You close your eyes, leaning forward.

"We pray for our community, that we may learn and grow together in love and wisdom," the intention is spoken, and after reciting a prayer together, the students start rising from their spots slowly.

Sunghoon’s gaze doesn't even wander in your direction. He doesn't look at anyone, speeding out of the chapel as soon as the prayer commences. You want to go after him, but Heeseung stops you before you could even fully decide on it.

“Don’t go”

You turn around, watching his eyes that are full of amusement.

Is he enjoying himself this much? Does this entertain him?

“Heeseung, stop it. It’s over between us, remember? Leave me alone, seriously” you don’t sound heated or outraged. Not even resentful. Simply tired.

He doesn't react to your words. He knows you don't mean it.

You knew he wouldn't stop. You knew that as long as he was here, it’d never stop. He was obsessed and giving up wasn't really an option.

There were exceptions though. During study break, or lunch you wouldn't see him much. Maybe because the repugnance towards Jay and Jake was stronger than his willingness to see you. It didn't really matter though.

The part of you that liked the attention made you sick. It was hard to admit, and you most definitely wouldn't tell anyone. After everything, you still couldn't resent him. The hate continued to only bring you closer.

“When is New York?” Jake asked, his fingers tapping away on his laptop.

Jake was failing in most of his classes and he was slowly running out of time. What he had already learned stayed with him, but now, he had to catch up on a whole semester worth of material.

“Next week? I think” you reply and he mutters something under his breath. You don't catch it.

“Such a boring destination” Jay comments and you breathe out a chuckle in response. What an out of touch thing to say.

“We know, Jongseong. You’ve been there, have an apartment in SoHo and plan on going to NYU” he knows it’s a joke, he’s learned to not take offense to such silly things by now. But no one really calls him Jongseong.

Only his mother does. He hates it just as much as he hates her. But this time- he savors the sound, how easily it slips past your lips and how satisfyingly it rings in his ears.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I’ve never been” Jake piques, and you murmur a ‘Me too’ in response. He doesn't lift his eyes from the screen- it’s almost like he’s glued in place. It’s only the occasional loud sound or cramp in his leg that makes him move.

The trip was only for juniors and seniors. It wasn't the cheapest, but Eunseok didn't comment when you asked him for the money. His worn-out figure just scribbled out a check and handed it to you.

The main point was supposed to be St. Patrick’s Cathedral. You didn't really care for the building. Jake didn't either. You two had already planned to sneak out for dinner and shopping while the tour went on.

“I’m rooming with Heeseung” Jake sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe them with his blazer “That fucking dickhead signed us up last week. Didn't even know until Mrs. Kim told me”

Jay laughed. He passed Jake wet wipes, noticing how the boy can’t get his glasses clean.

“I’m rooming with Sunghoon. Haven't really talked to him, though” Jay says, and you both nod.

A small smile creeps onto your lips “I’m alone”

You didn't mind at all. You could do whatever you wished without an annoying bitch telling you to go to sleep because ‘your phone screen is keeping her awake’.

“Can I stay with you? Please” Jake pleads and you shake your head almost instantly. The boy frowns upon seeing your reaction.

______

New York felt oddly familiar.

These faces- they didn't carry that sense of foreignness. Everyone went about their day without interest in what the person next to them is up to. You felt a good kind of loneliness even though you were never truly alone.

Little Italy and Chinatown were fun.

You, Jay and Jake managed to slip out for a second, sharing a meal at a Cantonese restaurant. The food was quite enjoyable and the ambience was great. Jay did complain a bit though.

That same night you went out for drinks. When all the guardians fell asleep, on cue, everyone sneaked out of their rooms. Heeseung, rooming with Jake, found out about the plans that he wasn't included in. Of course he still tagged along.

Jay mentioned that Sunghoon has been so quiet, it almost feels like suicide everytime they are in the room together.

“I ask him if he wants to shower first, right? And you know what this decadent bum does? Nothing. He won’t even reply to me”

He wanted to complain more, but Heeseung’s angered and ostentatious sigh forced him to stop. He only looked over at Jake confused before switching to a different topic.

The next day you saw almost all the museums in Manhattan.

Your feet were in so much pain by the time you reached The Museum of Modern Art. While Jay and Jungwon walked around pretending to care for the artwork, you and Jake sat in a corner talking and recording dumb vlogs.

“Say hello to Jake’s vlog” he laughed, shoving the camera into your face. Jake’s stupid smile could be heard from behind the screen, his amusement making the video much more adorable.

With an annoyed grimace, you shoved the camera away from your face. Jake was unrelenting and it made napping nearly impossible.

“We’re in some shitty museum” he said sadly, the tone complimenting his mock expression of misery “You know what boggles me? That my dear friend Jay is pretending he likes this. No one likes this. It’s all just ugly paintings that have a forced meaning attached to them”

“Boggles me? What are you, fucking 50?” you laugh, looking over to him. “What else am I supposed to say” his lips twist in a downwards smile.

“Just say ‘Hello’ to my vlog” he pleads again.

Rubbing your temples, a sigh escapes your lips again. You looked up at Jake before staring right into his phone camera.

“Hello” your unenthusiastic tone was menacing to Jake.

He gave you a playful shove “Happier” Jake commanded.

You look over at him wide eyed. After a moment of his unchanging stare, you plaster a forced smile on your face that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

“Hi” you even attempt a wave.

Jake laughed, and turned the camera to face him again. “That’s my stripper friend Y/n. Call me to book a lap dance. It’s real” he whispered, the camera too close to his face.

He turned the camera back to you. You shook your head as a lighthearted laugh slipped past your parted lips “Turn this off, Jake. You’re wasting storage, you fucking idiot”

Later that day the two of them offered to go out again since Jay had actually brought the keys to his fathers apartment. You declined.

Maybe you’d try to call your brother, share some photos with him. It surprised you to actually get an answer. It didn't last long though- 5 minutes in he had to hang up because of an emergency surgery.

You think about Heeseung. You think about everything, really. In the evening waiting for him becomes much more annoying. The thought of him becomes unbearable, because you’re not supposed to think about him.

Rejecting him was almost an immediate reaction. The idea of him was much nicer than having him there, so raw and real in front of you.

It was strange to him too- fearing the days where you were away and he had no idea where you’d gone.

Thinking about Sunghoon was much more grounding. Much more humanly and justified. His blank stare and cold demeanor, unchanging. Nothing brought you the answer you needed. You wished he’d look at you long enough to see that same thirst for life he noticed back in December.

A knock at the door sounds through your hotel room. It’s soft, barely audible.

It’s probably Jake, or Jay. You look down at the time and note that it’s a reasonable time for them to be back. They’ve been out for a good 3 hours now.

You open the door, and it doesn't really hit you at first. Sunghoon must've gotten the wrong room.

Your attempts to look calm are futile as your voice cracks “What are you doing here..?” he stands there for a moment, his lips parted. It’s almost like he doesn't really know either.

As you step back to let him enter, he hesitates briefly “You’re alone?” His voice is mellow. The dim light in the room casts a shadow on his face making him appear much more gloomy than usual.

You nod reluctantly. Your gaze is on him, searching, as if asking for permission to speak, continue.

There's a moment of deep silence. It isn't uncomfortable or awkward. He's in your presence and you're in his. That seems to be enough to console the immediate tranquility.

“Do you like it here?” he asks and it seems to strike you as unusual. He never really bothered to converse with others unless they initiated it.

The scene is oddly familiar. He sits next to you on the bed, propping his body up on his hands. Just like you were immensely aware of each other's closeness that night, it's the same today.

This time though it seems like it's Sunghoon's turn to find excuses to avoid the topic. And you let it happen.

“Yeah. It’s fun” you nod, and so does he. Against your will you ask a question that in different circumstances, wouldn't even make it past your throat- “Are you hiding from me?”

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat as he looks down at your hand. It’s dangerously close to his thigh “No, not from you” his answer is hesitant.

“It feels like it” he bites the inside of his cheek at your words.

His fingers play with the fabric of your white sheets “Maybe in a way I was” his voice softens, his eyes scared to look at you.

“In what way?” you mutter. The air feels ominous, as if you're both threatening the unchangeable.

“You know” he starts, his hand reaching closer “I was afraid to be denied”

Sunghoon saw you call, his finger hovering over the answer button many times as he wondered what he’d even tell you. There were so many things he wanted to say. So he’d just flip the phone over.

Today he was braver. Or at least that’s what he thought. Because being eye to eye with you again, stripped him of it all.

“I thought you knew I wouldn't. I called you. And texted, a lot” you answered, and his lips pressed into a straight line.

His touch is tentative. Eventually, he reaches out towards you, his warm hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers “And I should’ve answered. I’m sorry. For not being more” he looks at you again, the warmth in his eyes genuine “Because I know you wanted me to be more”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You laugh “This is so stupid”

You halt the tears from spilling down your cheeks. Sunghoon’s lips form into a small smile “It’s not”

You look down at your fingers intertwined. He’s looking too.

You can hear some girls stumble their way into the room next to yours. Judging by the voice, you think it’s Minjeong. She says something about a 45 year old man coming to see her soon. She also seems to be begging her friend for one more drink ‘Last one, promise! I’m not drunk enough, Ning!’

Sunghoon doesn't say anything until the commotion dies down. Neither do you.

“Sloshed at 11. Crazy work” he chuckles, and so do you. You nod, thinking that Jake is probably somewhere in a corner, throwing up. He was definitely not the drinker everyone made him out to be.

He leans in closer, his eyes just for a moment searching yours for acceptance. His head falls down on your shoulder.

“Hoon?” your voice is just above a whisper.

He hears it again. It’s just as nice as it was back then. The sound is almost natural. He thinks you were made to call out to him. In contrast to last time, he’s much more optimistic.

He hums, ushering you to continue “Did you mean it?” He doesn't need you to explain, because he knows exactly what you're referring to.

A small laugh slips past his lips “I think me being here right now answers that one for you” he rises from the softness of your shoulder slowly, savoring the intimacy. A small smile forms on your lips at his words.

Pulling back, your eyes fall onto him again. Being with Sunghoon was so easy.

He pats his lap gently. His eyes are soft, almost begging “Come here” he whispers. The words are heavy with longing. They mingle in the air for just a second longer.

You nod after a moment of hesitation. As you settle onto him, his arms weave around your waist. He draws you into his warmth with his delicate touch. His face nestles into the hollow of your neck as he breathes softly, melting into the comfort of your presence.

Something seemed to have removed the distance between you and Sunghoon, and for a moment you had the impression that there was absolutely no difference in wealth, age or anything else between you. It was a wonderfully free and unleashing moment where you weren’t really expected to be anything.

“I’m sorry” he sounds shy, almost embarrassed.

Sunghoon was never the type to apologize. He’d rather let the conflict simmer down on its own without any further interference. Yet here he was- being vulnerable and honest.

“You already apologized” you smile, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He chuckles lightly “Once is not enough” he mutters into your skin, the sound muffled. You feel his wet lips move against your neck.

He raises his head, looking down at you again. “Can I kiss you?”

A sense of contentment washes over you. You nod, lips parted, waiting for him.

He gently tilts your chin up, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. A soft breath escapes you before he finally captures your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. It quickly grows messy, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. You grasp the neckline of his shirt as his tongue teases the seam of your mouth—seeking, almost begging for entrance.

Sunghoon pulls back, his breathing heavy, his lovesick eyes locked onto you. His lips glisten, slick with your desire.

He presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck, working his way down to your chest. You watch him through heavy lids, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. His hands slide beneath your shirt, fingers caressing your smooth skin. “Undress for me, please.” There’s a hint of desperation in his words as he tugs at the fabric.

You smile, cupping his cheek. Your thumb glides over his lips, gently parting them. “I don’t know…”

He whimpers quietly, grinding his clothed erection against you. “Don’t tease me. I need to see you.” His movements grow more frantic, his hands grasping at you like he’s desperate to feel every inch.

His face flushes with excitement as you hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Want me to take this off?”

“Fuck, yes.” He nods eagerly, eyes devouring your every movement. One hand drifts down, palming himself through his pants as he watches, entranced.

With slow, deliberate motions, you peel the fabric from your body and toss it onto a nearby chair. His eyes widen with each inch of skin revealed.

“You’re desperate,” you tease, replacing his hand with your own. A feathery moan slips from his lips.

He throws his head back. “Is it obvious?” he breathes, and you confirm with a hum.

“I don’t care,” he admits, his eyes slipping shut as he pushes into your palm, eager for more.

Sunghoon thought about this all the time. He felt like such a pervert, but God, it was finally happening—and it was so much better than he ever imagined.

Last time, he was so close. Ten more minutes and a locked door, and he would’ve had you. Heeseung might have been the first to have you, but Sunghoon planned to be the one who had you best. He’d make you come over and over again until you forgot all about Lee Heeseung.

And judging by the way you were looking at him, it was already starting to work.

“I really need to fuck you,” he groans, biting his lower lip. His breathing is uneven. “So bad.” His fingers trail up your thigh, his touch light, pleading.

“Yeah?” You let out a small laugh, climbing off his lap. Your hands find the soft material of his pants.

He lifts his hips immediately, watching intently as your fingers slide the fabric down his legs.

Sunghoon can feel his heartbeat quickening, his whole body trembling with anticipation. You didn’t know he could get like this. You also didn’t know you’d like it so much.

His breath hitches when you toy with the waistband of his boxers, his legs spreading involuntarily. “Take them off, pretty,” he rasps, his voice cracking. “See how hard I am for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, slipping his underwear down. He groans as the fabric slides along his length, his cock springing free.

You prop yourself up on one hand, the other lingering around his thick, leaking length. “Want me to touch you?”

He exhales sharply, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen. “Mhm.” He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dark with need. “Please.”

You press your palm against his tip, moving in slow, circular motions. His breath turns ragged as he throws his head back, surrendering to the feeling.

As your confidence grows, so does your pace. Your hand strokes him, faster, firmer. He pants lightly, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Ride me.”

You smirk and nod, slipping out of your shorts, fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear. He bites his lip, eyes smoldering with lust as his legs spread wider in invitation.

“Take them off me,” you whisper.

He looks up at you, almost as if seeking permission, before ripping the material away.

He’s so desperate to feel you, to touch you, that he wastes no time pulling you back onto his lap.

Sunghoon is mesmerized. He’s been with other girls before, but this is the first time he’s had to work for it. He usually just got what he wanted, no effort required. But now, with you, it feels like a reward. And he plans to cherish every second.

You’ve waited for this moment, savoring every touch, every lingering glance. Each look from him feels like a compliment and promise of something more.

He grips his throbbing length, aligning himself with your entrance. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you. You can feel his tip pressing against you, and a low moan slips from your lips. He gazes up at you one more time, and you nod.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. A sharp gasp escapes you as you adjust, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Fuck, Hoon…” He keeps his hold firm, guiding you. “Like this? Is this what you wanted?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. His cock throbs inside you, hitting all the right spots with each downward roll of your hips. “Don’t stop.” His voice is raw with need.

He thrusts up to meet you, his whole body trembling as the wet heat of your cunt envelopes him completely. His self-control is slipping fast. If he had known it would feel this good, he never would have let Heeseung have you first. He would have taken you from the beginning.

You start to move faster, rocking your hips, pleasure building between you both. The sounds of your moans mix with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“So perfect,” he mutters through heavy breaths. “You’re so perfect.”

Your head falls back as Sunghoon presses a hand against your stomach, feeling himself inside you. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back, trying to make it last. But he can already feel it—the tightening coil deep in his core.

“I can’t,” you pant, your walls fluttering around him. The need for release is overwhelming.

With those words, he loses it. He pulls you flush against his chest, thrusting up into you at a frantic pace. “Fuck—gonna cum so deep inside you.”

His teeth sink into your shoulder, leaving red marks in their wake.

“So close, Hoon,” you whimper, and it pushes him to the edge.

He buries himself to the hilt, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you completely. His eyes roll back as he comes, shuddering beneath you.

You’re right behind him, your climax crashing over you in waves. Your body quivers, collapsing onto his sweaty chest. His cum seeps from your still-clenching walls as he slowly slips out, savoring every second of your tight heat around him.

He watches his seed leak from your fucked-out hole, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

With a sigh, he falls onto his back, pulling you down with him.

Sunghoon feels completely content, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your spine. He can feel your breath against his neck, warm and steady, making him smile.

Today feels like the first day of his life.

….

The rest of the trip was unparalleled. For you and Sunghoon at least. Others could wish to say the same thing.

Everyday he'd attempt to sneak into your room at night. He even created a special sequence of knocks just so you'd be sure it's him. Jay didn't seem to suspect anything.

On Wednesday night while using the bathroom he said he wants to film a Get Ready With Me. Just like the ones he'd seen on social media. You laughed, and agreed. This was so unlike him. In a good way though.

You think about the unrecorded parts- how he stood in between your legs, his face twisted in discomfort as you clear his skin.

“Your lipstick choice is fucking terrible. Coral is not your color, Hoon” you smile widely.

His lips were terribly overlined. The brown pigment reached high beyond his actual mouth. Sunghoon looked so stupid, but to you, it was adorable.

“Do it for me next time” a fond smile spreads across his face. He holds your hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing your soft skin.

You look at him with a raised eyebrow “Next time? Didn’t know my princess liked getting her makeup done” he playfully rolls his eyes at you.

“Too far” he tries to hold back a smile, but his twitching lip gives it away “Keep going” he looks at the cotton pad in your other hand.

You nod, scooting just a little closer to him.

Sunghoon stood there silently, eyes closed. His body twitches involuntarily as your fingers graze against his skin. He feels your soft breathing against his neck. The warmth mixed with the soothing swipe of the cotton pad against his face, sends a shiver down his spine, as his body naturally relaxes against you.

“Gone” you smile and his eyes flush open. His reflection stares back at him in the mirror.

His skin is irritated, he can tell. And usually he’d freak out. But now, he doesn't seem to really care.

The doting look in his eyes searched your expression, his hands sliding up and down your bare thighs.

“You’re so hot,” he says. A small smirk creeps up on his lips as he keeps inching closer.

“Sunghoon” you glare at him, attempting to look serious. His soft laughter breaks the facade pretty quickly.

Without another word he presses his slightly stained lips against yours. He smiles against you, his mouth opening faintly. He reaches up to hold your cheek, chest pressing against yours. A moan escapes your mouth as he deepens the kiss. His tongue swipes your bottom lip before slipping past it.

During field trips he’d find himself drifting closer to you. And when free time came around, he'd run off with you to different parts of the city he once fell in love with.

With his arm around your shoulders, he’d point to cafes, restaurants, street art and even benches. He was truly happy. And even if you weren't paying attention to his stories, the genuine smile on his face was enough.

“No way” you gasp, the amusement evident on your face as you peel away his sleeve slightly “I swear Jake and Jay have the same one”

Sunghoon laughs, watching you analyze the ‘4’ tattoo on his wrist.

“They do,” he smiles weakly. “Heeseung has it too” you never noticed.

You always knew about Jay’s- it was on his right palm. Just recently you saw Jake had it too, hidden on the back of his neck.

“He does?” Sunghoon nods and points to his ankle.

It's almost been a year since they got it, but the ink has already started fading away. In a way, Sunghoon was relieved.

“We were so fucking out of it that night” he starts, and you turn to face him. “It was in Tokyo, I think? This girl we met, she was a tattoo artist” he looks down at it too and his eyes seem to light up “We thought it'd be funny “

You grab onto his wrist as he speaks again “My mom was so mad when she found out. She wanted it removed but I was such a fucking asshole to her back then, so I didn't listen” you don’t let go, moving your fingers upwards to hold onto his hand. He smiles.

“You look badass. Sort of” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“It looks bad and ass. And I swear her ink was from Aliexpress” he pulls you into his chest.

It was getting dark outside, but the city was only becoming livelier. Everyone was in a rush, but their ambition and passion was almost tangible.

“I’m jealous then. Matching tattoos, that's serious dedication” you smile and he laughs at the comment.

His chin rests on the top of your head, his breathing slow and steady. He watches the orange haze that falls onto the landscape.

“I’ll get your name tattooed” you hum and it almost sounds like you're judging him. He chuckles “Swear to God”

“You’re insane”

The next day he’d find a new spot to take you to. He was a better tour guide than your English teacher, you’d tell him.

And Heeseung knew about it all. To say he was angry would be an understatement.

He passed by St. Marks Place with Karina. The girl told him something about her sister being interested in him. He didn't really listen to her though.

So many people passed by him- maybe 40 in the span of 5 seconds. A lot of them looked similar. New York fashion is diverse, but it really just comes down to the same thing, he notes.

Yet he pays attention to them all, especially the two oddly familiar faces that stand in front of him, playing with a passerbys dog.

Until now, Heeseung was pretty sure he had the situation under control. He was giving you the distance he deemed necessary. Still, his eyes never left you. And when they did, once, but for a period longer than ever, you manage to find yourself in the arms of Park Sunghoon again.

Karina notices it too. He told her all about it, the whole story. She knew he was short-tempered so she never really told him that this wasn't healthy. It’d be on the tip of her tongue every time, lingering far too long for comfort. By the time she was ready, he’d change the topic.

“She’s being unreasonable, right? Tell me I’m not insane” he asked. His eyes focused on the last sip of whiskey in his glass.

You are, she thinks.

“You can’t just expect her to move on because you said so” she wants to laugh, but judging by his worn-out expression, he’s not in the mood for humor.

He scoffs. Why not? You never had an issue listening to him.

“I didn’t say so” he replies, and she looks at him with her eyebrow raised “I said sorry, Rina. What the fuck else is there to say?”

“Nothing” Karina’s reply is almost automatic “That’s really the thing, you know? Sometimes sorry isn’t enough” her attempts at ‘comfort’ are fruitless- his head falls on the table after he finishes whatever was left of his drink.

“Does this haircut make my face look weird?”

Karina would laugh it off. She’d just let him go on about his haircut, the shoes he bought today, Jake’s glasses that he accidentally stepped on and the stray cat that almost bit him.

She knew that it was a matter of time until he’d bring you up again. It was a cycle that never ended.

While you deny him love, you give it to the same person he’s been trying to erase. And in a way it’s his fault- he left the cage open and you walked out.

____

“Are you fucking serious right now? Two parents but still can’t slice up a tomato” Jay scolds the younger boy that was forced to help him in the kitchen.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jake retorts, his expression tired as he gives up on the job completely. The massacred tomato lies on the cutting board which Jay swiftly takes over.

“Everything, Jake. Literally everything” he sighs, sending Jake away with his hand.

Dinners, hangouts, parties and suddenly everything fell into place. There no longer was the inexplicable animosity hanging in the air. It felt strange at first- the conversations and acts of kindness turned into something a lot more authentic and domestic. This is what you missed the most, it seems.

“You’re not getting into Harvard, fucking dumbass” Sunghoon laughed, digging his fork into the food prepared by Jay (and as he himself argued, Jake, who waited for the water to boil before dumping in the pasta).

“My grades are better now” Jake asserted “You’ll see, I’ll have the last laugh. Just wait” the threat and seriousness in his expression makes you chuckle.

“I’m gonna stay here” Sunghoon smiles. You look at him confused. You well remember him mentioning Princeton.

“What about Princeton?” Jay brings it up before you manage to do so. Sunghoon shakes his head, setting down his utensils.

“My step-mom is sick,” he reveals. You grab his hand under the table, and he squeezes hard “She’ll be fine, don’t worry. I just want to be with my family for now. Maybe in the future I’ll transfer” he adds with a smile.

Sunghoon has never been particularly close to his mother or his step-mother. It was a choice for him.

Jeongja, his mothers girlfriend, came into his life when he was 5 years old. She took care of him like he was her own. “Blood is not a requirement when it comes to family. I’ll always love you like a son, Sunghoon. Will you remember that?” she told him one day. He always thinks about that time. Sunghoon has always been so loved and he wishes he gave it back sooner, not when he was on the brink of losing her.

Jay feels a pang of guilt in his chest at his words. Maybe one day he could learn to love his mother again. Not today, not tomorrow but one day. He wants that, more than anything.

The day comes to a close soon enough, leaving you and Sunghoon to bask in each other's embrace.

His head is on your stomach, as you play with his hair. It’s grown quite long, especially in the back.

“Two days before New Year's I was at the event hosted by Heeseung’s father” he starts. You don’t say anything, allowing him to continue “I talked to Heeseung then. That was the last time, actually” he chuckles lightly. There’s a hint of sadness in his tone, but he can't quite tell why.

“You know he actually likes you?” it doesn't shock you like he expected it to. He doesn't comment on it though, letting you find the right words in reply.

“I know” you say, and he sits up abruptly, looking at you.

“You do?” He seems puzzled. It has been so long since he’s seen or even talked to Heeseung. He wouldn't know.

Maybe there is a part of him that misses the boy. He was his first friend at Saint Matthew’s Academy. He welcomed him like they’d been friends since forever. Heeseung put up with his initial shyness even when it seemed like everyone else couldn't anymore.

Sunghoon always smiles when he thinks about his first day. Lee Heeseung spotted him in the crowd, and without an introduction, swung his arm around his shoulder, talking to him like an old friend.

He introduced him to Wonyoung, his first actual girlfriend. Even though he wasn't on the best terms with her right now, even though he was with her out of convenience, the memory of their time shared together makes his heart just a little warmer.

Heeseung was the one who gave him a life. And he loved him, which made leaving 10 times harder.

Even so, he doesn't regret the decision. He knew it was pointless to live with the idea of his once best friend that wasn't really accurate anymore. They both deserved better than each other.

“He’s made it pretty clear” your lips form into a downwards smile.

Sunghoon looks away from you for a brief moment as he speaks up “And it doesn't change anything?”

“What do you mean?” you tilt your head in question.

Sunghoon exhales sharply. Even though he knows what answer to expect, there’s still that ounce of fear in him. Fear that stems from being second, being the ‘afterparty’.

“You still choose this? Even if you know it wasn't necessarily fake after all?” he asks even though he knows he shouldn't.

You smile, and pull him back into your chest “I should've chosen this from the beginning” he feels his heart grow bigger, a heat rising to his face “It doesn't matter what it was, not really. Didn’t you know I’d come back to you?” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’m happy you did” he murmurs, his eyes shutting. Your hand slips under his shirt, caressing the soft skin on his back “You know, if he ever made you feel worse than us, I hope you know it’s not true. You’re a good girl, and I always knew it. You deserve more, and I’ll make sure you get it, okay?”

You smile lightly, and nod.

You look over at the dirty dishes in the sink, messy dinner table, and sigh softly as you think about all the work that’ll have to be conquered soon.

But you let him fall asleep on your chest, and it feels good. Even if there's things left undone.

____

It was Jungwon’s birthday dinner today.

After the school trip you two have grown much closer. He would visit you during breaks or sometimes join you in the study hall. He’d even given up his seat next to Jay (who was surprisingly really good at the subject) in French class to sit with you.

Jungwon would talk a lot about his girlfriend, Binna. She went to a public school not far from here and met Jungwon during a student exchange program to Sweden. She’d always tell him what people at her school thought about the well renowned, enclosed community of St. Matthew’s. It wasn’t entirely positive, and since Binna was dating one of the ‘stuck-up dickheads that probably wipes his ass with $100 bills’, they wouldn’t really include her in the conversations anymore.

But you enjoyed hearing about her. Jungwon would ask for advice regarding gifts, places he should take her and things he could do to make her feel loved. And you’d always give it to him.

He showed you countless pictures of her, always struggling with choosing one “She looks pretty in all of these, I swear!”

Her brown hair covered her face slightly but you could still see her beautiful face. Big, doe eyes, plump lips that were rosewood pink. She had a scar under her right eye. You thought it made her look so stunning. Jungwon did too.

During his birthday dinner, you saw them together for the first time. It was almost like he forgot what he was here for in the first place, his attention on her only.

You sat next to Sunghoon and Jake. Jay sat next to Jake with Niki on his right. Heeseung sat across from you, Karina next to him on the left, Sunoo on his other side. The other people there you didn’t really recognize.

The relationship between you and Jungwon wasn’t the only thing that changed. A lot of things did.

“Let’s go back to my house after this” he leaned in closer to you. He didn’t have to even whisper, the conversations that surrounded you ringing in your ears. The music was loud too. You think Sade is playing, but you're not sure.

Jake, although currently arguing with Jay about baseball clubs, notices. He caught on pretty early. During a walk after school, he brought it up. “Back in the game, huh? How did you even get him to talk?”. He knew you wouldn’t admit to anything, but it was funny to watch you get flustered at his comments.

“Won’t you be tired?” you ask, and he laughs softly. Tired after eating a free dinner, and cracking a few fake smiles? This was like a day job for him. Countless dinners with his biological father, whom he truly despised, or CEO’s of other successful companies, or with Wonyoung and her parents (he hated those one’s the most). He’s used to it by now.

He shakes his head ‘no’ which causes you to smile. His hand lingers next to your thigh. He’s tempted to touch you, but Heeseung’s piercing gaze prevents him. He doesn’t know why. It’ll end soon, surely.

You look over at Jay who's now in conversation with Niki. It’s a little shocking to see them like this.

Niki never liked Jay, and Jay didn’t like him either. Even if he was meant to marry his sister one day (which he saw maybe four times in his life, but truly wasn’t opposed to- she was so beautiful), Niki just couldn’t care less about Park Jongseong. They seem to be laughing at something now and it doesn't look forced, not at all. It’s a rare view and you almost take a photo. You could tease him with it later.

Jake turns to you and Sunghoon, noting how the boy is much more talkative when he’s with you.

“I’ll be back” you say, and Sunghoon nods, watching you stand up. He wants to say ‘I’ll miss you’, but thinks it’s incredibly corny.

The restaurant is crowded tonight. You seem to be the only big group of people there. You smile while passing an older couple that’s celebrating the wife’s birthday, a small cake and a big bouquet in a glass vase on the table.

Warm water slides down your fingers, drips down your wrist as you watch your reflection in the mirror.

January seeped into February while you became better. That's what you want to believe at least. While the hair dye keeps fading away, you think about how Heeseung suggested the color. When you touch what's left of your lip piercing (only a healed scar), you remember how he picked it out for you. It’s not inherently bad to change yourself for someone, but you wish you hadn't become everything you never wanted to be.

The door opens, the creak sounding through the bathroom. You don't look up, instead shaking the wetness off your hands.

“Still scared of the hand-dryer?” he leans against the wall. His tone is almost mocking, and usually you’d laugh with him. But today, just like yesterday and the day before that too, you don't feel like talking to Lee Heeseung.

“Heeseung, I’m not in the mood” Your tone is flat and his expression- unchanging. “I already told you everything I had to say”

“Do I make you feel sick? Do you think about what happened between us and feel sick?” You're taken aback by his sudden question.

There's a moment of painful silence as he gauges your reaction. You look at him with utter confusion, but his expression doesn't seem to falter- he's calm, almost too calm.

For the weeks after New York, Heeseung went back to ignoring you. You wouldn't see him much either, as he spent most of his time with Karina or a group of guys from your grade. Sometimes, he’d look at you for a moment longer than intended. His lips would part, as if he wanted to say something, but he never did.

Heeseung started ignoring you, and for the first time since you met him, it was okay.

“What?” you choke out, and he doesn't repeat. You heard him the first time, didn't you? “N- No. What are you even talking about?”

He scoffs, his eyes on the floor. Your back is pressed against the sink as you wait for him to continue.

“Then why him? We were good together” he doesn't sound sad, or resentful. It's almost like the question comes out automatically, like it's standard procedure.

You want to laugh. He sounds robotic, his ‘apology’ most likely rehearsed. No matter how much time passes, no matter what happens and what doesn't, Heeseung doesn't quite get it. Not at all.

“I want someone who doesn't see me as a game” you speak and he doesn't fire back- instead he nods. “And honestly, I really don't give a fuck what changed in the middle. You should've told me then, not after we had sex” he cringes at the reminder.

Was sorry really not enough? He needs a breakthrough, but nothing seems to work.

The last time he felt like this was when his first real girlfriend broke up with him to be with his brother. They're still together- a stinging reminder of what Heeseung couldn't be.

He remembers begging her to stay, standing in front of her, a desperate look on his face “I’ll be better” . She just laughed in his face. He felt like such an idiot.

And it happens yet again- it's just never enough. He's never enough.

He sighs, his expression changing “Do I have to kill him to get my fucking life back?”

You look at him confused “I- I don't understand” he shakes his head. His body peels off the wall, as he comes closer to you.

“That dickhead has it. He stole my life” his voice is just above a whisper, his eyes darkening. You don’t reply, a look of hesitancy on your features.

His friends, his almost girlfriend, his social status- Sunghoon took it away. He stole his identity, everything he's ever worked for. Heeseung had nothing left.

His hand lands on your shoulder, his touch tentative at first “I’ll be better”

He watches you sigh, a twinge of sadness in your eyes that can't look at him. A flash of hope crosses his face, but Heeseung knows it's pointless- he already lost. A long time ago.

“It doesn't matter anymore, really” you finally speak “And I don't think I’ll ever be over the person you were before, Heeseung”

Heeseung looked like he knew this was coming. Probably because he did.

He could say some cliche shit like “You know I’ll always love you?” or “Can you kiss me for the last time?”, but he doesn't. He nods. Maybe because he knew this far longer than he'd like to admit.

Heeseung recalls the moment he first saw you like it was yesterday. He was being a douche, wasn't he? It always went the same- he showers you with compliments, makes you think he’s emotionally intelligent, and eventually he’d have some fun with you. He never knew it’d go this far, no.

Now, he hates himself for being so fucking stupid, so reckless. But again, he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret long. They knew, they all did. And time already showed him that they wouldn't wait with the truth. They just would, they all would.

He’s glad to be leaving soon. Changing schools was never his plan- but it no longer made sense for him to be here. He’s sure there’s nicer things waiting for him in Kyoto.

He’s sure there’s a better version of him there.

Heeseung wants to tell you that this stupid birthday dinner for silly, little Yang Jungwon is most likely the last time he’ll see you. He wants to tell you that those rumors about him moving are true, but he bites his tongue. You probably knew anyway, and you probably didn't care.

He hugs you, and you let him. You let him hold you, and you pretend not to hear his quiet sniffles. He wouldn't want you to see him like this. Deep down he hopes that maybe eternal return is real, and he’ll get to have you in the exact same way again at one time.

Heeseung moves away from you, his glossy eyes glazing over your figure. He moves for the door handle, opening the door. The world becomes much louder again, as the line of tables spreads out in the distance.

“After you” he smiles weakly, his eyes avoiding you.

You reciprocate the same weak, apologetic smile. Stepping out of the bathroom you don't look back, heading straight for the table you came from.

You could've kept avoiding it, ignoring the growing pain in your chest whenever he crossed you. But you owed it to him.

There's a flash of guilt on your features as you approach everyone. But seeing Sunghoon laughing so effortlessly and purely with Jake and Jay again makes your lips curve into a small, genuine smile again.

“Are you okay?” his wide smile doesn't falter as Sunghoon turns to look at you. There’s a bit of concern in his tone as speaks, though. You nod.

“Where’s Karina?” you ask, noticing the two empty seats.

They think it’s weird- you asking about Karina of all people. But no one bothers to really make a comment about it.

“She left with Heeseung like 10 minutes ago. Didn't you see them leaving?” Jake questions.

“No” your gaze falls onto Sunghoon again. He looks so happy, and free. It didn't use to be like this. “Let’s get out of here” you lean down, your face at level with his.

He nods, moving swiftly as he collects his belongings “Yeah. Let’s go. If you’re not tired” he grins. You roll your eyes playfully, shoving him softly.

He holds your hand, his skin so delicate and smooth against yours. His grip is tight, as if he’s scared something might take you away from him.

“Let’s go be tired together, yeah?” he nods with a smile, looking down at you.

And the bittersweetness of February 9th stains you like the blood of a plump cherry on a summer day. But it was always meant to be this way, you think.

419 notes · View notes

mariasont · 2 days ago

Note

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him.

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it.

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back.

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

#aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #hotchner #hotch #criminal minds smut

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dollzites · 3 days ago

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⏦ﾟ♡︎ SEUNGHYUN (T.O.P) AS YOUR HUSBAND

୨ৎ pairing: husband!seunghyun x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! with mild sex talk

୨ৎ from myeong: hi!!! super duper excited to take this request since he’s been my love since I was a very young girl! have always looked up to him and I’m so happy to be writing for him!! and he’s back?! wooo!! please enjoy this! x

he’s going to be a very caring, attentive, and thoughtful husband. I don’t care what anyone else says about him, he’s going to be the bestest husband and do all that he can to make you happy.

is he perfect? nope. not even close to it and no one is perfect but what he does is try and he shows you that he cares and cares enough to work hard to keep the relationship as healthy as it can be.

sometimes isn’t clingy because he wants you to be the one to break first. he definitely enjoys watching you run to him for a hug, kiss, or something else.

shy!!!! he’s not shy all the time and likes to be the dominant one in the relationship of course and in a very non toxic way but when he does feel shy it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen a man do.

“what? you think this suit looks good on me? oh.. it’s what they told me to wear and honestly I wasn’t sure if it was too much.. but since you like it—”

he won’t finish because he’s looking down at the ground cheeks slightly pink from feeling a bit shy and embarrassed by how you keep staring at him and complimenting him. sounds weird for him hm? well! you’re just that special girl to him. I mean come on he married you!! he’s a different man now.

is very overly protective over you. will do all that he can to protect you and your relationship. since you are now a married couple he takes it to another level of wanting you and him protected as a couple.

“would you like to try this new dish with me? I can make it! or.. maybe.. we can cook it together?”

please cook with him because he secretly loves it and falls more in love with you watching how you cut up vegetables and the look on your pretty face when you’re concentrated and working. so cute

seunghyun is very obsessed with morning sex especially now as a married couple he just feels it’s needed and if you both don’t have time in the morning then expect before bedtime sex.

he loves trying new things with you. when he first brought up pulling hair.. it wasn’t yours. it was his. you pulled on his soft black locks and he felt this spark inside of him that he’s never felt before.

if it was a long night of sex he purposely gets up before you and makes you breakfast but not in bed since he’ll kindly drag you out of bed and have you sit at the table with him but you always end up sitting in his lap which he enjoys more of course.

“you’re such a pretty girl did you know that?”

“I.. love you a lot. thank you for loving me despite everything that I’ve been through. thank you.”

he’s a cautious husband and never wants you to feel hurt or anything close to that. he’ll do all that he can to make sure you’re happy, comfortable, and safe. he’s careful with his words especially when you two get into small arguments. he’s learned from the past on what not to do.

seunghyun is very emotional and he’s not afraid to show that with you. when he was younger it was a different story but he’s older now and has been through things that has shown him it’s okay to show such emotions. he trusts you as his wife and always cries in your arms if he desperately needs it.

expect movie nights with him!! which end in not watching the movie at all and just talking to each other about the weirdest topics or space of course.

will take so many pictures of you posing next to the moon specially the full moon since it’s his favorite! he finds it beautiful just like you. cries

nights in are his favorite but if you want to go out then he’ll do that for you. he’ll enjoy going on walks with you while eating ice cream his most favorite sweets. his free hand will hold yours tightly.

craves you in every way possible. he’ll need to kiss you often and stroke your hair or pull you closer to him and his larger frame. he enjoys how much shorter you are and constantly brings it up.

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 days ago

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Being In Love (and how to get you to love him back)

You're a vigilante in this one, but it's only semi-relevant to the plot (I think it classifies as a fluff piece) ~1.1k words

Jason has never liked things easy. Well, that's a lie, he's never had things easy. What is true is that Jason Todd likes a challenge. And that's something you certainly are.

He's never meant someone so stubbornly insistent on staying at his side, has never had someone so willing to throw themselves into danger right alongside him. He can tell you to hang back– demand, even, that you wait for his all-clear before storming the drug bust or robbery of the week, but you never listen. You always just follow him, stand by him, have his back.

You're always there for him, never pressing, but always present. So he really shouldn't be surprised that he falls head over heels for you.

It was slow, gradual, something that crept up on him before he even had a word for the feeling growing inside his chest. And then it crashed over him like a tidal wave. Flooded his senses and became so undeniable that he forgot how to breathe.

There was no grand moment, no pivotal event. You just smiled at him, and oh, he knew. He knew he was a goner, and nothing would ever be the same. No excuse could get him out of there fast enough, once he realized exactly how much of his heart you held.

With his face flushed, eyes wide and starry, and chest so tight it hurt, he ran. He's not proud of it, but he did. It took him days to figure himself out. To come to terms with the fact that you were it for him. And when he finally crawled his way back to your side, you were there. Waiting. Ever patient, ever smiling, ever willing to let him mess up again and again.

He thought it would be simple, once he accepted that love was the only way to describe the depths of his feelings for you. But you, despite how easy you seem to make everything else in his life, stubbornly (or obliviously) don't seem to notice how enamored he is with you.

Jason does every single thing he can think of to earn your attention, to deserve your affections. He gives you his jacket when it's cold. (You try to turn it down every time, but you always give in. You always smile that soft, gentle smile that makes tingles run from his spine to his toes– his entire world fixating on you)

He makes you food, buys you food, takes you out to eat, recommends recipes, shares his favorite meals with you. (The way to one's heart is through their stomach, right? But you return the favor every time, for every meal he buys, you treat him to one. For every dessert he bakes, you bake one of your own. It's almost frustrating, if your food wasn't so good. He just wants you to let him take care of you for once without needing to do anything in return)

He brings you flowers, trinkets, anything he can think of that would make you smile. (And you do smile, every time. But then you tell him he doesn't have to go out of his way like this for you. He wants to, so badly, if you would just let him)

He picks invisible lint of your shoulder, smoothes out the wrinkles in your shirt. (You just smile, the same sweet smile you always do, and he has to wonder if that's your way of letting him down easy, if you're not so oblivious as you seem)

He tangles his fingers in yours when the need for night vision arises on missions. (He knows your mask has it, knows you can traverse the dark without the need of his help, but he claims that the one in his mask is better every time. It's not, but you never call him out on it)

He shares every little detail of his life you ask for, and listens to everything you say, memorizing every word that falls from your lips for the future. (He tells you things he'd never tell anyone else, but you deserve to know– deserve to know him and all the reasons why you should and shouldn't love him back)

He checks in on you. He texts you on the days you don't see him, holds you back after patrol to check if you're doing all right. He pays attention to your moods, the set of your shoulders, and does everything he can to lift your spirits when you're down. (You do the same for him. He can't tell you how much that means. He wants to, he just doesn't have the words)

But despite everything he tries (everything but outright saying that he loves you) you don't offer him more than what a friend would. (A best friend, sure, a confidant like no other, but that's not what Jason wants)

He resigns himself to just this– to friendship and nothing more– for the rest of his life. (And that would be enough, just to linger in your space would be enough forever) Until a mission gone wrong, until an explosion that leaves his ears ringing and his head spinning and his only thought is the aching fear of not knowing if you made it out.

You do– did– you're standing in front of him and even if you're favoring one leg over the other you're alive and he can't hold himself back any more under the wave of relief that nearly sends him to his knees.

Jason rips the mask from his face and kisses you like it's the only chance he'll ever have. (It might be. He fully expects you to punch him in the face once he pulls away)

When he does pull back to catch his breath, his hands lingering over your cheeks like he's scared you'll disappear, he watches something flash over your face. Realization. A quiet 'oh' escapes your throat, and suddenly, you're kissing him with a passion he never dared hope for from you.

Your arms thrown around his neck, his fingers digging into the small of his back, the smell of smoke and ash clinging to your skin. It's nothing like he expected, but so, so perfect and you and everything clicks into place when you suck his bottom lip between your teeth and lean your weight into him, trusting him to hold you steady.

Jason has never had things easy, but this moment– kissing you, loving you– feels like the most natural thing in the world, and he wants that to last forever. Wants you– this– all of it, held in the palms of his hands for eternity. (And you want the same, you always have, because how could you do anything less than love him just as much as he loves you?)

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 21 hours ago

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⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Haechan ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Haechan x f!idol!reader

summary: what better way to promote your new music than to do an interview with your boyfriend?! Does he know that? No!

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were grinning widely as you sat in the pink chair. You bowed to the camera introducing yourself with an excited smile, "Hi everybody! I'm so excited to be here today. The staff and I have planned a bit of a prank today."

Your friendship with Haechan had started when you debuted. Haechan was one of the first idols around your age that you felt comfortable with. He was funny, nice, and was a good friend. He gave you a lot of advice on how to handle the long days, how to speak up with your company, and how to take care of yourself when it all got to be too much. And perhaps... taking care of yourself meant indulging in your friendship with Haechan, in private and in public.

The fans had surprisingly been pretty cool about both of you being close. It wasn't very often that fans got to see two idols from different companies have a genuine friendship. They liked seeing the two of you play around backstage, the random mention of each other in YouTube vlogs or lives, and the very few and far between posts you shared of each other.

When the edits evolved from 8 whole minutes of the two of you being the best of friends to the both of you being secretly in love for 11 minutes, maybe, just maybe, you both began to see each other in a new way. Maybe you guys went on a date to test the waters and maybe that date meant that the two of you became something more and maybe this video would be one of the first times you both directly acknowledged your romantic relationship. Well, beyond standard wordy posts that your companies put out to disclose your relationship.

You smile at the camera, "today I will be pranking my boyfriend Haechan. He thinks he's doing this interview with someone else and has no clue its me!"

Finally, on the other side of the wall, enters the set and sits himself in the blue chair, "Hello, I am Haechan from NCT. Today I will be using the screen name Sunshine and I am excited to figure out my partner is. I think I'll figure it out very easily."

On your side of the wall you, cup a hand over your mouth to suppress a giggle, "I'm going to be so annoying!"

"Hey," you type, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing.

"Oh, it's starting!" you hear Haechan exclaim. You phone vibrates with a message that reads, 'hey.'

"Geez, he's really boring isn't he? Let's make this more exciting!" You laugh, typing back something you don't think you'd ever tell your boyfriend to his face, "wow, I know this is a handsome man I'm talking to. Tell me, are you handsome?"

Haechan flushes in front of the pink wall with his jaw dropped in shock, "w-what?!"

You calm down a bit, not being as bold with your flirtation so that the both of you could progress the conversation. You both make small talk, talking about base level interests. Then comes the home screen exchange. You'd been preparing for this!

Since no one ever really saw your homescreens, you and Haechan had decided to have cute matching backgrounds, a cute couples selfie you'd taken together. What he didn't know, and you didn't tell him because he was so whiny, was that you had changed it. So he sent you an blurred version of his usual background, a picture of the two of you with you biting his cheek and his eyes screwed shut laughing. You knew the picture well, not only because you lived it but also because you had the picture that followed as your own background before you changed it for this interview.

Haechan's phone dropped from his hands, eyes blown wide in shock again. The staff were busy laughing behind the camera while you sat with a smug smile, listening for his reaction. "Is this real? Is this actually your background?" You read the message that had been sent to you.

"Why wouldn't it be?" You message him back.

Haechan doesn't even look at his phone again, he locks his screen and sets it on his thigh. He groans, rubbing his hands through his hair and over his face, "how do you turn someone down nicely?"

You bite your lip when you hear that. Your plan had worked, your precious Haechan was flushed and embarrassed. You type back, "do you know NCT Haechan? He's so talented and funny. I'm a big fan, are you?"

"Yeah, it couldn't be more obvious," Haechan grumbles, staring at the homescreen. He can't look at any of the apps or notifications because he's staring at his own face! A collage of pictures of him-- only him. Pictures of him from his debut to pictures of him from his last performance.

Maybe he was speaking to some kind of comedian, it was some kind of joke that happened to revolve around him. He'd watched some of these interviews before and it never worked out that one person knew who they were texting and the other didn't. This had to be some kind of strange coincidence.

He somehow expertly turned the conversation around, evading your question and changed the conversation into something more lighthearted. Then comes the first Would You Rather. The question: would you rather make a burping sound while farting or farting sound while burping?

You take a second to think, considering the question then finally send your answer, "I think I'd rather make a farting sound while burping."

"Really?" Haechan replies, "why is that? I mean I agree, but I'm curious to hear your reasoning?"

"Tell me yours first," you reply.

"Well mostly I don't want to feel the rumbling feeling of a burp in my butt," Haechan types out.

"He's so gross," you mutter as you read the screen, "he's such a guy." And yet you type out a message, "wow, that's so manly of you.."

Haechan runs his hand through his hair, "how would someone read that and find it attractive?"

Again, he doesn't address your flirting. He maneuvers around it, he doesn't want to be the guy that hurts yours or anyone's feelings, even a stranger's.

By the time the both of you get to the end of the interview having just sent the most recent pictures in your camera roll to each other, Haechan feels a horrible ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. You had sent him a picture of a flower from some bush outside and he had sent you a picture of the products that had been used on his face before the interview. (He'd sent the picture to you.) How is he going to handle this?!

He looks up from yet another flirty message with a look of unease, "you guys don't do these things with crazy fans right?"

The staff reassure him that no, they absolutely would not ever do anything to put him or anyone else in harm's way. His partner is just a silly person, a jokester.

You, on the other hand, are a ball of excitement to reveal yourself. The time comes to meet your partner, though you already know yours. You prop yourself on the wall, one hand outstretched against the wall and the other on your hip.

Haechan rounds the corner and sees you. You flip your hair, winking at him with a, "hey, handsome."

He falls to his knees, hand clutched over his heart while he lets out a sigh of relief and a loud exaggerated whine, "how could my own lover do this to me?!"

It takes both you and the staff to calm Haechan down, but you eventually get him to sit in the chair of the high top table and get the frown off his face. He's still pouty of course, and he lets you know so, "how could you do this to me?"

"With the help of my managers, your managers, the production here at Kode... duh," you answer, squeezing his knee beneath the table reassuringly.

"You're so funny," he deadpans, "but seriously, I was so stressed that I was going to have to see a real life crazy person and turn them down while maintaining my safety. Thank goodness it was a real life crazy person I already knew."

You shove his shoulder with a laugh, "so you had no clue who it was?"

"Absolutely no clue," Haechan confirms, "I did think that this was going to be easy at first, but you came on so strong that I had to mostly focus on getting us to have a normal, not flirty conversation. Did you have fun stressing me out, my menace?"

"The best time ever," you nod with a proud smile.

Haechan lets out a breathy laugh, more of a soft exhale of air as he pulls your hand up and pressed a kiss against the back of your hand, "I'm never doing an interview with you ever again."

"You say that now, but you're my biggest fan. Don't you want me to be successful? How can I be successful if even my handsome, sunbaenim boyfriend won't help me?" You tease, looking at him with a look all too innocent to be real.

"Oh right. Please make sure to check out my girlfriend's first solo debut. The music is amazing, her voice sounds like angels singing, the music videos are award winning, the outfits are out of this world and there is nothing like it in all the world. Please support her... or I will have to," Haechan states with a fake smile while looking right into the lens of the camera, letting his smile drop into a pleading face for the ending.

"Yes, please make sure to check out my solo! I appreciate it," you smile at the camera, bowing to show your gratitude. While you fulfill your promoting duties you miss the adoring look on Haechan's face. The way his eyes soften and he looks at you with a calm, serene look of love.

You look at him with a soft smile, "can you forgive me for my prank?"

He tugs you into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, "I can make an exception if you promise this will be the last time you prank me."

"Well, of course," you answer too quickly. A lie, of course.

The conversation between you dwindles down and the two of you take your selfie. You smile brightly at the camera with your head tucked beneath Haechan's chin, Haechan smiles sweetly at the camera with his usual close-lipped smile. It's the first selfie as a romantic couple that anyone will see of the two of you and it makes you slightly nervous, but more than anything you're excited for people to see just a sliver of the dynamic you and Haechan share, the love that's there.

"Thank you to the team at Kode for having us and thank you to the fans in advance for all the love and support. I hope you love it," you smile at the cameras.

The video ends with the screen fading to black, but if fans listen closely, they can hear Haechan reassuring you, "everyone is going to love it, honey. How could they not love anything you do?"

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bunny-jpeg · 2 days ago

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wife

mark webber

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/47), wife kink, height difference, breeding kink, wife!reader, summertime fic, verbal worship

a/n: do you have baby fever? you do now! *flashbangs*

kimi raikkonen ver. - sebastian vettel ver. - jenson button ver.

while summer wasn't your favourite season you were happy at the very least that there had been a fair bit of sun. your little pet project had become helping your husband out in the garden behind the house you lived in. you had been mostly taking online summer courses for your degree prior to this year, but now that your degree was finally done you were a little more helpful outside. plus, you were never going to say no to be away from your desk.

you suggested to mark, that you start looking for a 'big girl job' and your loving, older husband simply patted you on the head and said, "take the summer off, you deserve a break!"

but you had a different idea of what break meant. you thought it was going to be a few months until the weather cooled down while mark through the break would end once your first child started primary school.

mark's hand grazed your lower back as he leaned in towards you while you were bent over giving your attention to the tomato plant. his touch was comforting, yet firm. he remarked with humor, "you take care of them so well. you're like their mother." and then laughed.

"i wouldn't say that, honey." you replied as you were upright once more. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed up against you.

something had been filling his mind lately. he was almost in his fifties! he thought it was about time that you two did a little family planning. the world of racing would like another webber and he thought you were the perfect woman to have them.

didn't help that he had been having a reoccurring dream. mrs. webber, happily greeting him with his son at your hip and pregnant with your second child, a daughter. kid looked just like him and you always had dinner ready for your little sprouting family. it itched a part of his brain that mark didn't think was possible. he wanted to see you pregnant with his child.

he placed a hand on your middle. it was already a little softer, but the idea of you with his child made a fire light in him. he held on and kissed your cheek with a gentle affection.

"let's go inside for a bit. too much sun isn't good for you." he said softly, even though the sun was now hidden behind some fluffy white clouds. mark loved how much smaller you felt compared to him. he was close to six foot two so he had to look down at you. especially when you were tucked away at his side.

softer, gentler, younger. near perfect to be the mother to his children. because you weren't going to stop at one, mark might be getting up there in age. but he could still keep up and keep you full.

he loved looking at you. your skin warmed by the sun. you had an old baseball cap of his on that you wore while you gardened, but mark had it off of you while he was shepherding you into the bedroom.

his wide hands on your hips as he got you into the room. he made his size difference known and it turned you on. it was quite the feeling that leapt in your chest. him being domineering as his hands then trailed up under your shirt.

he playfully scolded you, "you need to wear some sunscreen. i don't want to anything about my wife getting a sunburn." then kissed your cheek before the t-shirt was pushed up to just under your breasts. exposing your middle to him.

you soon stood there in your shorts, underwear and socks. your dirty shoes left by the door and your t-shirt thrown to the floor to be washed later. mark licked his lips and cupped your breasts in your bra with fondness. gonna need a bigger size in a few months. he exhaled before he leaned in for a deep kiss. he continued to undress you slowly. fuck, you looked beautiful. pretty breasts, soft curves, all belonged to mark webber. the thought made him hard.

he kissed you before he got his shirt off and kissed you again before he full got undressed. you ended up on the bed and he continued to kiss you deeply.his large hands roamed your beautiful body.

you moaned under his kisses and held onto his shoulders. your short nails dug into the skin for a moment as his kisses grew in passion. with a want in his gut for you. he groaned against in the kiss as his cock throbbed while pressed against your middle.

"fuck honey, i knew i had to have you all to myself. look at you." he said between heavy breaths. he got you on your back, further up the bed and said, "how did i get so lucky?" he got between your legs, "they don't make them like you anymore." he said cheekily as he rubbed his hard cock up against your slick entrance.

you blushed as you felt mark's cock up against you. you replied, "they don't make them like you anymore either."

mark adored you. he was deeply loving and protective. if he was protective now, imagine when you were having his baby?he soon sank into you and he loved the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his aching cock. his slice of paradise. he fit perfectly inside of you, his wife.

"fuck, mark." you groaned as you felt the euphoric state down to your nerves. you didn't think you'd crave sex as much as you did with mark.

he kissed your face with a gentle force. he clutched onto your soft thighs, "honey, you feel so good. i love you, i love you so much. you are the most - fuck - beautiful woman i've ever laid eyes on." his thrusts were steady as he pressed as far as he could inside of you. the two of you were chest to chest.

his cock nudged against your spongy warmth. mark was hefty in the cock department. he was big, but knew you took it beautifully. even under him, letting him take you with no protective. but he was certain that your body was needy for him.

mrs. webber with her two children, playing in the yard while her loving husband tended to your tomato plants. a domestic bliss. mark webber's little family, his pride and joys. mark loved it and maybe when they were in bed. he'd get to feel his wife's curves again.

"you feel amazing, honey. fuck, you're my angel. perfect beyond measure. look at you. all mine. the wife to end all wives." his thrusts grew stronger.

even at his age, he could still keep up. you couldn't even tease him because you would just be lying. more often you tapped out before mark could ever break a sweat.

his pace continued, it was heavier. his movements were more desperate, he needed his cute little wife. he was smart by putting a ring on you. maybe he should've waited till after you graduated before you got married, but you were already putting webber on assignments by accident.

now he could spend all summer making a baby with you. you have that free time, letting him fuck you, make love to you, breed you. the headboard creaked up against the wall while he thrusted up into you. he heavily panted and he kept up the pace. he wanted you deeply, like a throb in his body while he worked your core.

your back arched a little, you held onto the covers for support while mark shifted your hips a little and continued to fuck you at a pace that left you breathless. sweet noises left your lips as he continued to feverishly fuck you. the leap in your heart as the need for more pleasure grew.

"mark."

"yes, honey?" he panted as he held onto you tighter. the race in his soul and the excitement coursed through him.

"i need you." you gasped as the pleasure only mounted in your body. it was near overwhelming, you felt the leap in your pulse and the sweat on your body. to mark it looked painfully erotic. you felt the heightened euphoria, your soul begged for your husband. you knew that mark's main kink was you. you as his wife. you as the mother of his children. he had a thing for your carrying that title. it fit you lovely, just like his cock in you.

as it should be.

you were so close to your orgasm, close to being pushed over the euphoric edge. you panted heavily, he felt amazing against you. you were so needy when mark gave you that pleasure you desired. you could taste it in your throat. the noises got sweeter, pathetic in a beautiful way. you held on tighter to the covers as the feeling only grew in you.

mark shuddered and continued his heavy thrusts. he could feel it as well which only spurred him on to continue his movements. he wanted to make you feel the best you could possibly feel. to pour his love into you, a certain deep devotion that left you yearning for more.

"cum for me, baby. my honey, my wife, cum for me." he groaned as he dug his hands into your hips. with a few more thrusts he finished inside of you.

he kept his pace steady in a post-orgasmic bliss. running on a certain primal instinct as he hiked your hips up further and fucked your pussy. he fucked you through your orgasm as your back arched and you held onto the covers tightly for support. the pleasure consumed you and it left you panting and hot all over.

"beautiful." he slowed his pace to a stop. he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. he pulled out and got you into his arms while he laid next to you in bed. your leg over his hip as you laid facing him. your cheek against his chest. his words were so much softer as he said, "you're the perfect wife. you do everything for me, and i do everything for you."

"aw c'mon!" you huffed as you tried to get a better look at the tomato plant. the problem was that there was too much of the plant in your way to check on what you needed to see. the thing had grown like a monster over the early parts of summer!

"honey.. baby." mark said as he picked up your small daughter to see what was troubling you, "why don't you try getting a chair to sit down." he placed a hand on your lower back.

you exhaled, "i'm fine, i'm fine." you were currently four months pregnant with your second child. your daughter, stella, was three now and excited to be a big sister. you were still a stubborn little wife despite mark's guidance to relax.

you rubbed your lower back and looked to your daughter, "next year you'll help daddy and i pick all the tomatoes, right?" then tickled your daughter's middle which made the little girl laugh loudly.

she nodded eagerly and mark kissed her on the top of the head. already a total daddy's girl. you said you had dibs on being your second child's favourite.

mark gave you a small kiss on the cheek and said, "better yet, how about you sit with stelly-belly and i get you both something to drink and i'll check the plants?" his eyes lingered on your round middle, "you're not wonder woman, honey. and before our second peanut is born, why don't you enjoy today?"

you sighed, reluctant. but once you got an armful of your daughter you had no choice but to take a seat. you knew you weren't going to win this fight. you leaned in to kiss him before you headed towards the patio furniture near by.

"hey!" mark said and you looked over. he pointed at you, "not too much sun alright, don't need my girls getting a sunburn today." then winked at you. he smiled. he couldn't be happier, he had everything he needed and so much more <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #mark webber x y/n #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber smut #f1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #pregnant reader #pregnant!reader

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midnite-c6 · 2 days ago

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Heyyy! I just wanted to say I love your writing!! And I was wondering if I could request VIP!thanos x reader x VIP!Namgyu ?? I haven’t seen anyone write something like this yet and I think you’d write it so well😚 thank youuu❤️

ugh. yes. this. to pink guard, to frontmen and now to VIPs, god those pervy ones in season 1 really fit their essence!! this is also for the ones who wanted bukkake of the two! <3

VIP!thanos & VIP!nam-gyu x reader !!<3 warnings: 18+, DARK content, noncon, sa, sex, public space, threesome, no aftercare, degradationnnn (pls read at ur own risk!!)

つ⁠｡⁠☆ your broke ass was looking EVERYWHERE for a job... luckily! a man with dressed in a suit gave you a special card to call. boom. you're hired. but not as one of the guards, not as one of the players, but simply a servant, more of a maid. instead of being in any involvements during the games, you'd be cleaning up the soldiers rooms, washing the sheets for the 456 players who'd lay down on the beds, to think, the games were actually pretty clean and organized.

but... now it's your time to shine, since now the VIPs would come and visit. the frontman would prepare the small watching area for the VIPs, this was the first time you ever caught a glimpse of what was actually happening during the games, you thought it was some low quality TV show before, not realizing it was way darker than that. it made you quite shocked, and scared, duh.

the VIPs were loud and talkative, with their fancy suits, sure, but the ones in the corner were just full-on distracting! both had golden masks, a dog and a cat, they even seemed like bestfriends. "hey, pst, maid, c'mere." the one with the tattooed hand would signal you to come over, you were hesitant, but you decided to join them nonetheless. carefully walking over to not spill the tray you were holding onto. "a shot of vodka, please." the one with the cat mask hummed, offering his glass so you could refill it. you'd turn your face to the man in the dog mask, a much more deeper voice, he had the hand tattoos too. "babe, which player do you think will last the longest? bet on it, if you will." you shrugged, you weren't really trained to talk to the people you were serving at, especially in these type of games. he wasn't slow to surprise you, giving you a smack in the ass, making you yelp out loud. but only as much as they're the only ones to hear. "ah!"

"talk. i want you to talk. don't be boring.." he nudges your stomach, trying to annoy you even more. you really want to punch him, this guy's nerve. but the frontman was looking directly at you, if you were to do anything absurd, there's no doubt you'd get a bullet through your head. "just give us a damn number, woman, is it so hard?" the man in the cat mask groaned. he had less of a deep voice, sounding much more sly and snarky, like it was meant to push you over. "don't pressure," the tattooed hand would make way to touch your face, you were masked aswell, the frontman had his ideals in not to provide any information of the workers to the viewers and participants. "take this off? i'm sure you're pretty without it, hm?" you quickly shake your head! you can't do that! "fuckin' idiot, you remember what the guy said? no taking off masks." the cat was definitely much more grounded. "oh yeaah, whatever, nam-su. fuckin' stupid idea, but..!" "nam-gyu." the other one corrects, guess the guy wearing the cat mask was named nam-gyu? why do you care about this now? ..when the unnamed one has his hands now moving to your neck.. then to the sides of your chest, your body was shaking.. "they wouldn't mind if i take this off, huh?"

you didn't wanna strip! of course that wasn't in your plans, ever, even if it was in the darkest corner of the room! "i can see your eyes, all worried, sososo cute." he giggles, nam-gyu would sigh, "it's too easy," "right? m'sure it is, you getting turned on by masked men, honey?" this guy was getting on your last nerve. shut up! "let's make it a bit more challenging for me then." as if, as if you were turned on right now, as if you didn't tremble at the sound of his deep voice. "just say a number of a player, someone you'd think would survive!" you quietly mumble, not wanting any other servants or your boss to hear, "sir.. i.."

he cuts you off, with a warning. "...and if he dies, we'd get to fuck your cute little body, 'kay? make a wise decision." "and if she gets lucky? we'll just be blue-balled, idiot. thanos the legend my ass." his name was thanos ?? "shut up, jeez." was this even fair? no way! you shake your head, not wanting to do whatever they say. thanos would only scoff, flicking your forehead. "you're a servant here and you don't serve? are you dense?" this wasn't in anything you signed up for. "hey, man, we can take her to the bathroom later, yeah?" nam-gyu would question the black-masked man, you turn your head to face him, he surely knows what that implied.. but it broke your heart into pieces when he'd nod, not caring about you :(. poor you.

you look at the big window outside, quickly muttering out a number, you'd only pray that they'd live for the whole entirety of the round.

nope, the player didn't survive. (⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

nsfw below!! ->

as they both promised, carrying you out to the small bathroom stall strictly for VIPs, your squirms and attempts to escape were no match to their strength, especially thanos'.

"fucking hell! these masks were making me sweat." nam-gyu would take off his mask, forehead sweaty, he had soft yet sharp features, he looks young too. "let- let me go!' you'd see him look down on you and laugh. wow, it felt much more humiliating this way. thanos would toss his mask out aswell, flashing you with his purple hair. "looks like we won the bet, babeee." fuck, these were handsome men, who look like they're high as hell, but handsome nonetheless. "i'm sure you're not even thinkin' about it like it's a punishment."

thanos would quickly rip off the black tights you were assigned to wear, ripping off the black body-con dress that fit the aesthetic of the frontman's taste. he'd bite his lips, seeing the wet patch forming at the center of your panties, he politely moves them aside instead of ripping them off! still, he'd shamefully slide his fingers onto your slick, making you unfortunately moan in front of him, he'd take a lick at the residue that would stay on his fingers. "you like? you taste like you do." he asks, before diving in to give a generous lick on your pussy, licking the juices off clean, what the hell "stop-" you whined. he'd bite your clit in response, making you whine even louder, "if you didn't want this you prolly would've guessed better." making it sound like it was your fault, ultimately.

nam-gyu would move underneath the two of you, he was as aggressive as thanos, tearing more of your stockings, just to feel your pretty ass bare. his hands would grope roughly. "you used to takin' two?" he asks, into your ear. even at this point, you didn't wanna entertain them at all, "jesus." his grip on you would tighten. why was he so pissed all the time? "i'll fuck you with no prep, just answer, damn." his grip was now starting to hurt even more. "n-no! no. i'm not.. i'm not used to two." "yeah. was that so hard?" you shake your head. "no..no.." he was too rough, he makes the purple-haired one look gentle.

turns out, their idea of "prep" was just spitting on your trembling pussy, before putting out their dicks to simply put inside you! thanos was too teasy about it, he'd have the tip of his dick brushing against your pussy lips, slightly pushing past your hole, but he'd pull out quickly, leaving you to clench against thin air. "nn... please..." as much as you didn't want to, he'd make your subconscious beg for it! to beg for more! "beg more, baby, let me hear." "please, pleas-! hoh- fuck!" and when you did beg for more... nam-gyu, who was underneath you, would fully push inside your other hole, leaving a loud groan to echo your ears. "so tight, holy fuck. not used to anal?" you nod, it was pretty obvious. though that didn't stop him from starting a brutal pace, leaving you moan out from the pain and stinging feeling, whining about how it hurts too much... "stop bitching around, and take it, that's all your good for, yeah?" all the while, thanos's dick would teasingly brush against your clit, giving it the slightest bit of attention.

and when thanos would feel generous enough to slide inside your needy cunt, who was aching for his dick to finally be shoved, prepare for the thick loads of seed to be inside you, i mean, he seems pent up all the time. the sight of leaking cum out of you, juicing their balls dry, was too rewarding. "ah bro, i feel like a true VIP now," thanos would laugh. "she's beginner at best, i woulda paid less." that hurt a bit... still, they'd take turns to fuck your cunt and ass, dumping their load inside, leaving your body to become a container of their white sticky juice, you'd pass out from the contact, losing breath, and the compact space. :< "we'll come back again, okay?" "we already trained you for next time. don't forget."

now you're left in the VIP bathroom, your unconscious body lying on the tiled floor, they didn't even take the time to take off your mask to see your pretty face :(. you were only two holes to them </3.

war is almost over for me, my training is almost over 💓 i'll be free to write moreeeee

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mask131 · 4 hours ago

Text

I have not looked at all the notes below, just at these pictures.

This discussion, unfortunately coming up in the lights of all these horrible things, is something I do wish to explore further and that I already kind of felt before - see my last post about Good Omens, as the TV show adaptation and Gaiman's handling of it DID make me doubt some of his claims. While I do believe the first season was made with respect and care for Pratchett's work (despite failing to do justice to Pratchett for me, but at least there was a real sincere effort there), I also believe that with the additional seasons Gaiman was milking the non-existent cow that was the unwritten sequel and that we can't fully trust what he claims when it comes to idea planned since the early beginning and stuff he might want to add or project or on his own... But that's something that tends to happen with every book that is co-authored, so I won't go down there much further.

What I DO want to stress however is that, while yes we can put into doubt how much Gaiman was truly close or "in the papers" of Pratchett (a part of it isn't just Gaiman's own invention, another part is also a lot of popular culture projection and fan assumptions, we can't throw the stones just at Gaiman, there was also the whole cult following thingy at play), we also have to put into doubt WHO is currently putting into doubt the Gaiman-Pratchett connections.

I'll explain: Internet seems to have a very short-term memory, and people tend to forget that not so long ago transphobes literaly tried to mass-gaslight people (and gaslighted themselves) into thinking Pratchett would be against trans people, when Pratchett literaly wrote an entire book about accepting trans people. And for all Gaiman has done or has been accused of doing, we can't forget that he was one of the two fervent defensors of Pratchett - or rather one of the two major voices to denounce the absolute craziness of these people (alongside Pratchett's own daughter). And that's something people did NOT like. A lot of people got angry at Gaiman for "pretending to know" what Pratchett would think...

... This is exactly the same kind of talk that is starting to appear here and there. For very different reasons, from different people, but it is still the same doubt and so it means there's a bridge here ready to be crossed. The same way there is a certain amount of people who try to use the Gaiman scandal to "justify" or "defend" J.K. Rowling, and turn a very serious case of sex crime accusations into somehow a "turns out the transphobe was right all along".

Don't be fooled, the people who are outraged, angry or mobbing against Gaiman aren't not all defendors of women's rights, or betrayed fans, or even just decent people shocked at such a case. Some don't even want to know the truth. There's a lot of people who are ready to pounce and get in the fight just because they hated the guts out of Gaiman for being against transphobia, and for gay people, and for a lot of other causes they want to persecute or eliminate.

There was an interesting thread on Bluesky dissecting Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's relationship

TL:DR - It seems like Gaiman has been exaggerating the level of closeness between them for YEARS

#reblog #neil gaiman #terry pratchett

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maskedbyghost · 4 hours ago

Text

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

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

@daydreamerwoah

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley cod #cod mw2

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tpwk-formula1 · 3 days ago

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Hello, can I please request Charles jealous smut?

AN: Definitely went a bit of a different route than normal but I enjoyed writing this! Started it right before I went to the hospital and was able to finish it tonight! I hope you guys enjoy. I know its a bit shorter but I'm running on melatonin and oxi so bare with me haha

TW: multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, low-key asshole Charles (very beginning)

WC: 1.2K

Y/N POV

"Charles, what's wrong?" I ask for the third time since getting back into the car after leaving the end of year Ferrari dinner.

"God damn it, Y/N! Nothing I said nothing was fucking wrong," Charles snaps at me making me gasp slightly at the out burst.

"Charles Leclerc, do not ever speak to me like that again," I shout at him when we finally get back to the apartment.

I had chosen to keep quiet the rest of the way home, hoping it would help cool the both of us down but when we walked through the door and Charles instantly beelined for our bedroom mumbling to himself I finally snap.

"Then don't ever talk to Carlos Sainz again," Charles snap back while turning around to show he had fire in his eyes.

It finally had clicked for me. Charles was jealous which isn't something that happens often but when it does he tends to turn into the green monster.

"Charles, are you fucking kidding me! Carlos is leaving Ferrari, and I was telling him about how I've enjoyed his time with Ferrari," I shout back at him making Charles roll his eyes before stomping his way into the bedroom and slamming the door. The whole dramatics

A part of me just laughs softly at his childish antics but the other part of me is still raging with anger at the way he had spoken to me.

I make my way into the kitchen grabbing myself something to drink before grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking a shot of the bitter liquor.

When I feel myself cool down just enough I march into out bedroom to find Charles already under the covers ready for bed but instead of him laying in the middle of the bed like normal he's on the very edge as far away from my side as possible.

"I hope Leo pushes you off the bed," I scoff when Charles doesn't even acknowledge me.

"Maybe if you slept in Carlos's bed like you want I would have more room to cuddle with Leo," Charles replies back in a sheepish mumble showing me that he's getting close to crumbling and apologizing.

"It's actually why I came in here. Need to pack an overnight bag," I comment with a smirk on my face but before I can even make it into the closet Charles is up from his spot on the bed and storming towards me before pushing me against the wall.

"You think this is funny?" Charles seethes making me shrug my shoulders.

"I mean ya kind of Charles, we both know damn well I have never and will never be into Carlos, so ya you being jealous and threatened by him is hilarious," I reply back making Charles's eyes narrow slightly at me before I see his should relax slightly.

"I- 'm sorry," Charles mumbles clearly letting the embarrassment sink in.

"I don't know why it upset me so much tonight. I know it's not an excuse but I am sorry for getting jealous and even more sorry for how I spoke to you," Charles admits softly while pulling my face into his hand.

"I don't even care when you get jealous, if anything I find it hot as fuck, but I do care about the way you speak to me," I tell him softly feeling my anger slowly start to ease.

"I know and it was wrong, I really am sorry," Charles says again making me smile softly and nod my head.

"You're forgiven, but I demand 3 orgasms," I say with a smile and a nod.

"Deal," Charles says with a laugh before pulling me in and placing a soft kiss on my lips and pulling me by my waist towards our bed.

When Charles drops me down on the bed he quickly climbs up to join me pulling off his shirt at the same time.

When Charles joins me on the bed he wraps my legs around his hips before he leans down and pulls me in for a kiss while grinding his hard cock down into my dripping core.

"Charles please, I need you," I whine when I can feel my pleasure soaking through my flimsy panties.

Charles finally pulls back and quickly pulls my panties off before wasting no time attaching his mouth to my sensitive clit. He knew it wouldn't take long to throw me over the edge but when I feel him slipping his fingers into my soaked pussy I can't help the loud cry that falls from my lips.

"Fuck! Charlie," I cry when I feel his fingers grazing my G-spot while his lips are still sucking on my clit.

"Cum for me," Charles mumbles into my pussy making me cry out and cum all over his finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moan in a chant as Charles continues to fuck me through my first orgasm.

"Too much," I cry when I realize Charles isn't letting me come down from my high but rather throwing me right into another orgasm.

"You want three no?" Charles asks with a smirk on his face before speeding his fingers up even more and attaching his mouth back to my overly sensitive clit.

"Charles," I cry out when I feel his start speeding all his actions up clearly with the intentions to bring me to another orgasm.

"Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself fall over the edge again not expecting the orgasm to hit me so fast.

"Fuck, good girl," Charles groans while fingering me harder and letting me squirt all over the bed and his face.

As soon as I started to come down from my high Charles is quickly pulling his boxer off before climbing back into bed and quickly rubbing the tip of his hard leaking cock through my soaked folds before finding my dripping hole and quickly pushing his whole cock deep into my pussy making me whimper the the stretch of his cock.

"Fuck!" Charles and I both groan put at the exact same time while he starts slowly thrusting his hips in and out of my soaked pussy.

It doesn't take long for me to fully adjust to Charles's size and once I do he quickly speeds up his trusts while making sure to hit all the good spots deep within my pussy.

"Fuck Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself crawling closer and closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck, feel so good," Charles cries out as his hips start to shutter a bit letting me know he was getting close to cumming as well.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," I cry out when I feel Charles bring his fingers down to my clit and teasing me until I fall over the edge pulling him with me.

"Fuck," Charles grunts out when I feel his hip shutter one final time before filling my pussy up with his hot cum.

As we are both trying to catch our breath I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down to rest his body on top of mine.

"Fuck, that was good," I breath out making Charles laugh softly.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you in the car and when we got home," Charles says while slowly slipping his softening cock out of me and laying on his back and pulling me into his chest.

"You're forgiven, I guess," I tease making Charles roll his eyes softly but still pull me in tighter to his chest.

"I love you and thinking about losing you makes me a bit insane," Charles admits making me smile softly. I definitely couldn't imagine my life without him either.

"I love you too," I reply back softly while curling into his side a bit closer.

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strwberri-milk · 9 hours ago

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Could you please give headcanons on how LAD men would react if MC is non-jealous? Like they got hit on but MC isn't bothered or phased just stand there n watch the whole thing unfold (you can say Mc is amused at the attempt or smug about it cuz it shows that she had good taste in men) sry if my english is bad

im assuming that this is what youre referring too so ive put them both into one request lol

Zayne doesn't really mind it. He likes that you aren't jealous because he wants to be with someone who's secure in his relationship considering how late his hours are and how he can't be around as often as he would like to be. Knowing that you're more than fine with him focusing on work those days where he really has to focus and can't see you.

He doesn't get hit on too often because of the slightly chilly demeanor he has. People tend to leave him alone, especially with how obvious he makes it that you're dating him by the way he holds you. However, whenever people do try it he's glad that you don't mind it. He doesn't want you to think that he has eyes for anybody but you, even if a very very small part of him his curious to see what your protective side might be like when it comes to him.

When someone starts to insult you is when he starts shutting things down. He's telling them to stop saying things like that because there's no way he'd fall for their weak attempts at manipulation and will honestly start trying to walk away. If you stop minding your own business and start paying attention to him he'll try to guide you away to prevent you from hearing something nasty being said about you.

You gently shush him, smiling to yourself as you listen to the person rant at you. You know that Zayne doesn't want you to draw attention to the two of you so you let them complain before asking them if they think behaving like a child is really how you find a man that's as accomplished and sophisticated as Zayne. You don't really need to say much anyway because they can see how Zayne looks at them with a mild irritation for how they've interrupted your day before simply bidding them a goodbye. They're stuck trying to figure out how to reply to your words, forced to confront their childish actions.

If they decide to continue, following you around and shouting obscenities at you then you simply tell them that they look pathetic begging for him like this and that everybody around you is laughing at them. Public shame is a strong deterrent and they're forced to leave you alone. Zayne doesn't say anything but he does press a soft kiss to your cheek, not wanting to be too affectionate in public with how many eyes are on you but he's also very proud of how you can easily stand your ground.

Xavier likes knowing that he's yours but he also doesn't care too much for giant overt displays. He likes the subtle ways you show your his and he can show others that he's yours. It shows in the subtle way the two of you speak of how intertwined your lives are, just how casual the two of you are with each other. There's this implicit understanding that's shared between the two of you that just makes it seem like you two have been married for thirty years.

He doesn't mind that you aren't jealous over him but he also sometimes wants to see you being possessive over him. He likes seeing how your eyes flash and how you slide yourself next to him. You'll kiss his cheek and smile at him before asking who his new friend is. He typically doesn't entertain conversations with people who aren't you but he's much more subtle about it. People don't notice that he's not checked into the conversation until they suddenly realise he's quiet not because he's listening, but because he's fully just on his phone or started to leave when they looked away from him.

He doesn't get hit on often but when he does it's because people see him as an easy target. They think that he's chill and would be receptive to getting their number when it's totally the opposite. He doesn't even look at people who try to flirt with him, immediately pulling out his phone to text you to come find him faster because people are trying to get his number.

You show up quickly as soon as you hear them telling him how clearly, you don't care about him if you've just abandoned him like that. They're claiming that if you really loved him as much as he says he does then you wouldn't have left him alone like that. They start going on and on as you approach, tapping their shoulder as you gently push them aside to perch yourself on Xavier's lap. He doesn't expect it but he welcomes in anyway, happily returning the soft kiss you give him.

You totally ignore the person flirting with him, rolling your eyes as you tell them that Xavier hates it when people just prattle on and on about nothing like the way they're doing right now. You don't even let them get another word in as you tell him that you're tired and wanna go home now - your day was ruined by them and you didn't feel like staying out anymore.

He likes how you basically just totally shut them down without a second though, standing up with him and taking his hand. The two of you just fully ignore them, heading home as Xavier tells you he likes it when you do things like that.

Rafayel loves being obvious about how much he loves you. He's constantly hit on at parties and generally when he's in an okay mood he won't be as openly hostile about rejecting advances if Thomas begs him not to. He feels bad for the guy sometimes, knowing how difficult he can be to work with but not bad enough to actually be fully nice to everyone at events.

He wishes you were more openly jealous around him, recounting some stories specifically in hopes of getting a rise out of you. He doesn't want to like, actually hurt your feelings but he does want to see you pout and get a little clingy if possible. You know that that's his goal whenever he tells you about another socialite hitting on him and you entertain him by being dramatic in response, Rafayel lightly pouting at how you aren't taking him seriously but he also knows you're doing that because you love him.

When someone is genuinely trying to flirt with him and tells him that you aren't even rich or famous enough to be around him your first response is to just let him deal with it. He's very good at rejecting people but you feel bad when he meets your gaze from across the room, a pleading look on his face as he tries to convince you to come and rescue him. You decide to take pity on him and head over, trying to tell the socialite to back off. They just start to get in your face, telling you that you have no business acting the way you do, going off on you.

You just sigh and tell them that it doesn't matter how much they beg Rafayel doesn't like them and has personally told you himself how much he can't stand these parties because of people like them. You make it quite pointed that Rafayel hates these events and that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here especially with them. Rafayel doesn't even need to say anything as he just stands behind you, arms around your waist as he just nods in agreement with your words, giving you a kiss as the other person finally gives up and fully leaves the party, embarrassed as everybody started staring at the argument that the two of you were having. The confident demeanor you have while Rafayel drapes himself off of you has everyone chuckling to themselves at how shameless the other party is, unfortunately staining their reputation as someone desperate to climb the social ladder.

Rafayel basks in the attention you showered him in and how hot he thinks it is that you made it so obvious you're his. You never left his side for the rest of the evening and he had fun introducing you to literally everyone. He'll ask you to do it more often if you can, totally obsessed with how you handled the situation so easily.

Sylus is pretty okay about the fact that you don't show any jealousy when he's flirted with. People are usually too scared of him to flirt with him anyway. Internally though, he also does want to see how you'd react when jealous. He doesn't do anything to trigger it but clearly, he doesn't really have to. Sometimes, he might make light jokes about how you don't get jealous because you know he has nothing on his mind but you. You don't have the heart to admit the fact that you know he's obsessed with you, but you also love knowing that he is. He makes it so obvious but he isn't even aware of how obvious he is about loving you, constantly spoiling you in every way.

He doesn't often attend events but he had to this one time, leading to people falling all over themselves to try and get his attention. You know that he can take care of himself but you also can't help the possessive streak that you feel at someone trying to take away something that's yours. He was having the time of his life /s avoiding everyone or making snide remarks as people try to steal his attention from you. You were trying to socialise with some people on his behalf, wanting to be friendly when you saw just how crowded he was with people trying to flirt with him.

His eyes follow you as you come to him, beginning to tell people off for acting so desperate around him. You remind them that Sylus chooses only the best and unfortunately for them, that so happens to be you. He doesn't say anything to you as you continue to tell people off, watching you with amusement in his eyes. You don't even feel his gaze as people weakly try to retaliate against your points, leading to you proving how wrapped around your finger you have him. He barely registers what's happening until he's delivering a plate of food to you, gazing at you with a soft expression that nobody's ever seen on him before. It makes it pretty clear that he won't ever see anybody that isn't you and shuts them up - if their egos aren't already decimated by how crude you were in calling out the desperate behaviour.

He'll tell you later as the two of you are getting ready for bed how flattered he was to have all of your attention on reminding people how much you love him. That overt display of affection is one he wants, obsessed with being shown in definitive ways just how much you love him.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader

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ckret2 · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them."

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk.

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly."

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #pacifica northwest #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(god i hate the chapters from the POV of characters who don't know they're interacting with Bill)#(calling him the wrong name the whole chapter is torture. I kept having to correct his name. ... un-correct his name?)

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