#if she is the only one than she gets a pass

[screampied]

‘ #KNOCK(HER)OUT ! ’

ᡴꪫ‎ sum. you get more than what you bargained for by getting involved with two boxers—two boxers that can’t keep their hands off the pretty new journalist. what happens in the ring stays in the ring though…. right?

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader x t. fushiguro & s. ryōmen, boxer!au, thrēesome, manhandling, unprotected, semi public, size kink, ōral (f & m receiving), head lock, spīt, sqūirting, they fight over you, brēeding, fīngering, implied multiple ōrgasms, nipple play.

an. based on this ask, haven’t recovered since :,)

sukuna ryōmen and toji fushiguro. . .

the talk of the town. top most infamous boxers of your city, they were supposedly rivals but ended up becoming super close friends. 'friends' was probably a stretch. acquaintances was probably a far better word to describe the two. there was hardly anyone that didn’t tune into your detailed magazines about them—your occupation? a journalist. you’d be the first to write about their fights, their strengths, weaknesses, their total wins & losses, and even a few unnecessary things like their love life. you were new, but you were good. always in the front row, you’d watch them spar against some of the most scariest opponents imaginable. something about guys taking it out in the ring right before your eyes got your panties in a twist. how unprofessional..

you only did it for the money, the publicity— a lot of people adored your skill to make such stories so interesting. between toji and sukuna, they were almost always compared, and oh did they hate it. ex rivals continuously pinned against each other, it’d piss anyone off. although, you were in dire need for a new story topic to write and you just so happen to stumble into their private gym.

“yo,” a rough sly yet cunning voice mutters, and it’s so deep—you recognize it from anywhere, toji fushiguro in the flesh. “are ya lost? no fuckin’ autographs.”

“don’t be rude, ‘toj,” and your eyes avert towards sukuna— he’s a few inches taller and your eyes roam at them both. they had droplets of sweat racing down their washboard abs, scars coating their skin with ruffled hair as if they’d just finished a match. sukuna drags his feet towards you before his eyes light up. “ohh, i know you,” he snickers, grabbing your notepad before nudging his friend. “she’s our little journalist toji. and she’s a damn fine one too..”

“. . . uh,” was all you could make out, feeling a sudden tightness in your stomach. your eyes continue to stare, your lewd thoughts only become more and more vulgar. seconds pass before you realize sukuna took your notebook, toji pauses his sets to get a good look at you. “i thought this was the ladies' room.”

“girl bye,” toji grumbles with two hands buried into his shorts pockets— he reads right through you as if you were some sort of exposed novel. people said he was a lot sassier in person but you didn’t think it’d actually be true. green dark eyes linger onto you for a long time before he stretches, leaning down to get a good glimpse at your figure. “did you come here just to stare or what?”

you were taken aback at how blunt he was.

a coy grin appears on his lips as he watches you struggle to formulate a good enough response.

you were nosy, you were really really nosy. for once, perhaps you didn’t wanna just jot down things about these two— just maybe, just maybe . . you wanted a hands-on experience.

“i… needed new material for my article before the next match starts,” you utter, squeezing your thighs together. sukuna tilts his head, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel hot. toji’s stare was ten times more intimate, darkened irises practically staring right into your soul—you knew this wasn’t the bathroom, you were lying. “i was hoping maybe you’d give me some uh . . inspo.”

they were both towering over you with height, you felt small—like an ant that was preparing itself to be crushed by a villainous shoe.

“inspiration, she says?” sukuna hums, his voice is low—raspy, an almost purr hiding underneath it before he moves closer towards you. “just tell us what you really want, princess.”

“nah don’t get all shy now,” toji chimes in once he sees you grow more sheepish. they both close in on you—you felt like you were trapped in a fever dream, you weren’t exactly complaining either. they smelled so good, a mixture of sultry sweat and a loud scent of heavy cologne that wafts throughout the entire training room. “you got our attention so spit it out, girl.”

“i— i want you both.” you finally mutter after seven long consecutive seconds. with the way toji’s staring right through you, you felt like your stomach sank between your legs - your legs that were throbbing with nothing but mere arousal, again perhaps this was unprofessional. no, it was very unprofessional—but anyone would kill to be in your position, being sandwiched between the top two boxers of your city.

sukuna snickers. “both? what makes you think i’d wanna share with this bum?”

“shut up,” toji snarls, and the way his facial expressions tense a bit—so attractive. the headlines + press was right about toji, he was a lot more handsome in person. he was a fairly new boxer yet a pure lady's man. he’s had a plethora of fangirls while in the ring and maybe you were one of them. as he inches towards you with a hand softly gripping underneath your chin, he inhales. his entire facial structure, so chiseled—brief dark stubble coats the entirety lower half of his jaw and he rubs his left boxing glove against his left knee. “that really want you want? both of us?” and his voice softens. it’s a bit more pitchy and low, and he sneers. “on me, look at me when you reply too, girl.”

your lip gradually pulls down from his thumb playing against it. you felt so hot, the air suddenly felt thick.

a sudden lump gets caught in your throat before you mumble. “i want you both,” and your eyes meet the dark-haired boxer, simultaneously glancing at his attire— shirtless, boxing shorts on with his custom-made ‘fushiguro’ briefs wilting near the top—only showing the hem part. just a teensy detail like that was so enticing that you even spot a few parts of his exposing snatched waist. only after awhile you then abruptly snap out of your vulgar fantasm. “…please.”

“the real question is, pretty little journalist,” sukuna steps in, a hand stroking against your chin. you didn’t know where to even look. both boxers had their hands on you and the tightened squeezing between your plush thighs grew even more. “can you handle both?”

“yes.” you’d speak in a soft voice, most likely as of now you were probably speaking from between your legs—you didn’t care though, everyone’s a little delusional at some point. emphasis on a little in your case, because you had no idea what you were getting in to with these two.

toji snickers. “hm,” he mutters, eyes focusing on you for a long time before he raises his chin. “fine. let’s test your strength then,” and he briefly gazes at sukuna. “sukuna. we can take her ‘n the ring.”

and they mean it quite literally— taking you, the both of them versus you, except you weren’t relatively fighting.

not in that sense, but it was versus an opponent that was throbbing between your thighs.

the arena was empty, about a good hundred or more vacant blood-shot red seats scatter everywhere.

inside the ring, it was a mere raised platform, guided and shaped by strong stringy ropes that were yanking between poles at each side and corner. you lay on the spongy canvas of the ring’s floor before biting back a moan.

“scared yet?” sukuna hums, and he props himself right between your legs. this was risky—entirely risky, anyone could just walk in. besides, you were pretty sure they had a match in about a good forty-five minutes. with sprawled-out legs, he moved closer before dragging a thumb down your panties. his voice was a bit deeper than toji’s, they both shared the same amount of rasp.

sukuna had the charm, toji had the suaveness.

you shake your head, feeling yourself grow even hotter the more he stalls time. it feels warm, the entire air around you is humidly thick and you whine as he teasingly bites your panties. not enough to pierce his teeth into your folds, but he bites near the fabric—you watch, the string of your underwear slowly dragging with him. yet, you can’t help but glance at toji who’s just standing there—arms crossed and that same scowl that stuck against his face. “mhm,” he jibes, eyes flickering towards toji. “toji. she’s looking at you.”

“i know she fuckin’ is,” he grumbles, and your head tilts upward. you’re face first with his bulge that was right against your face. talk about space, it was right there. such a big bulge, who were you even kidding though—you found yourself gawking at his bulge at every match he had. with the skin-tight shorts he’d worn, you just knew he was nothing more than a packer. “nosy girl. y’er mouth bored or somethin’?” and he watches your hands paw at the hem of his tucked-out briefs. “need a bit of throat training, huh?”

sukuna’s playing with your panties still. by now, he’s peeling them towards the crevices of your thighs and you whine whilst you feel a thumb of his drag down your honeyed slit. sopping wet, just a three-second stare and he was suddenly esurient.

“look at me, not him,” toji lightly turns your head to face back up to him again. his bulge, his damn bulge that was right up against you. you nod, feeling your mouth dry—you wanted your throat to be filled, it wasn’t even a question. toji gruffs lowly, moving your chin side to side. “huuuh? girl, i don’t speak silence. thought i told ya how to use those words when you speak.”

“i- i wanna suck you off, ‘toj,” and you get cut off once he pulls his boxing shorts down halfway, bringing your face close to his briefs. you’re taken by surprise once he makes you rub your face against his hardened bulge—you moan, as if on instinct, your tongue lolls out just to taste him. even if it’s just the clothed fabric protecting his actual cock, it was something.

he scoffs. “y’er a nasty girl, huh,” he mumbles, peering down to see sukuna starting to lick against your cunt. your legs quaver upon impact and you slump back against the corner of the ring. “can’t wait, yeah. want me to train this empty throat? maybe it’ll make ya a better journalist, nosy ass.”

you’d almost laugh at his little side remark if it wasn’t for sukuna’s tongue lapping against your slick entrance. your lips part as you lean back, a hand going through his hair. “mphm,” he grunts, one hand squeezing the right part of your thigh. “sweetest taste i’ve had in a . . . looong while.” and he’s so sloppy, not even a few seconds pass before he’s already slurping. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and that’s when toji hauls down his briefs.

you gulp, damn.

he wasn’t just big, he was huge…

your mouth starts to salivate the more you stared at the swollen shaft. toji was a big guy . . hence meaning, toji he was a thick guy.

staggering height and a fat base to back it up, he had about two veins running down the side. his tip was a reddish pink, you could already taste him throbbing in your mouth. toji was quite well shaved a bit— though, it was a few specks of black hairs scattered everywhere. however, his happy trail was so pleasing to look. it roams all down his sculpted body, he sighs once you slowly wrap a hand around his cock.

“spit the fuck on it.”

five words and you didn’t hesitate to roll out your pink tongue once more.

you gather a good amount before watching it coat against his pink sweet tip. he groans, watching your hand stroke him a bit. he was so big, so fucking big that you could barely wrap your entire hand around his dick. toji groans, watching you make a total mess out of yourself. pretty glossy lips, pretty glossy lips that would soon be wrapped around his hefty length.

once you get it wet enough, you gently move your mouth onto him. he hisses, the warmth of your throat has his abs clenching.

“m-mhm,” you’d moan out, though your words were purely muffled. sukuna’s sucking on your clit, occasionally nipping and nibbling on it just to make you squirm even more. it was cute— the way your legs could barely hold still, so this was your weak spot. it’s what he thought to himself, lapping his tongue against your slick entrance. brief kisses coat near your folds before he maneuvers such circles against your pussy. feeling his canines nip against your folds every few seconds had you feral in the best way possible.

“y’er makin’ her squirm all over, ‘kuna,” toji lowly chuckles, such baritone in his voice that it makes you soak even more. you didn’t even know how it was possible with the way you were just profusely dripping like a faucet. not even—you put faucets to shame with how slick you were, quickly coating the lower part of sukuna’s chin with your syrupy taste. “open that mouth a ‘lil more, yeah . . . yeah,” and he tilts your head back a bit, prying your mouth open some more. he starts to slowly sink his cock in, so slow. the pace was incredibly tantalizing, your tongue runs against his slit before he pushed more inches inside. “fuckkk, girl,” he continues to grunt out, knees already starting to buckle. the way you took him in, hollow cheeks all puffed, you were already starting to drool a bit. small amounts of your saliva trickle past the corners of your lips as he goes deeper and deeper. deeper until his tip ends up mashing against your uvula and you gag.

“. . ooooh,” he hums, and just a simple noise as that was so seductive. “good…. good,” he swallows, a hand digging through your hair before maintaining a good grip against it. “now . . let’s test this pretty throat’s durability, hm.”

your little nod makes his sly smile widen, your jaw hangs and he starts to gradually piston his hips. such a mess, he was just so big that you were surprised all of it even fit.

“alllll the way down, shit,” your head starts to move, bobbling as your tongue swiftly running against his pulsating head. he gnashes his teeth together, dim eyes flickering towards your hands. you were feeling hot yourself so you made a cute attempt at reaching between your legs. doing so only greets you to a soft concise smack.

“hands to yourself, silly girl,” sukuna grumbles, and this time he grabs your wrist. he simpers, watching you try to even still rub one out but with his grip, you weren’t getting anywhere. as your mouth was occupied with such inches, you whimper once you feel sukuna spank your cunt a few times. “don’t touch my pussy.”

one turns into two, then three, then four. . .

your pretty cunt starts to become his new obsession—the way you’d squelch for him so easily, he gets hard in his boxers. so wet, he knows the layout as if he’s so used to doing this. you wouldn’t be surprised, especially with a tongue like he had. lapping left and right, he parts your legs just a bit farther before the tip of his tongue swirls all around it. he lays it flat, getting a good enough taste before giving it yet another mean spank.

you whimper, feeling your tummy cave in before toji makes you face him once more. “eyes up here, eyes on me,” and he sounds almost jealous the more you focus your attention strictly on his boxer acquaintance. you’re still stroking him, a thumb sliding down a vein that prods alongside his shaft and he groans. your throat, so warm that he starts to feel his right thigh bounce. “should be . . usin’ this throat for shit like this instead of running that mouth.” his voice pitches lower, boxer shorts pulled down and his hair was slightly ruffled. you stare up at toji and he gives you that same cunning smirk. oh, you were soaked. again, this simply felt like a fever dream. even if at the slightest chance that you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up.

toji’s quite talkative throughout the entire thing, sukuna’s dragging you further and further onto your incoming release and your legs start to rapidly shake even more. you whine and mewl out such sweetened moans, occasionally coming back up for air as you kept his cock warm in your mouth. each time it hits the roof of your mouth, you let off a straddled noise and he finds it so cute, so filthy.

“relax y’er throat, girl,” he mutters, a firm grip on your scalp. with glossy eyes, you follow his words and you stop gagging a bit. he grunts, getting hard every time your pretty eyes make direct contact with him. “such a pretty girl when you listen.” and his tone gets a bit more sensual, more tender.

you whine, feeling sukuna insert a single finger inside of you—you swallow his digit almost immediately and you cringe at hearing your own salaciously lewd squelches.

soaking, sopping wet,

three perfect words to describe between your legs, you choke out a moan once you feel that sensation brew right up inside your stomach. steadily, it was coming closer and closer. you’re breathing through your nose—feeling a few of his pubic hairs tickle against you. you’re moaning, eyes becoming half-lidded and droopy. toji had a mere pout stretching against his face and he felt himself coming close too.

the icing on the cake was your tongue, the way you swirl and slide it against his frenulum—he groans out a low grunt that rings throughout the arena. it reverberates, it's raspy and it only makes you even more aroused. “s-shit, you close too?”

you nod, and toji jeers, finding it amusing to taunt with you as you’re about to reach your inevitable peak. “yeah? gonna make a mess on ‘kuna’s face?”

“told ya don’t call me that,” sukuna grouses, resuming to pump not one but two fingers into you now—you’re almost there. it’s a hot feeling stirring up near your lower abdomen, a pool of it. your eyes start to roll, still slobbering down toji’s cock before he starts to thrust and thrust into your mouth.

“make me.” toji stared at him—and the both of them grew quiet before laughing with each other.

idiots.

your maw opens just a bit wider, and he’s shoving himself in and out of your tight throat—the noises that follow are so lewd, he finds you so pretty like this. mascara all smeared and runny, your hand continues to wrap around his length—his sagged base, so full. you start to salivate again, imagining what his taste was like. you craved it like you crave sweets, sukuna’s tongue running against your clit only made things far more intense before you start to convulse.

“f-fuckkk, ‘m gonna cum,” toji rasps, tilting your head back a bit more. you stare at him, tongue still grazing against the pulsing slit before after a few more pumps—he shoots a nice velvety load into your mouth. he grunts lowly, nostrils flaring up, jaw tightening and all. “. . damn,” he swallows, allowing himself to slow down. you end up finishing around the same time, costing sukuna’s mouth with a honeyed amount of your slick and he hums. you whimper, legs barely able to hold themselves up before you feel toji’s dick pour the remnants of his cum flat on your tongue. “nah, don’t fuckin’ swallow yet. stick it out, lemme see that shit.”

your legs felt like they were about to fall off, sukuna’s kissing near your now swollen entrance and you slowly loll out your tongue. obeying, you didn’t exactly swallow yet and he hums. “best savor that shit,” he groans, giving his veiny cock a few subtle strokes before he smacks his angry tip against your tongue. “and where’s my thank you for the meal, baby?”

“t—thwak y—you toji,” you speak, barely coherent with his seed splattered all on your tongue. you didn’t wanna spill any, and if you did—you didn’t wanna stick around to find out his reaction.

“yeah,” he huffs. “you can swallow now. get every drop in.”

sukuna moves towards you, you’re still laid on the ring’s mat before he softly wraps a hand around your throat. “hey. don’t let this bastard have all the fun, i want a taste too,” and you're taken by surprise once he pulls you into a deep steamy kiss. you moan, feeling him quite literally take your breath away. your tongue drags against sukuna’s chin, the bitterness. a concoction mixture of your saliva and his mixes, and you whine once he snakes a hand up your blazer. you taste yourself on his tongue and it’s so dirty, hot breaths mash against each other, teeth gnashing, and only then do you feel his cunning smirk.

“no one told you to hog her,” toji grumbles, pulling you back towards him. you briefly gasp for air and they both stare at each other, then you. “tell me, baby. who’d you think win in a fight? me or this . . . thing.”

sukuna glares.

“i don’t … know,” you pant out, heaving from your current orgasm—so cute, yet you only wanted more. from kissing sukuna to having your throat entirely filled, you didn’t know which was better. “can we finish?”

“aw, is someone impatient?” sukuna titters, and you stare at his glistening body—beads of sweat race down his precious v-line, the ideal body for a boxer. you just couldn’t stop staring at his pecs, so chiseled. you even thought his pictures were edited, but seeing them up close . . you wanted him, you wanted both of them. “hm. how ‘bout this? we teach you a few ah, moves. full nelson to start, ‘s pretty easy.”

easy, sure.

with it all being easy, you’d least expect to be put into a full nelson position. a mere popular wrestling position, although you’d be performing it with no one other than sukuna.

he’d have you slump back against him, hooking both arms underneath your thighs as you’re taking such mean thrusts from him. time and time again, you’re spasming out. mouth all open, saliva running down the very corners of your lips before you moan. “s—sukuna, oh my godddd,” and you glance up at toji who’s got a cute pout, stroking himself. you lost count of the time, it’s probably been about a good thirty-three minutes by now, thirty plus minutes of various teeth shattering orgasms. your head hits back against him and each time his tip smacks against your cervix, you short circuit. “fuck, fuck, right there, hit it thereee.”

“you coachin’ me how to fuck, dumb girl?” he chortles with a groan shortly following—he was so deep, the heftiness of his base taps against you each time you bounce back against his cock. he sucks his teeth, the way you easily took him had him groaning all up against your ear. “gotta get a little more stretchy, we gotta . . hah, work on your flexibility too, huh.”

“sukuna hurry the fuck up. watching you fuck my girl ‘s boring as shit,” toji grouses, pumping his cock into his fist every few seconds—you stare and he’s so needy, you could tell. his scowl he had earlier forms into a cute pout, dark eyebrows furrowing together and he’s growing impatient.

you caught that though. ‘my’ girl.

who would have thought toji . . the womanizing boxer who’s never had time for any woman throughout his career would start batting for you?

“your girl?” sukuna snickers, resuming to hold your legs up a bit further. he reaches so deep, that your stomach starts to seize and your maw drops. hooded eyes, your lashes flutter and you felt continuous strained breaths get yanked from your lungs. “your girl yet she’s gettin’ fucked by me? the better boxer?”

toji snarls, and he kneels to kiss you. you moan, barely able to return the gesture since you were in the midst of taking sukuna. with being gifted with such sharp thrusts, you dig your nails into his thighs before running tangling your tongue alongside toji’s. his breath was warm, you whine once you feel one of his hands stroke your cheek.

“aha, look at him. already whipped before me,” sukuna snickers, feeling you sink and gape around him—he stretched you out so good already, it was so relentless. each time you bounce back against his lap, the ringing in your ears grows louder and louder. he feels his dick twitch inside you. seeing you make out with toji irks him a bit before he spanks your ass—the recoil making him even more aroused than before. sukuna hums, seeing the current pout on toji’s face before nodding, “aw. toji wants a turn too, yeah? don’t ya . . big guy?” and he intakes a breath, your pussy constricting around his length as sukuna pulls you further to slam back and forth against him. you’re moving against him now as his dick jackhammers right into your gummy was. your mouth idly dangles with your tongue stil shamelessly lolled out. a raw moan rips from the back of your throat at the pure feeling of utter bliss.

so thick, so girthy—you gasp once you feel his fingers tend towards your neglected tits. toji shortly follows, a hand going between your thighs. your cunt was all stuffed of sukuna, feeding your swollen pussy was so many inches. “hngh, f-fuck, fuckkk,” you’d whine between wet, saturated kisses. toji purposely feels against your folds, all stuffed and sopping wet. he rubs a thumb against your slick entrance as your legs were just about to give out. “toji, m-more. need you to touch me more.”

“you don’t need shit, little girl,” he corrects you, squeezing your lips together before presses a kiss against it. you moan, your ass stinging every few seconds from the stings of sukuna’s palm making direct contact against your ass cheek. spank after spank, oh how he adores the jiggle. he could watch it all day, even in slow motion if he could. “such a cute thing though, had the nerve to say you thought our training room was the fuckin’ ladies' room.”

you cringe once he repeats that. the same ringing going through your ears once more. your ears perk, hearing sukuna’s raspy grunts against the shells of your lobes before you start to stammer, “toji, touch me.”

“i’ll touch this messy body when i wanna,” he gruffs, leaning to nip kisses near your neck. sukuna’s still holding you up—you’re like a rag doll, eyes goggling from the stretch before you start to feel it. not your orgasm, but something entirely different. it was a new type of pressure, sweet whiny moans emit out of you before you feel sukuna’s rude tip thrash against your g-spot again, and again, and again..

toji’s thumb softly strokes underneath your neck as he pulls you into a short kiss. you whimper, pulling away before spreading your legs a bit further.

“i— something’s coming, i f-feel tingly.”

sukuna roughly laughs against your ear, seemingly getting what you were implying. “yeah, gonna make another mess on us, princess? oh. i mean on me, heh?”

you shudder, your pussy feeling entirely stuffed and your eyes merely roll way back. he fit nice and snug, you bare around him before a whine drags out your throat. so deep, so so deep, you’re spasming—each relentless piston of his hips makes you whine louder. a feeling that was purely euphoric welts right against you, and you’re laid all back against sukuna’s bare chest, riding him in reverse. “c-choke me, ‘kuna, choke me, please.”

“want me to put you in a headlock, yeah,” he whispers to you in a rough low voice. you moan, feeling him lick against your earlobe before toji strokes your cheek. you could tell he wanted a turn too, the pout on his lips stretching even further. you’re nodding against him before your cunt gapes more. “sure. i’ll let you in on what my opponents feel, pretty girl.”

you moan, his voice was so low up against your ear, you’re about to cum. or were you, you swallow thickly despite having a sudden dry throat— voice all raspy and strained from moaning for such a duration that your head’s woozy. it feels too good, your thighs ache and quaver before you feel a beefy arm wrap around your neck. “upsie daisy, thereee we go,” and he scoots you on his lap just a bit farther. he’s buried to the hilt. you moan, toji pulling you into the nth kiss of the night, lips moving in pure tandem. just when you’re about to finish, you feel him rub against your stuffed cunt once more. yet that’s only when you decide to move your hands towards the boxers . . . nipples.

“t-the fuck,” he grunts in a hoarse tone, his voice was suddenly a bit shaky. it was cute—you couldn’t lie to yourself, you found yourself staring at toji’s chest way more often than you should. practically always shirtless, his pecs were huge. such pink swollen nipples, you slide a thumb against it and he shivers from your touch. “fuckin’ weirdo. ‘m sensitive there, s-shit.”

he doesn’t tell you to stop—instead, he grips your hair not so tightly but firmly. you look up at him, speaking in a tiny yet sheepish tone. “can— can i?”

“can ya what?” he grits, watching as sukuna continues to feed your cunt of his cock — you were just about to burst, you felt it and your toes clench and curl all up. so cute.

with a thumb still sliding against his pecs tenderly, you murmur. dilated pupils flicker towards his chest, then back up at him. “. . can,” you huff out in short breaths, tummy seizing, breathing hot and heavy. “can i suck on them?”

“no you can’t fuckin’ suck on them. what kinda question is tha—”

“toji, don’t be fuckin’ mean. you claim she’s your girl so let her suck your tits, big guy.” sukuna chimes in, releasing his soft grip against your neck. you gasp, leaning way back against him now. he was so warm pent up against you—you whimper out, sukuna leans against your ear and he starts to talk you through your incoming orgasm. “right? wanna make toji a little whiny bitch?”

“shut the fuck up,” he rasps, and his pecs literally stare at you—so beefy, you could have sworn they twitched. he groans, watching you give him such eyes before he inches closer towards you, bending down. “…….fine. whatever.”

still grinding against sukuna’s lap, you hold toji’s pecs before latching your tongue against it. his face scrunches up and it’s so cute, for whatever reason, the way your tongue curls against his perky nipples feels … good. awkwardly, he pulls your head closer towards his chest, eyeing closely as you briefly start to suck. as usual, you were so sloppy too—moaning up against his sensitive skin, rolling your tongue all against his nipple.

“nasty little g—girl,” he chokes out.

you glance up at him, parting your lips away before he makes you go back to tending to his tense nipples. “i didn’t tell you to stop. use y’er fuckin’ tongue some more. and stare at me while you do that . . . weird shit.”

toji’s voice significantly pitches and you’re so into it that you don’t even realize that before you know it, you end up squirting. everything comes at once, you’re pulsing with sukuna’s cock still twitching vigorously inside you and you whimper, mouth still sucking onto toji’s tits nipples. low laughter could be heard from behind you, and it’s all so much. your pussy was equivalent to a waterpark, gushing out all into sukuna’s lap. “fuckkk, princess,” he chortles, slowing down your hips and he ends up finishing a few seconds after you.

when he came inside, it came out quite a lot too. a hefty amount, it came out in ropes to where he paints the entirety of your womb. so warm from the inside, your tummy briefly caves in and your legs felt like mush.

“heh, did you just squirt?” sukuna points out, cock still twitching inside but he just lies still. you’re stretched out literally on the mat, seeing pure stars— the lights of the arena merely blinding you before you lie back against him. “a squirter and you’re tapping out already? aw boo. ‘n here i thought you could handle a few more rounds in the ring, princess.”

“i— i can,” you protest, parting your lips away from toji’s sheeny pecs. your lips were spit-glossed, he stared at you before squatting down to stare at the mess right between your legs. so messy, sukuna lifts you off of him and it just pours right down between your thighs. “i can go for more.”

toji hums, taking a quick three-second glance at his watch. “five fuckin’ minutes, ‘s all you’ll get with . . me,” and it’s cute because a mere pink forms on his face.

he’s still embarrassed from you sucking on his nipples that he tries to act all tough—but that only makes his tone quaver even more. “match’s gonna start soon. sukuna, let’s take her both.”

he snickers, pulling your shirt that was tucked underneath your blazer all the way up.

“both?” and sukuna lifts you to sit on top of toji, straddling him. you were being preparing to be overly stuffed with not one but two cocks. you fall face forward into toji’s broad chest, the coldness of his chain that wraps around his neck brushes against your skin before he helps you align yourself.

you moan, feeling sukuna get behind too—you gulp, toji’s fondling your breasts that almost poke out through your unbuttoned shirt whilst sukuna was behind. you’d be taking them both— one in each hole. “can you handle us both at the same time, pretty girl? toji’s known for his record of lasting a good ah . . . two solid rounds.”

toji glares, feeling himself start to open you up again. with his plump crownhead of his cock, he splits you open, and he is a tad thicker than sukuna—you moan, wrapping flimsy arms around him before sukuna enters from behind with toji focusing on the front. “shut up. you say that ‘n act like i won’t k.o. you right now.”

“oh yeah?” sukuna cavils, and you gasp, landing on the cold canvas with an 'oof' once the boxer lightly places you down. you pout—glancing up at the two of them who were having a face off at a time like this. sukuna already pulled out and they stared each other down before toji slyly smiles. “is that a fact?” and for a brief moment, he leers down at toji’s sheeny lips— the dark-haired boxer slides his tongue against his scar before humming.

“don’t play, you know it is,” he replies, giving you one ogle before turning back towards his rival. “y’know, ‘kuna. you sure talk a lot of shit but you couldn’t even pin me down if you tried.”

sukuna rasps lowly, inching closer before they were inches apart—you thought they were gonna kiss at this rate. oh, something like this would be such a good inspiration for the headlines.

“if you wanted my attention, should have said so,” sukuna sneers, rubbing his hand that was carefully wrapped up in a white bandage against his slim torso. “besides, i think we all know who can last more rounds.”

“did you two just forget about me—?” you furrow your eyebrows, literally still soaked and laid against the corner of the ring. they shoot you a glance before turning back towards each other.

toji scoffs back at sukuna, ignoring you. “prove it then. pin me the fuck down, hot shot.”

“bend the fuck over then, big guy. we’ll show the pretty journalist who’s gonna win this night’s match. round fuckin’ one.”

#★vegasbaby. #toji x reader #toji smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #toji fushiguro smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #anime smut #female reader #jjk drabbles #cw sex mention #cw breeding

[ratgrinders]

Ok here's an updated timeline of the Rat Grinders based on the new info we got this episode:

Freshman Year

On the first day of classes Kipperlily and the others meet and form their adventuring party. Kipperlily comes up with the name the High Five Heroes.

Kipperlily excels academically, but the High Five Heroes only go on easier adventures, presumably to ensure they will succeed rather than fail at something challenging.

Ruben is primarily an acoustic/soft rock musician.

Kipperlily begins to have childish rage and resentment towards Riz and the other Bad Kids, which start out petty but gradually grow in intensity over the next couple years.

Sophomore Year

An increase in hostility, one of the first meetings Kipperlily has this year is being jealous that Riz's dad was killed by Kalvaxus, that if a person has suffered immense magical hardship it is an unfair advantage in adventuring.

Kipperlily tries to find evidence of conspiracy with her parents and is enraged that they are boring.

A week after spring break the High Five Heroes go on their first quest to the mountains of chaos, chaperoned by Jace Stardiamond.

After this, the High Five Heroes seem to undergo a shift where their rage is amplified. Kipperlily's counselor files become much more venomous towards the Bad Kids, Ruben shifts to emo music, etc.

At some point after this Ivy and Oisin propose changing the name to the Rat Grinders. Kipperlily opposes this and Lucy is on her side, but Ruben votes against her because it makes her upset and Mary Ann also votes against her but doesn't explain her reasoning.

A piece of paperwork is submitted for Lucy to change her god, but another piece of paperwork is filed afterwards rescinding that application, presumably by Lucy herself changing her mind.

Towards the end of the year, after grades are finalized but before classes are over thus avoiding the pass/fail penalty, Lucy dies in the far haven woods near Aguefort. Presumably, she could have been resurrected in service of this unnamed rage god, but chose not to. She "stuck to her guns".

Kipperlily's rage towards the Bad Kids has transitioned from childish to venomous, she "hates them".

Junior Year

At some point between the end of Sophomore year and the beginning of Junior year, the Rat Grinders specifically request Buddy Dawn join their party as a cleric.

At 8:01 am, the first day of classes, Kipperlily goes to Ashgrove to dig up the rogue teacher's grave, thus forcing her to reveal herself and granting Kipperlily a pass for all her rogue classes for the year. Presumably she was aware of the rogue teacher's grave beforehand (information only available in Arthur Aguefort's office) but waited until the start of Junior year so she could pass all her classes for the year.

Kipperlily announces her bid to run for student council president, with a platform based on equity, equanimity, and fairness.

Kipperlily asks Jawbone about the creation of Yes! and the events of prompocalypse

Her counselor notes become extremely enraged, with her straight up wanting to kill Kristin and being angry that she can't get to her thanks to Fig's protection.

Oisin, Ivy, and Buddy are seen at Fabian's house party during the first week of classes. Kipperlily is not seen but is possibly there invisible. The Bad Kids are asked to do drugs but decline. That same night, mephits steal part of a cloud rider engine kept in Seacaster Manor.

At the school assembly the following day Principal Grix reveals he was notified of students doing drugs off campus, meaning its possible the Rat Grinders tipped him off in an attempt to get the Bad Kids in trouble.

Ruben performs presumably some kind of ritual at the Frosty Fair Folk festival, with the other Rat Grinders conspicuously absent. Simultaneously, Yolanda Badgood falls dead in the same place where Lucy Frostblade died, after Yolanda had been made aware of Lucy's change in god and was investigating it. Yolanda also refuses to be resurrected in service of the rage god.

The Rat Grinders are seen at the assembly addressing Yolanda's death and how all clerics would be moved to pass/fail. Most look bored, Mary Ann isn't paying attention, and Buddy is unconcerned.

Kipperlily and Oisin get caught trying to sabotage the Bad Kids' Last Stand exam, and Kipperlily kills Buddy. Ten minutes after the Bad Kids plane shift away, Buddy is revived by an unknown figure and he pledges his allegiance to the rage god.

Now the Rat Grinders are scheduled for another trip to the Mountains of Chaos and are on complete lockdown, hiding all of them from Adaine's divination magic.

#let me know if i should add anything and ill go back and edit it! #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #original post #rat grinders #kipperlily copperkettle #lucy frostblade #buddy dawn #ivy embra #ruben hopclap #mary ann skuttle #oisin hakinvar

[bloodyhoon]

7 minutes in heaven.

pairing: fuck boy! sim jake x female! reader.

genre: smut.

warnings: virgin reader, fuck boy jake is actually a gentleman, kissing, fingering, insecurity, mentions of crying, slight corruption kink. english is not my first language so there may be grammal or spelling errors.

words: 3.8K

note: i didn't plan for this to be so long wtf

The not-so-little get-together at your best friend's house had become interesting when someone suggested playing 7 minutes in heaven. Everything was calm, several couples had entered and left the small closet, some only came out laughing after the exact 7 minutes that had to pass and others came out somewhat disheveled and with their clothes out of place after more than 7 minutes locked up, clearly showing what they had done and earning shouts and whistles from those outside waiting. Your world came crashing down when the bottle spun and pointed at you on one side and Sim Jaeyun on the other, the hot best friend of the guy your best friend was fooling around with. You all knew that he was a fuck boy, very experienced when it came to girls and casual encounters, every girl who had passed through his bed would speak highly of the boy.

And then there was you, one day everyone just started believing that you were some kind of fuck girl because of a stupid rumor that started spreading at school, but that created a certain reputation for you that you liked so you didn't try to deny it and things simply got out of hand and suddenly everyone said they had sex with you. You personally were not bothered by those rumors because you and your close friends knew perfectly everything about you. And the reality was different, you were a simple virgin terrified of the idea of ​​being intimate with some idiot like the ones your best friend always talked to you about.

"Nice!" the voice of one of the girls in the group sounded over the laughter. "Jaeyun and Y/n, who would have thought? But I don't think it's their first time-"

"Actually it is, but I don't deny having waited for this moment" Jaeyun's voice was a little mocking. You looked up from the bottle in the center of the floor and met his smirk. You fought hard with yourself not to act flustered and blush at the attractive boy. After all, you had a reputation to uphold.

"Well, this game is already boring" Yena spoke with a fake yawn. She of course knew your true personality and your shyness, and she knew that you wouldn't dare be confined in such a small space with the boy. She also didn't want anyone to pressure you into it, so she knew she had to intervene. "Let's better play-"

"Come on, don't ruin the mood like that" the previous girl's voice sounded again. "They also seem very enthusiastic."

"I'm more than ready." Jaeyun leaned back leaning on his hands, waiting for you to deign to speak to him. When you looked at him again, he had one of his eyebrows slightly raised waiting for an answer from you. "Unless she backs down. Are you scared, Y/n?" Silence reigned in the place and everyone turned their heads quickly towards you, waiting for one of your strong sarcastic responses.

"Scared of what? I don't think you have much there that I have to deal with" you looked away, mainly so he wouldn't notice the nervousness in your eyes.

"Do you want to find out?" His tone of voice was provocative, forcing you to return his gaze. Everyone was waiting for your answer and you couldn't give them anything other than what they expected.

"Should I?" you smiled slightly at him. The other teenagers who were already quite drunk made some noises and provocative comments. Jaeyun stood up from his place with a sideways smile on his face and relaxedly putting his hands in his pockets, he pointed at the closet with his head. You sighed and stood up, but the arm of your best friend next to you stopped you, almost making you fall.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/n?” his panicked voice whispered to you, rising above the noises of the crowd. “Are you sure what you're about to do?”

"Damn it, no" you denied several times, closing your eyes. "What did you want me to do? I'd look like a coward-"

"And what are you going to do when you gets in there? He won't-"

"Y/n?" the boy's voice called to you, he was standing by the door of the closet that was for the game, looking bored. "Do you think we have all night? Although, you know I wouldn't mind." He winked at you.

"Okay, wish me luck" you walked away from your best friend showing a false confidence and walked towards the closet, entering with the boy walking behind you. You heard the door close and the sound of voices and laughter suddenly died away.

The space was small, with luck a person would enter next to the shelves full of clothes that were stored. There were some decorations and old toys that used to belong to Yena and her sister. Above the highest shelves, small Christmas lights hung that illuminated little creating a comfortable place. When you turned in your spot, Jaeyun's body leaned over yours and quickly analyzing your expression, he approached and kissed you. Your back hit one of the shelves and Jaeyun cornered you with his body, placing both hands on the sides of your head. Your heart began to beat quickly when his perfume flooded your nose and his lips devoured yours, practically forcing you to follow him, which didn't bother you at all. His lips were soft and had the taste of the sweet drink that everyone had been sharing earlier. His hands went to your waist, hugging you and taking you off the shelves, pressing your body to his. You relaxed a little in his arms when you noticed that he was just kissing and hugging you, and things weren't going to escalate. Or so you thought at the moment. The boy separated from your lips and his hands gently went down the sides of your body, positioning themselves on your hips.

"Do you really want to find out?" he murmured against your red and swollen lips. You didn't know what to answer and your heart continued to beat rapidly while the boy was still attached to your body. "Are you speechless already?" he let out a laugh. Your trembling hands rested on his shoulders and you looked into his dark eyes, which went from your lips to your eyes with deep desire. You let your impulsive thoughts win and you desperately attached your lips to his again, wanting to feel them on you again. He smiled in the middle of that kiss and brought his hands to your butt firmly. You were wearing a short skirt so one of his hands decided to go down the side and gently caressed your thigh, causing your skin to crawl. His lips were still glued to yours while his tongue and yours intertwined with each other. Your hands squeezed his shoulders tightly as his hand slowly began to move up the inside of your thigh.

"Jaeyun-" you broke the kiss and still with your eyes closed you tilted your head back. The boy took advantage of that movement, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking gently and leaving a purple hickey. Nervousness took over your body and your heartbeat was erratic, you didn't know how to stop the situation that was beginning to get out of hand. You wanted to stop it because you didn't know how things would end, but you were embarrassed to separate him from you and that the boy would find out that you were nothing more than a stupid girl with a false personality. Your eyes filled with tears and a soft sob escaped your lips when his hand brushed your core over your underwear. He pulled away from your neck and looked at you ready to mock you when he heard you, but his expression disfigured when he noticed the nervousness in your body and your teary eyes.

"Y/n?" His hands gently grabbed your arms and he looked at you with concern. You shook your head and threw your head back, closing your eyes in shame. "Why are you crying? What's wrong?" His voice was soft, completely different from that flirtatious tone he used to have whenever he talked to a girl.

"I'm a fake" you whimpered, embarrassed. "I can't do this, I'm not ready" you denied several times. His brow was furrowed while listening to you, but still his hands caressed your arms trying to calm you down.

"Are you-" He thought about his words for a moment, you opened your eyes and looked into his eyes nervously. Your eyes had an innocent gleam that said everything your mouth didn't. His gaze completely scanned your body, which moved uncomfortably in his hands and he separated himself as much as he could from you, although the space was very small. "You're virgin" he didn't ask you, he stated it. He noticed it in your look, he noticed it in your reactions to his touch and the way you had hesitantly reciprocated when he kissed you without warning.

"I'm a liar, but I can't do anything about it, everything got out of hand" you shrugged and looked down at your hands intertwined in front of your skirt. "And this image they have of me gives me a certain... confidence in myself. A confidence that I never had" Jaeyun remained silent as he listened to you and you were dying of anxiety for whatever was next, whatever he was about to say, what would happen when you both got out of there and if he would laugh at you in your face and then tell everyone in the house. You heard him laugh and a knot formed in your stomach, but you snapped your head up when he approached you again and stroked your hair kindly.

"You're so cute" he shook his head several times, not believing the current situation and continued caressing you, forcing you to raise your head. He looked at you tenderly, his eyes with a shine that you had not seen before. The colorful but dim Christmas lights above his head flickered and gave him barely any illumination. It was a beautiful sight in your eyes because the boy was extremely attractive. "You have nothing to worry about, darling and you have nothing to be ashamed of either."

"Yena told me the same thing, but I can't help it, I feel stupid and now that you found out, I feel even stupider" you honestly wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. You didn't know how things would continue from now on, you didn't know what you would do or say when you came out, or what he would say or do too. You were completely nervous and scared, you felt like your teenage life had ended right there.

"Look at me Y/n" he asked you, placing a hand on your jaw and gently lifting your head. You looked him in the eyes again and waited for him to speak. Jaeyun looked at you for a few seconds and then smiled at you. "You can leave and I will make up some story without going into details, anyway it is not difficult to create a scenario with the things I would do with you, you are the hottest girl I have ever seen in my life, although now I can only see your real side that is so innocent and pure." He laughed when, under the dim lights above you, noticed your cheeks turning red. "Or also, you can stay and we can do something about it, give you something to show off and meet the expectations of those waiting for us out there. Also give you a little experience, what do you think? You choose, pretty." His hand rested on your cheek this time and with his thumb he brushed your lower lip.

If your heart was already beating rapidly, it was now out of control. You felt that your legs were shaking and you would fall right there because of nerves. You wanted to stay there with him and see what happened, your curiosity was great but your insecurity was even greater, you were inexperienced in the whole realm of intimacy and he was so experienced that you were embarrassed to do something wrong, but you longed for him to continue kissing you and touching you like no one had ever done before. Neither of you knew how much time had passed since you had entered the closet, but no one had knocked on the door so you didn't worry and continued on your own world. Jaeyun of course noticed how your head was going a mile an hour and caressed your cheek.

"Don't be afraid, if you say yes, we won't do anything you don't want to do and I'll stop when you ask me to" he assured you. He was trying to convince you, but only because he could see in your eyes the desire to stay with him and your body clinging to his involuntarily told him what your mouth didn't. He noticed that you didn't know how to say yes. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, waiting for your positive response. If you hesitated too much, he would simply back away and let you go.

"Please" you didn't try to hide the desperation in your voice that revealed how you wanted to feel his lips on yours again and he smiled sideways, nodding. He leaned over you and joined your mouths together, the kiss was gentle at first, a soft touch of lips testing ground. He brushed the hair from your face and tilted his face to the side, deepening the kiss as your mouths opened slightly and both tongues rubbed against each other. Your hands moved to his shoulders, drawing him closer to you to feel him pressed against your body. His hand went down the side of your body and grabbed your thigh, lifting your leg and positioning one of his legs between yours and lightly rubbing your crotch. It didn't make you uncomfortable, rather it caused shivers to run through your body. Jaeyun could feel your heart pounding against your chest and that also made his heartbeat quicken as he separated from your lips.

"Can I touch you?" The question left his lips like a sigh and you just nodded. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes, touch me" your voice was muffled as you once again felt shame take over your body, but he gave you a short kiss on your lips and smiled tenderly at you. He didn't want to be too intrusive, so his hand slowly entered the bottom of your blouse and caressed your waist, going up with caution and aware of each of your reactions, and brushed the lower part of your breasts. You had skin bristling and your body cold with nerves contrasted against his warm touch as you clung to his shoulders with slightly trembling hands.

"Calm down" he murmured against your lips. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no" you sighed and denied, convinced. He nodded again and cupped your breast in his hand, feeling your hard nipple underneath your bra. Your legs closed involuntarily and pressed his leg that kept them apart, he lowered his gaze and let out a mocking laugh.

"It seems like you want me to touch another part of you" his tone was mocking, but actually he was still analyzing each of your reactions and he didn't mean to make you feel embarrassed, he just wanted to play with you a little. "Do you want me to touch you there?"

"Yes, please" you responded quickly, your eyes squeezing shut to avoid his gaze. Your reactions drove him crazy, the way you moved desperately in your place and your cheeks were flushed waiting for his touch, how you asked please for everything.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop." he warned you. "Spread your legs a little, princess" you obeyed him and he undoubtedly brought his hand between your legs, caressing the inside of your thighs making you hold your breath as his hand began to go up to your crotch. "Breathe, baby" he giggled and you nodded too, laughing out of nerves. Jaeyun felt calm when he heard you laugh and regularize your breathing, noticing that you were nervous but comfortable with his touch, so with his fingers he touched your pussy over your soaked underwear. His eyes widened with some surprise and his breath caught in his throat. "Damn, why are you so wet?" he felt as if electricity ran through his body and was going to stop straight at his cock. He swallowed hard and focused on you.

"I-" a lump formed in your throat, you were so embarrassed you felt like you were going to cry and he noticed.

"Sh, don't worry" he assured you, with his free hand he caressed your face and kissed your cheek. "This is so hot. The way your body reacted to just a couple of my touches and how much you want me to touch you but your pretty little mouth doesn't dare say it" he left a peck on your lips. "But don't worry beautiful, I will become an expert in your body language." You felt like your heart was going to explode in your chest at his words, his voice and the way he said each sentence while his hand played with the elastic of your underwear. "Excuse me, I'm going to take this off" you nodded and he crouched down in front of you sliding your underwear down your legs, his fingers brushing your skin making it crawl. You didn't know where your underwear was after he stood up again and in front of you because your eyes were squeezed shut. "Open your eyes, Y/n" he asked, you took a deep breath and obeyed him. His eyes had a mischievous gleam as his lower lip was trapped between his teeth, looking at you with lust. He spread your thighs further, forcing you to open your legs a little more and his hand went to your crotch, sliding his fingers easily along the length of your pussy. You pressed your lips tightly, the shock your body gave from the wave of pleasure that grew in you as he caressed you. "It feels good?"

"Mhm" you nodded quickly and pressed your head against the shelves behind you, holding yourself tightly to his body.

"Don't hold back darling, I want to hear you" his fingers moved slowly but rhythmically in your core spreading all your fluids. "Let me hear how good you feel, don't worry about those outside, they must be drunk already and involved in another stupid game again to remember that we are here. Come on, moan for me." his fingertips probed your entrance and his middle finger slowly slid inside you. You couldn't stifle the moan that escaped your lips at the sudden intrusion, you felt strange but it was a pleasant sensation. It's not like you haven't touched yourself before, but his hands and fingers were clearly bigger than yours so it felt different. His fingers moved slowly inside you and you squirmed in place, digging your nails into his shoulders, thankful that he had his shirt on so you wouldn't hurt him, although he wouldn't mind at all.

“Keep going, please” you begged. He slid another finger inside you and your walls clenched as his fingers curled inside you, touching a specific spot that made your body shiver. “It feels good, Jaeyun.” When his name left your lips he felt his cock jerk and he thrust his fingers in and out of you, taking a faster pace inside your tight walls. You continued moaning loudly and this time you looked into his eyes, your eyes had tears and he didn't know if they were from pleasure or pain, so he stopped his movements.

"Relax, pretty" he caressed your face again and again slowly, you nodded and sighed. You both stayed still for a moment, you breathing heavily and him spreading kisses across your face to calm you down.

"Keep going Jaeyun" he put his fingers in you again and this time with his thumb he reached your clit, rubbing it in circles. Your mouth opened and your legs trembled from the strong shock of pleasure that your entire body received. "Oh God-"

"Feels good? Do you like it?"

"Yes, yes. Please" your eyes almost rolled back and your hips moved involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand and he knew you were close to your orgasm. "Don't stop."

"Whatever you ask for, princess" he continued fucking you with his fingers and playing with your clit quickly while in contrast his other hand gently removed the fine hair that fell on your pretty blushing face. "Are you going to cum?"

"Yes!" you almost screamed in pleasure and his fingers tightened in you, your body felt the wave of pleasure explode inside you as your head spun, your legs weakened and Jaeyun wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you tightly as his hand on your pussy slowed down their movements once your body relaxed. Your head fell against his shoulder and he rubbed your back, hugging you to him. "That was incredible" your voice sounded exhausted and you felt his body shake as he laughed. "Thank you" you murmured, separating yourself from him and meeting his dark gaze. Your eyes widened in panic and you stifled a gasp when he brought his fingers glistening with your fluids to his lips and inserted them into his mouth, cleaning them completely with his tongue.

"So sweet" a half smile adorned his face as your cheeks turned even redder. You didn't know where you got the courage from, but you put a hand on the back of his neck and pressed your lips to his, surprising him and causing him to moan that ended up lost between both mouths, while you could faintly feel a hint of the taste of your fluids on his tongue. He separated from you before everything got out of control again and looked at you from head to toe, adjusting your clothes and your hair so you can come out decent.

"M-my underwear?" you asked shyly, feeling very obviously that something was missing under your skirt.

"Ah, no" he shook his head. "It doesn't belong to you anymore, darling." You blinked in shock and then let out a laugh. Your gaze moved down his body and you noticed the very noticeable bulge in his pants.

“Oh, you-” he followed your gaze."Should I-"

"No. Don't worry" he reassured you."The important thing here is that you enjoyed yourself."

"But- I really want to do something about it" you were still shy and he couldn't believe it since minutes before he had his fingers buried inside your pussy and you had ended up trembling in his arms. He also couldn't believe how before entering that closet you had that arrogant look and your head held high, showing yourself confident and having everyone at your feet only to turn out to be all just a facade that hid a shy Y/n completely terrified of everything. Jaeyun definitely wanted to keep seeing those innocent eyes filling with tears from the pleasure your body had never experienced.

"Next time we will do something about it, rest assured" he winked at you and took your hand, you just nodded and followed him when he opened the door and you both left the closet -who knows how long later- and were greeted with extremely out-of-character comments from your friends.

I feel like this deserves a second part or I just feel like writing even more idk

send me request for zb1, enhypen and stray kids.

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen #enhypen drabbles #jake scenarios #sim jaeyun #jake drabble #jake imagines #enhypen smut #jake enhypen #jake smut #jaeyun x reader

[bedsyandco]

noticing the indented marks left on their face from the pillow or however they were laying

^ "did you sleep well?" "mhm.." [tracing the mark with their hand] "i can tell."

prompt with Luke Hughes

ᯓ⌕ 𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒 — 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟑 ༉‧₊

pairing: gf!reader x luke hughes

summary: in which taking naps on your boyfriend is your favourite pastime. and he enjoys nothing more than having his girl in his arms.

content: just some fluff.

note: thank you so much for taking part in my celly! it's time I get myself a pookie bf cause writing these are making me feel lonier and lonier 😔

luke loves sleeping. it’s one of the many joys in his life. and it’s no secret either. luke knows his teammates are well aware that when he declines their offers to go out, he goes home and knocks right out. and as much as he brushes their teasing off by saying he’s just a kid and he’s still growing, luke is pretty sure no matter how old he gets he’ll always be down for an afternoon nap.

luke only knew one other person who loved sleeping as much as him… and that was you. it’s become an integral piece of your routine. it’s almost a daily occurrence for jack to find you and luke passed out together for an hour or two.

but if there was one thing luke loved more than sleeping…it was watching you sleep. not in a creepy way, he swears. there was just something so peaceful about watching your content expression, the way your whole face would soften, the steady beat of your heart, your soft puffs of breaths against his skin. watching you sleep put him in a state of grace that even his own slumber couldn’t.

so what if he sacrificed his own two hour naps just to admire you in your sleep? it recharged him all the same and no one would ever know.

“is she asleep?” jack whispers when he enters the apartment and sees his brother on the couch. you laying completely on top of him.

“of course she is,” jack says when luke nods in response.

luke grins at the horrified expression on jack’s face when you let out a particularly loud snore. he gently runs his hand through your hair, dropping a kiss on your head.

“fuck!” jack yells suddenly and luke turns his head seeing his brother crouched over, clutching his toe.

“shut up. I just told you she was sleeping,” luke whisper-yells and jack glares at him letting out an annoyed sigh. luke glances down at you, making sure his brother’s antics didn’t wake you up.

“I stubbed my toe. It fucking hurts. but I’m okay, thanks for asking,” Jack says and Luke rolls his eyes at his brother’s dramatics

“If you wake her up you’re gonna be very not okay when I’m done with you,” luke grumbles and stills when you shift, hand clutching his shirt tightly

but he quickly forgets about the threat uttered to his brother. a warm feeling spreading through his chest when your eyes flutter open, blinking slowly up at him.

“hey baby. did you sleep well?” luke asks, gently brushing wild strands of hair out of your face.

“mhm…” you mumble, snuggling back into his chest, exposing the side of your face you were laying on and luke smiles at the indented mark on your face

“I can tell,” luke says amused, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when you hide your face in his chest from embarrassment.

luke squeezes you tight, his eyes fluttering close with a content look on his face. jack contemplates waking both of you when he sees your drift off again, knowing the two of you were on dinner duty tonight, but the peaceful look on his little brothers face makes him hesitate.

jack decided to leave the two of you be, but for no other reason other than the fact that he doesn’t want to eat luke’s burnt rice again. or so he tells himself.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ cami’s celebrates — 1.8k ⟢ #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine

[woso-dreamzzz]

Nits

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You come home with nits

Sometimes, Magda has bad days at training.

Sometimes, none of her passes connect and she can't defend to save her life.

Sometimes, they're just all around bad days from the moment she leaves the house to the moment she gets back.

But she knows that a bad day can turn good very quickly once she calls Pernille.

It's still difficult to deal with the distance even through all the years and it's gotten even more difficult recently now that you've come into the picture but, still, Magda's day can go from bad to good by just calling you both.

So that's what she does today.

For a moment, the call goes unanswered before Pernille's face fills the screen.

She's smiling but it's a little tense but Magda's just glad she picked up.

She frowns though. "Are you in the bathroom? I thought bathtime would be over by now."

Pernille laughs, adjusting the phone to be propped up on the side of the bath by the taps.

Magda grins. "Hi, princesse!"

You're the one in the bath, hair dripping wet as you perk up.

"Hi, Morsa!"

"Hi!" Magda says again before addressing Pernille again," Did you guys get in late tonight? I swear bathtime is usually earlier than this."

Pernille grimaces. "We had to pop out to grab some stuff. I picked her up today to find out that her nursery had a nits outbreak and the princesse got caught in it too."

Magda's heart drops as Pernille drags a nit comb through your hair.

"What?!"

"She's got nits," Pernille says," Or, she did have nits. They're dead now. We're just combing the last ones out and then one last hair wash to check, isn't that right, princesse?"

You giggle. "Morsa, nits go itch-itch-itch."

"That's right," Pernille nods along," Nits do make your head feel itchy but not anymore."

"Not anymore," You repeat," 'Cause Momma goes pew-pew-pew to the nits!"

"I sprayed stuff in her hair and waited," Pernille translates, separating out the last section of hair to comb through.

"Did they hurt her?" Magda asks, feeling utterly hopeless on the other side of the phone," The nits? Did she cry?"

"They're just nits, Magda," Pernille says," They made her a little itchy but we caught them early. I'll keep her out of nursery until they send out an email giving the all clear and I'll start braiding her hair instead of keeping it loose."

Magda's a little sceptical. "What's a braid going to do?"

"It'll stop her hair coming into contact with other kids' hair as much," Pernille replies. She unhooks the shower head and turns it on, gently running the stream of water against your arm so you can tell her when the temperature is warm enough for you.

Magda raises a brow. "Can't we just take her to a new nursery? I don't think we should send her back to this one."

"Magda," Pernille says with an eye roll, getting to work with lathering up your hair with shampoo," She barely goes in. It was one day."

"One day too many!" Magda insists," Look at her! She should be in bed by now! She'll be exhausted tomorrow!"

You don't feel tired at all. In fact, you're very excited to be staying up past bedtime and you let Morsa know that.

"That's nice, princesse," She says," But I think you'll still by tired tomorrow."

"Tha's okay!" You reply," 'Cause I get to stay up late today!"

Magda sighs at that and Pernille just shrugs behind you, a soft smile on her face.

"Close your eyes nice and tight, please," She says to you," And close your mouth!"

You take a big gulp of air and squeeze your eyes shut as the spray of the showerhead runs over you.

Momma washes out the shampoo thoroughly before putting the shower down to condition your hair.

You open your eyes again to see Morsa on the screen and you giggle at the silly face she's pulling.

"I still think we should move nurseries," Magda says.

"Magda," Pernille rolls her eyes," That's too much hassle. Do you know how long waiting lists are? There's no point if she only goes in a few times a month."

"But she could get nits again!" Magda insists," It's not safe!"

"Children get nits, Magda," Pernille explains as she drags her fingers through your hair," It was bound to happen at some point. Look, she's fine, I'm fine. The nursery will tells us when it's over and then she can go back."

Magda sighs, tabling this discussion for when she's in Germany in person.

"Should I read her story before or after you dry her hair?"

Your eyes light up at the prospect of your bedtime story. You start bouncing in the tub.

"Story! Story! Story! Momma! Momma! Momma! Morsa's storytime!"

Pernille laughs, rinsing out the rest of your hair. "That's right. It is Morsa's storytime." She lifts you out of the bath and wraps you up tight in a towel before reclaiming her phone. "Do you want Morsa's storytime now or when you're all snuggly in bed?"

"Now, please!"

"Okay," Magda says," Why don't you and Momma grab your copy of the Jolly Postman and I'll grab mine?"

"Okay! Momma! Momma! Jolly Postman, please!"

Momma laughs as she lifts you up. "Alright, let's grab your book."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adve #the big adventures universe

[nadvs]

♡ㅤׄㅤִㅤ ୨୧  rafe cameron & his sweetheart girlfriend ✧

ᝰ rafe didn’t realize just how badly he craved kind, gentle love until he met her. he assumed every relationship he’d be in would be dysfunctional but then this girl, who’s sunshine personified, comes into his life and he has never wanted someone more.

ᝰ he’s a nervous wreck the whole time he pursues her. she’s well aware of his bad reputation and the fact that she takes the time to get to know him with open arms instead of letting gossip influence her makes it all the more clear to him how sincere she is.

ᝰ just because she’s sweet doesn’t mean she takes his shit. rafe is a victim to his own temper at times and when he snaps at her, she calmly tells him to cool down and talk to her about what’s really bothering him. she doesn’t escalate arguments. she talks him down. and he loves her for it.

ᝰ rafe would die of embarrassment if anyone saw what he’s like with her. he loves when she plays with his hair and leaves kisses all over his face. his favorite place in the world is on top of her, his head on her chest, wondering how he got lucky enough to win the heart he hears beating.

ᝰ she’s his best friend and maybe his buddies would give him shit for that, but it’s true. because he has never known a bond like this. not only does he have fun with her, but he actually feels understood for once. eventually, she knows him better than he knows himself.

ᝰ rafe hates crying but he hates it the least when it’s with her. he’s used to being told to toughen up. but she doesn’t do anything of the sort. she holds him, consoles him, keeps her gaze off of him because she knows he hates being looked at when he’s in this state.

ᝰ she’s the first one to say the word love and rafe has never felt happier in his life. he has felt love for her for months, but knows he wouldn’t survive if she didn’t say it back. he kisses her hard, whispering that he loves her over and over, making up for every time he thought it but couldn’t say it.

ᝰ the feeling he gets from having somebody worry about him is unreal. he’s used to being neglected and ignored, but she shows her concern for him in countless ways. she’s always reminding him to drive his motorcycle carefully. he eventually tacks a photo of her on his dash as a reminder not to speed because he has a reason to live now.

ᝰ rafe isn’t surprised that his family adores her. his father mentions something in passing about her being a good apple. she even makes ward crack a smile with one of her jokes every so often. rafe doesn’t know how somebody could be so perfect. he’d love her even without the approval but he’s comforted by the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about it.

ᝰ she sees something in rafe that he doesn’t see in himself. he actually likes who he is around her. he’s still rough around the edges with others, but he’s his most authentic self with her. she’s on his mind all day and he misses her every minute they’re not together. he calls her his angel, because that’s truly what she is to him.

inspired by an ask from @putherup 💘

#rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron blurb #hc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron and reader

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 18]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.7k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

warning: canon typical violence || vomit

“Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor, lift your open hand - Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling. So, kiss me.”

You hum along with the song playing quietly in your ear as you scrub the bathtub. It is one of your cleaning nights and you are focused on getting everything back to tip-top shape. The tub currently has a bit of a purple tint to it after you tried a new brand of bubble bath for Minnie - you are lucky she isn’t now grape flavored as well - and you would very much like it gone. It is coming off easier than you expected, but it is taking a fair amount of elbow grease. 

It is easy to space out and listen to music as you work. Your cleaning playlist are songs you can vibe to that you don’t really associate with anything in your life - mostly you think about the movies the song has been featured in - but you are finding, as you scrub and romantic lyrics float through your head, a certain name and face keeps appearing in your mind’s eye. 

You know it isn’t wise for you to develop a crush on Matt - just because you have a daughter together does not mean he wants to kiss you. You know you need to squash the feelings down before you get yourself hurt. 

But sometimes it is nice to have silly impossible daydreams while you are cleaning alone at ten at night. Having a goofy little smile while you picture yourself spinning around a garden in a dance isn’t hurting anyone. You have a good grasp on reality - you just sometimes want to pretend to be the lead in a cheesy 90’s teen romcom - is that too much to ask? 

No one else needs to know Matt has replaced the lead actor. It is a secret just for you. 

As you scrub bleach powder around your purple-haze tub drain, you catch movement reflecting in the shine of the spout. You can’t hear anything over your music - even though you only have one earbud in - so you sit up and turn around. Of course, it is Minnie standing in the doorway, clad in her jammies, and dragging Scooby by his big paw.

You pull the earbud out, frowning to your daughter, “Is everything alright, Mouse? Is my music too loud? Did it wake you up?”

She shakes her head, then in the most miserable voice you have ever heard from her, whines, “My tummy hurts.”

Instantly, you set down your sponge and your earbud so you can go to your daughter, “your tummy hurts?” 

You move to pick her up, wanting to comfort her, but it is made clear she doesn’t want this by stepping back and holding up her toy between the two of you. It hurts, but it passes, as you know you don’t like to be touched when you feel sick, so instead, you kneel down to be in front of her and try to find the root of the problem. 

“How does your tummy hurt?”

She sways side to side, face scrunching up as she self-analyzes. You can see the little wheels turning in her head, but then there is a very subtle shift in her eyes that only years of being a mother makes you notice. With lightning speed, you grab Minnie under her arms and spin around to hold her over the toilet just as her dinner begins to regurgitate. 

Your heart breaks as she empties her stomach and you try to soothe her the best you can, rubbing her little back as she coughs and hacks. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, get it all out. Get all the icky out,” you tell her. 

Luckily, her stomach is small and there is not a lot of expel. Once you are sure she is done, you flush the toilet then close the lid, intent on setting Minnie down so you can clean her up, but of course, now she doesn’t want to be put down. She wiggles and turns until she can bury her head into your neck, sniffling and hiccupping, and clinging to you the best she can. 

You can feel bits of vomit on your neck, but since you aren’t completely covered in it, you try to ignore it in favor of your distressed daughter. You begin to rock her gently, humming one of her favorite lullabies as she processes how distressing throwing up is.

You don’t remember when the last time she got sick was, but you have a guess as to what caused this upset - you tried a new ice cream for dessert tonight. It had made your stomach a bit gurgly and you had solved that with a TUMS. 

It hadn’t occurred to you to ask if Minnie needed one, too. 

A lesson for the future.

Minnie doesn’t dissolve into full on tears and after about two minutes, she pulls back and croaks out, “‘cooby?”

She had dropped the toy when you had first picked her up, so you stretch to grab him for her. She quickly switches to clinging to him and you go right for a washcloth. You wipe down your neck first - you can only handle so much - then start on cleaning up your poor Mouse. 

In a blessing from the gods, she only has a little bit of gunk around her mouth and nose. It doesn’t seem like anything got on her clothes. 

Getting her to rinse her mouth out takes a bit of convincing. 

“It will help the icky taste go away,” you promise, but she just clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. You very much get why she wouldn’t want anything in her mouth after throwing up, but you also know she needs a good rinse. She only gives in after you demonstrate what you want of her by brushing your teeth and gargling some water. However, the condition is that you have to brush her teeth for her while she squeezes Scooby for dear life. 

Once her mouth is clean and the only sign she was ever sick is her puffy red eyes, you scoop up your baby and bring her out to the living room. 

“How does your tummy feel now?” you ask as you set her on the couch and begin to cocoon her in the throw blanket you keep there. 

Minnie rests her head on top of Scooby’s, lip jutting out into a pout, “Icky. And Hurty.”

“Icky and hurty?” You sympathize. You know well the aftermath of throwing up and how sometimes the aftermath is worse than the event - your stomach often turns sour and you feel drained. You know certain fluids will help relieve this, so you kiss Mouse’s forehead and tell her, “Let me see if we have any things to help.”

“Blue Pedi-lyte?” she asks and you can’t help but smile over how observant and smart your little one is. She may not have thrown up in recent memory - but other digestive problems have occurred, and she clearly remembers enough that the drink helped. 

“Yeah. Let me go see if we have any, okay? Do you want to put on some Mickey?”

“Goofy,” is her quick, but mumbled reply. 

You turn on the television and bring up some Goofy related shorts, then head to the kitchen, hoping you have some old Pedialyte. 

But you don’t. 

You have leftover drinks Karen brought you and the only thing that is comparable to what you promised Minnie is yellow Gatorade. However, you have nothing to turn it blue. You have the feeling that trying to give it to your little one is not going to go well, but you try, nonetheless. You fill a sippy cup halfway with yellow liquid and mentally cross yourself as you bring it to Mouse on the couch.

She takes one look at it before pouting at you, “That’s yellow.”

“I know, sweetie. But we don’t have any blue Pedialyte. We only have yellow Gatorade. It will help your tummy, too.”

To her credit, she takes it and holds it in her lap, looking down at it with disdain. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then wrinkles up her nose and holds the cup back up to you, “It’s stinky.”

You try to not sigh - lemon-lime is an intense flavor and probably won’t taste the best after vomiting, but it is all you have. You crouch down so you are eye level with your daughter and rub her leg, trying to be encouraging, “I know, but it will help your tummy. Can you try for me?”

She looks between you and the cup about fifteen times, her little eyes full of doubt, before bringing it up to her mouth and taking a sip. She does not swallow - instead she looks disgusted before opening her mouth and letting the drink spill down her chin.

“Oh, no, no, let’s not do that,” you groan. You use your t-shirt - which is luckily your cleaning shirt and gross anyways - to wipe her face and soak up the yellow liquid. 

“Icky,” Mouse informs you, then adds, “I want blue Pedi-lyte. Please?”

You take in your daughter, looking so tiny wrapped up on the couch. How awful it must be to not only be nauseous, but to be so with enhanced senses. You’ve thrown up enough times to know what an unpleasant aftertaste it leaves, so she must be so miserable.

You rub your hands over your face and give in, “Okay, let Mommy go change into real people clothes, and we will go get some for you.”

----

You are no stranger to midnight runs to the bodega two blocks west. You had moved into your current apartment when you were about six months pregnant, and you had spent month seven waddling your way there almost every night for a slice of cake.  The late-night cashier, Sal, practically watched Minnie grow up and he is one of the few people who she will talk to unprompted.  So, you don’t feel embarrassed when you stroll in wearing sweatpants and a band-tank top, with Minnie still in her jammies - Sal has seen you in worse states and at least you aren’t wearing a robe and slippers. 

There’s a couple of college aged boys lingering around the snacks section who smell heavily of marijuana, and they seem more interested in talking about what chips to get than anything, so only your hyper paranoid mind makes you take notice as you make your way to the drink coolers. You pass all the fun things and go to the very back corner of the storefront where the small selection of medicinal goods are. 

Tampons, Tylenol, and band aids are stacked low on the dry goods shelf, and across from them, practically on the floor of the cooler, is one row of Pedialyte. The gods must be smiling on you because it is indeed the blue flavor your daughter is desiring. 

You open the cooler, and with Minnie on your hip, squat down to retrieve your prize. Almost instantly, she starts making grabby hands for it, asking with a bit of a whine, “Mommy, open it.”

“We have to pay for it first, then you can drink it,” you remind her, feeling guilty as you do. You can see the upset in her eyes, and to try and mitigate the damage, you offer, “Do you want to help buy it?”

Mouse, always the eager helper, nods against you, so you hand over the drink, stand, and start making your way to the counter. The stoned boys are debating which chips will leave the least amount of residue on their gaming controllers as you pass them and part of you wants to stop and listen. You don’t have an interest in video games beyond silly ones on your phone, but their passion is intense, and you agree Cheeto dust is one of the worst things in the world. You are lucky Minnie finds them gross and much prefers pretzels as her chip of choice.

As you come up to the checkout, Sal looks up from his phone and gives you a pleasant smile, “Late night snack run?” 

Minnie pipes up before you can, leaning forward as far as she can to hold out the bottle towards him, “I wanna buy this, please, thank you.”

Sal, ever kind, reaches across the counter to get it so you don’t have to try to lean in, “Ahhh, no snacks. Tummy troubles?”

“Tummy troubles,” you confirm. You dig into your purse for your wallet as he begins to ring you up.

Sal clicks his tongue in sympathy, before telling you, “My daughter, Sasha, the tall one, she always had the tummy troubles, too. Turns out, she was allergic to corn. Do you know how much corn is in everything in America?”

You make a face at that because you do, in fact, know how much corn is in everything. “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

In your arms, always wanting to mimic you, Minnie gives a solemn nod to Sal, “Sorry to hear.”

Sal laughs warmly, “You are kind. I hope your tummy troubles are not from corn, but too many sweets.” 

That makes Mouse giggle, which warms your heart. When you are told the total, you hand her your card to hand over to Sal. The sweet man swipes it, then addresses Minnie, “Debit or credit?”

Despite not knowing what that means, she instantly replies with, “Credit!” making you smile all the more. 

“Yes, we will charge it,” he says. The receipt prints and he hands that and the card back to you before bagging the Pedialyte in a little black baggie and handing that to Minnie. “Your purchase, little ma’am.” 

“Thank you!” she chimes, and you thank Sal as well. The college boys have finally decided on their snack, so you vacate the counter so they can make their purchase, wishing the cashier a good rest of his night. 

As you exit the bodega, Minnie bonks your arm with the bagged bottle, “Mommy, open it now. We buyed it.” 

“Okay, okay.”

You set her down on the ground, then get the bottle out so you can crack it open. You help your little one take a few careful sips and once she is done, she smacks her lips. 

“Not icky?” You ask and she gives a big nod in response. 

“Not icky.”

“How is your tummy?”

Her fist goes right into her mouth as she thinks over the question. You use the time to recap the drink and drop it back into the bag, then put that into your purse. 

“It feels like jumping dinosaurs,” Mouse finally tells you, “Going ‘bah bah bah’. Like sheepies.”

You have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but you guess that she feels better. She seems more chipper, which isn’t what you need closing in on midnight. If you don’t get home soon and get her back into bed, you are going to have a very grumpy toddler in the morning. 

Which will go great with your expected grumpiness - you still have to finish cleaning the bathroom and who knows how long that is going to take. You’ll need to redo the toilet and throw a load of laundry into the wash. You’ll probably get to bed around two if you are lucky.

So, with the complete intention of tiring your daughter out, you ask her, “Do you want to walk back home holding Mommy’s hand?”

Which completely does the trick and Minnie takes your hand so you can walk back home together, and you begin heading that way. 

Despite being the city that never sleeps, the streets around you are pretty empty. You haven’t come across any other foot traffic and you’ve only seen a few cars roll by, so to you, it seems like a quiet night.

You wonder if that is how Minnie sees it - or in her case - hears it. 

It has been mind boggling learning her range of hearing and how much input she must constantly receive.

Matt is still working on making you his binder - Karen has apparently taken to copy editing it - but he has given you a preview of a few pages and you can barely comprehend it. You think you would go insane if you could hear everyone talking all at once, all the time. Your anxiety would be astronomical, but your sweet Mouse doesn’t seem bothered in day-to-day life.

You’ve been watching her play more and more and you’ve been learning what catches her attention and interests. To your surprise, it has been music. The little wiggles and shakes she sometimes does is apparently her interpretation of dancing and you have been making her a little playlist for her birthday. You think a dance party would be a fun thing to do the night before the zoo trip, to help get out all her energy. You haven’t told her this yet, but you did ask her to let you know when she hears a song she wants to dance to, so you can look into it. 

You don’t want to add anything inappropriate after all. 

You look down at your daughter as you walk, a little smile coming to your face. She’s watching her feet, and it looks like she’s trying to step on her own shadow without making a big deal of it. You’ve seen her do that before or try to walk one foot in front of the other. You aren’t the fastest walker - you tend to stroll - so you never worry about her games slowing you down. 

Plus, if it wears her out, all the better for you. 

You are about half a block away from your building when Minnie suddenly halts and whirls her head back towards the bodega. Curious, you stop as well, wondering what she has heard now. 

“What is it, sweetie?” 

“There’s a hoot-hoot!” She whisper-yells, looking up to you with the biggest, purest smile. 

Your heart practically bursts from your chest with love and your smile grows to match hers, “A hoot-hoot? Can you tell me about the hoot-hoot?”

She nods, then you watch in slow motion as your daughter’s absolute joy morphs into that of horror and before you can even process what is happening, something is ripping you away from Minnie by the base of your neck. 

You are pivoted left and slammed face first into the brownstone staircase you were just walking by. Your vision goes spotty as pain erupts from the center of your forehead - confusion and panic begin to consume you. 

All you can hear is your daughter screaming in fear.

You have no idea what is going on, but all you know is Minnie needs you, and that ignites something deep and primal in your chest.

There is something grabbing and pulling at your top and your purse - which you wear crossbody - and you realize someone is trying to mug you. Fear fills you as you struggle to get away, break free, but whoever it is is stronger than you and keeps slamming you back against the stone.

“Mommy!”

The thing inside your chest bursts to life when you hear Minnie cry for you and you kick backwards best you can, trying to dislodge your attacker. Your foot catches their knee and both of you go tumbling to the ground. You hit the cement hard only to be crushed under the weight of your assailant as they land on top of you. 

You refuse to stay still, squirming and trying to army crawl out from under the mugger, but they easily overpower you. Hands wrap around your throat from behind and you are temporarily overwhelmed by the stench of body odor and filth. You are pressed down into the sidewalk for a split second before being yanked back and you just barely manage to turn your face as you are violently forced back down again. Gravel and glass tear at your cheek. 

Something tangles itself into your hair and your head is once again being pulled back, but you won’t give up. You reach back over your head and grab onto the arm of the person attacking you. You feel flesh, so you curl your fingers and dig your nails in the best you can. 

There is a feral, pained yowl, then your head meets the ground again, but it doesn’t stop. They are trying to push you down into the sidewalk using all their weight, like they are trying to crush your skull.

You kick and buck as hard as you are able to, thrashing desperately in an attempt to break away. The pain is quickly becoming all encompassing, but Minnie is crying, and you need to get to her.

You try to get an arm under you, to try and help to push you up, but there is so much weight and all of it is centered on your upper back and skull.

You can’t get up. 

You can’t get to Minnie. 

You can’t save your daughter.

There is a deep and furious roar, then the crushing weight of your attacker is ripped off of you.  

You gasp for breath as you quickly roll onto your side, terrified you're going to be pushed back into the dirt and smothered. Your vision is swimming, blurry and half black, and everything, everything hurts. 

“DADDY!” 

Your eyes snap open and you try to push yourself up onto shaky arms. You try to turn around to find your daughter, but your body doesn’t want to obey anymore, and you collapse back onto the ground. You force your legs to move the best you can, trying to roll until you can find your daughter. 

“Minnie..” you try to call out but you aren’t sure if any noise escapes your lips.

“Mommy!”

The darkness wraps itself around you and begins to drag you down into its depths. The last thing your mind catches before it switches off is your little Mouse, screaming for you.

“MOMMY!”

“MOMMY!!”

---

:3C

---

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath 

 @allllium

@anehkael

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ One of your girls .✦ 」

[Theodore Nott x reader]

Summary: Theodore Nott was the love of my life, the one I'd trade my whole world for. But this summer, I yearned for a different role in his life, even if it meant becoming just one of his girls

Warning:fluff,angst,smut, oral (f!received), fingering, lying about virginity,(+18)

Words:8k

In this world of labels there are , "good boys" and "bad boys," Theodore Nott existed in a category all his own. like devil in disguise, but manlier. And definitely hotter by like a thousand degrees .

As I stood there, captivated by his interaction with a Gryffindor girl, two stark realizations crashed over me. First, I desperately needed to refine my Marauder mischief skills. And More importantly, I needed to bridge the chasm between myself and Theodore. This summer, I wouldn't just be his little sister's best friend; I craved a different role in his life.

Lana's voice, sharp and cutting through my reverie, jolted me back to reality. "Y/N, are you with me?"

"Forgive me, my thoughts wandered," I muttered, composing myself with practiced neutrality.

“I was just saying, I really want Dad to approve this environmental camp," she continued, her enthusiasm undeterred.

"Absolutely," I agreed, forcing a smile. "Those Larus birds undeniably deserve all the protection we can offer." However, my gaze remained tethered to Theodore and his seemingly animated conversation with the Gryffindor girl.

"Right?" Lana beamed. "Perhaps Theo or Christian could help us sway Father?" Lana suggested hopefully.

"An excellent suggestion," I managed, a barbed comment forming on my tongue.

Perhaps your brother would engage in more productive activities than fraternizing with the Gryffindor girl. But I swallowed the retort.

"Christian can be a bit overprotective, bless his heart," Lana began, "but I do believe the 'puppy-dog eyes' technique, as he calls it, might work on Theo," Lana mused cheerfully.believe

A pang of curiosity shot through me. Could this "puppy eyes" technique be effective on Theo as well? I stifled the urge to inquire.

As if sensing my scrutiny, I almost choked on a gasp when he turned, our eyes locking for a beat too long. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he resumed his conversation with the Gryffindor girl. My mind conjured elaborate – and disturbing – daydreams of her demise.

"Are you alright?" Lana's voice held a hint of worry.

"Perfect," I muttered, the word a lie heavy on my tongue. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of my escalating jealousy.

"Then let's proceed," she declared, taking my hand in hers.

The world became a blur as we walked, the proximity to Theo and his unwelcome companion amplifying my agitation. My pulse pounded in my ears, a relentless drumbeat against the backdrop of muted classroom sounds.

Finally, we passed them. Still, Theo's gaze lingered on me, a silent connection that sent a wave of heat through my body. Just as abruptly, , Then in a move that stole the breath from my lungs, the Gryffindor girl cupped Theodore's jaw, pulling him down for a rough, aggressive kiss. I averted my eyes, a wave of nausea washing over me.

“ EWWW “ Lana muttered, mirroring my own disgust.

“Perhaps," I ventured, my voice tight with unspoken emotions, "you should utilize those puppy dog eyes sooner before he gets distracted again “

Potions became a blurry mess of bubbling cauldrons and swirling fumes. Snape's usual scathing commentary faded into the background, as my mind replayed the scene on loop: Theo, his lips locked with the Gryffindor girl, a stranger who somehow managed to snag his attention. Her triumphant smirk as she pulled away felt branded onto my eyelids.

Jealousy gnawed at me like a rogue Flobberworm. Every stolen glance his way felt like a betrayal, a secret message only I could decipher. Was this what Lana meant by "puppy eyes"? Because right now, all I wanted to do was unleash my inner dragon and set the damn girl ablaze.

The Great Hall echoed with the boisterous chatter of lunchtime. As I joined my friends at the Slytherin table, a familiar warmth washed over me – camaraderie, yes, but something more potent simmered beneath the surface. My stolen glance at Theo, however, sent a jolt of conflicting emotions. He was already there, his dark eyes locked on mine for a lingering moment before he averted his gaze.

A playful tug on my braid brought me back to reality. Lana, a mischievous glint in her eyes, was trying to get me out of my misery that she can’t quite understand what gets me into

Mattheo, being his usual blunt self, decided to stir up some trouble, "Just want to make sure the rumors are true. Did our little Y/N break Cedric Diggory's heart?"he said, causing Theo's gaze to intensify on me, igniting a mix of excitement and nervousness within me.

"Sorry, what?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay, y/n, we can see that you're at that age for those kinds of things. What puberty did to you can't go unnoticed,"

My cheeks burned a furious red. The air crackled with tension as Blaise's words hung in the air.

Before I could retort, a cold fury replaced Theo's usual nonchalance. "Shut the hell up, Zabini, before I make you."

His sharp tone silenced the table. I stole a glance at him, he looked relaxed despite his tone , his eyes locked in a silent battle with Blaise. And that was well- very awkward

Matteo, unfazed by Theo's outburst, pressed on. "Back to the broken heart thing, did you really ditch a date with Diggory?"

My cheeks burned under the scrutiny of the table. "It wasn't like that, he understood," I stammered, desperately trying to salvage the situation. "I just said I had to study."

Lana, oblivious to my boiling frustration, jumped in. "No, no, she's just being humble! Cedric was head over heels! He was moping around for days after she said no, his heart practically shattered. Still he can't seem to take his eyes off her today."

I shot her a glare that could curdle milk, but she just winked back, clearly enjoying the drama.

"Why'd you turn him down, then?" Blaise pressed, his amusement evident.

Theo, however, surprised everyone. "She's still too young for that," he muttered. Really? The audacity! My hand twitched, a silent promise of violence aimed at his handsome but infuriating face.

My temper flared. "First of all," I stated, fixing him with a hard stare, "I'm only a year younger than you. Second, I said no because it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I already have feelings for someone else."

A collective gasp rippled through the group.

"You never told me that!" Lana exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

"No," I said, trying to project a confidence I didn't entirely feel. My gaze locked with Theo's, daring him to look away. "I was planning on telling you… tonight."

"Who is this mystery man?" Matteo leaned forward, his tone laced with curiosity. "Do we know him?"

"No, you don't," I lied smoothly, a flicker of defiance sparking in my chest. "He graduated."

A wave of disappointment washed over Blaise's face. "Oooh, Y/N, you sneaky minx! Who knew you had that in you?"

The Hogwarts Express rumbled to a halt, signaling the end of the semester and the glorious (or dreaded, depending on who you asked) freedom of summer. Bidding farewell to Lana, whose eyes held a knowing glint that made me sweat, I trudged off the train, eager to reach the familiar comfort of my own home.

Living just two houses away from Theo and Lana meant constant proximity, which could be either a blessing or a curse depending on how things unfolded. The lie about a mysterious older boyfriend sat heavy in my stomach. It was a desperate attempt to buy myself some breathing room, a chance to navigate the confusing maze of emotions swirling within me.

The oppressive heat of summer hung heavy in the air, mirroring the nervous knot in my stomach. Lana's father had finally approved the conservation camp, and while I was happy for her, a pang of disappointment shot through me. That meant less time to figure things out with Theo.

Taking a deep breath I slipped into a summer dress – the kind that hugged my curves perfectly and left a trail of cool air on my skin.

Taking a deep breath, I crossed the two houses separating our homes and knocked on Theo's door. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. What was I even doing here?

The door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Finch, the Nott family housekeeper, her face etched with surprise. "Miss Y/N? What a surprise! Mr. Theo is the only one home, I'm afraid. Miss Lana's still out."

My cheeks flushed crimson. This was not the grand entrance I'd envisioned. "Oh!" I feigned surprise. "Goodness, how forgetful of me. I just realized I left something in Lana's room. Terribly sorry to bother you, Mrs. Finch."

The housekeeper's expression softened. "No trouble at all, dear. Just head on up, third door on the right."

With a mumbled thank you, I practically sprinted up the stairs, my heart thundering in my chest. This impulsive, poorly-planned visit was already spiraling out of control. Would he see through my flimsy excuse? Most importantly, what was I going to say to him once I was alone with him under the guise of borrowing something from Lana?

The familiar chaos of Lana's room swam before my eyes. Clothes littered the floor, forgotten textbooks sat precariously on the desk,I don’t know why she insisted that no one else but her clean her room when she barley do it

"Are you lost?"

The sound of Theo's voice cut through the mental fog. I spun around, heart hammering against my ribs like a frantic hummingbird. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his gaze lingering on me a beat too long.

And then, his eyes scanned me from head to toe, a slow, deliberate sweep that sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. Merlin's beard, I wanted to be on my knees (respectfully, of course). That summer dress, the impulsive visit - everything suddenly felt like a terrible, wonderful mistake.

"N-no," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I, uh, just came to… borrow something from Lana." The lie tasted like ashes in my mouth, but I couldn't bring myself to confess my real motive. Not yet, anyway.

Theo pushed himself off the doorframe, taking a slow step closer. The air crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the summer heat. "Is that right?" he drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. His eye held an unreadable depth that made my breath hitch.

"Yes," I managed, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "She mentioned a book on… Larus migration patterns? I thought I might borrow it for some summer reading."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Larus migration patterns, huh? Sounds like a fascinating read for a summer day."

His words were laced with a double meaning, and a blush crept up my cheeks. Was he teasing me? Did he suspect my real reason for being here?

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. My carefully constructed plan was falling apart faster than a poorly brewed Amortentia potion. But before I could stammer out another excuse, Theo surprised me with a soft chuckle.

"Well," he drawled, his voice softer now, "since Lana's not here, perhaps I could help you find the book."

The breath caught in my throat. Here I was, caught red-handed (or rather, red-dressed), and yet, Theo's amusement was oddly disarming. His casual demeanor didn't quite match the intensity I'd glimpsed in his eyes moments ago.

"Really?" I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper. The air crackled between us, charged with a sudden shift in energy.

A slow smirk played on his lips. "Yeah, why not? Did you want someone else to help you, maybe?"

He took a slow step forward, his presence filling the room. I instinctively leaned back, my back hitting the wall with a soft thud. A thrill shot through me as his eyes lingered on my face, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

"He's not here, though," he drawled, the amusement leaving his voice. "So bad."

Confusion clouded my mind. "He?" I stammered.

Theo's brows furrowed. "Oh, your older, hot crush? That's what you said, right? So you're here all dressed up and making excuses for nothing." The smile that had been playing on his lips vanished completely.

A wave of panic washed over me. "Are you kidding me?" I blurted out, unable to contain my frustration. Heat crept up my cheeks. "Are you that blind?" just then I realized the depth of my mistake. He thought my crush was Christopher, his own brother!

He was close now, so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His hands braced themselves on either side of my face, caging me in. My breath caught in my throat.

"Trapped?" he murmured, his voice a low growl.

If looks could kill, I would have been dead. Theo's expression was a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion. I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his cheek. Thankfully, he didn't pull away.

"It's not Christopher," I whispered, my eyes darted drawn to the tempting curve of his lips.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, his voice husky.

I couldn't hold back any longer. This was it. With a surge of desperation, I cupped his face with one hand, the other finding its way to the back of his neck and I kissed him.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated passion. I was kissing Theo it wasn’t a dream , feeling the heat and intensity of the moment wash over me. My lips on his, our breaths mingling, it was my first kiss, but that fact faded into insignificance. He was the only thing that mattered.

Panic briefly gripped me when he didn't immediately respond to the kiss. I pulled away, searching his eyes for any sign of reciprocation, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling me closer, lifting me effortlessly until my legs were wrapped around his waist. His kiss this time was harder, more urgent, our bodies pressed against the wall as he devoured my lips.

It was a hungry kiss, filled with raw desire and longing. I moaned into his mouth, unable to contain the pleasure that surged through me. As his tongue sought entry, I responded eagerly, my hand finding its way to his shoulder, the other tangling in his hair. It felt intoxicatingly good, every touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through me.

He didn't stop, his kisses growing more intense, more mind-blowing with each passing second. I felt myself teetering on the edge of something powerful, something I had never experienced before.

When he finally pulled away, our lips still touching, he whispered, "We shouldn't do that." I leaned in, wanting more, desperate to recapture the fire he had ignited within me. But this time, he stopped me with a gentle hand on my cheek.

"We shouldn't," he repeated, his words laced with a battle between desire and control.

" You ... don’t want this?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, before claiming my lips once more in a kiss that left me breathless and wanting more.

He kept kissing me, then his lips dipped lower, trailing a path of fire down my neck. Each touch ignited a new spark within me, a desperate need for more. But just as quickly, he pulled away, his hand clamping over my mouth the moment a moan escaped my lips.

He released me with a ragged breath, fingers brushing my lips – a touch that felt both accidental and deliberate. "Don't fucking let me do that again," he growled, his expression unreadable.

"Theo..." My voice trembled, a choked whisper lost in the deafening silence.

"Don't," he cut me off, his voice laced with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine.

I ignored him, the dam of my emotions threatening to burst. "No, Theo, I do like you so much! No, I think I love–"

He slammed his hand down on the nearest surface, the sharp crack echoing through the room. "Stop talking! Stop fucking talking and get out!"

My heart plummeted to my stomach. I stared at him, disbelief etching lines on my face. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't the answer I'd envisioned.

"I said, get out!" he roared, his voice raw with something akin to despair.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Fear, a primal and cold sensation, gripped me. I couldn't stay there, not with that look in his eyes. Tears blurring my vision, I turned and fled. I ran blindly out of the room, my feet pounding against the wooden floorboards. I didn't stop until I was out of the house, gasping for breath on the front porch steps. My legs felt like jelly, my vision obscured by a torrent of tears.

After four days of crying in my room, watching romcoms, and indulging in ice cream, I had practically shut myself off from the outside world. Ignoring calls and messages, I had no intention of leaving my room anytime soon.

But then, my phone started ringing, and the name that flashed on the screen caught my attention – Blaise Zabini. Why was he calling me? I debated whether to answer or not, but curiosity got the better of me.

"Hello?" I answered tentatively.

"Hello, beautiful lady. What are you doing tonight?" Blaise's smooth voice flowed through the phone, surprising me.

"Did you mistake my number for someone else?" I asked, slightly bewildered.

Blaise chuckled. "No, Y/N, I'm calling you. There's a party tonight, and you should come."

I couldn't believe it. Blaise inviting me to a party? It seemed surreal, especially considering how distant I had been lately. "Is this some kind of dare?" I half-jokingly asked, recalling how Lana and I had once begged to be included in their circle last year.

"No, of course not. Lana is away at camp, and I figured you must be bored. Plus, you're old enough now. So, are you coming?" Blaise explained.

I was shocked but managed to say, "Yes."

"Good, I'll pick you up," he said confidently.

"Um, what should I wear?" I asked, feeling a bit out of my depth.

"Something hot for sure," Blaise replied, causing my mouth to drop open. Surely, there must be more to it than just small talk and an unexpected invitation.

I dragged myself out of bed, feeling a bit more alive than I had in days. The prospect of going out, even to a party, was both daunting and oddly exciting. I made my way to the bathroom, deciding that a hot shower would do wonders for my mood.

The water cascaded down my skin, washing away some of the heaviness that had settled over me. I washed my hair, taking extra care to make it look presentable. After all, Blaise had mentioned something about looking hot, and I wanted to at least make an effort.

Once out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and stood in front of the mirror, contemplating my options. My wardrobe seemed to mock me with its array of dresses, each one a reminder of happier times. But tonight was different. I wanted to feel good, even if just for a few hours.

My eyes settled on a vibrant off-shoulder red dress, short enough to be playful yet elegant. It had been a while since I'd worn something so bold, but tonight felt like the perfect occasion. Slipping into the dress, I couldn't help but admire how it hugged my curves in all the right places.

With my hair styled in loose waves cascading down my shoulders, I turned to my makeup. Opting for a subtle smokey eye and a bold red lip to match the dress, I added a touch of highlighter to give my skin a healthy glow.

Just as I finished applying the last stroke of mascara, my phone rang again. It was Blaise, letting me know that he was waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my purse and headed out.

A slow smirk spread across Blaise's face as he took in my entire outfit. "Damn, Y/N," he said, his voice dropping a cool octave. "You look goodness. Tonight, you're not just breaking hearts, you're shattering them."

"Thanks," I managed, trying to project an air of confidence I wasn't entirely sure I possessed.

The drive to the bar was a blur of conversation and upbeat music. Blaise gave me a heads-up that this was a different scene than the usual hangouts Lana and I frequented. No sticky floors or questionable punch here. This place oozed sophistication with a healthy dose of trendy vibes.

The closer we got, the bigger the butterflies became. "Just a heads-up," Blaise said casually, "Theo's gonna be there."

My eyes widened like headlights caught on high beams. "Why are you telling me this?" I blurted, my voice shaky.

Blaise held up his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa there, little firecracker. Easy now. Listen, I know what happened," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

He paused, his gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "You've got two choices tonight," he continued, his voice low and serious. "Option one: Go in there, drown your sorrows in overpriced cocktails, and cry yourself to sleep like you have been for the past week. Option two: You walk in that door, head held high, and have the best damn night of your life. Show him what a colossal mistake he made. But more importantly, have fun. Forget Theo for the night. You deserve it."

My initial suspicion flared. How did Blaise know about Theo? Did Theo tell everyone, maybe even paint some twisted narrative of what happened? The worst-case scenario played in my head: everyone knowing I'd forced myself on him. I pushed those thoughts down, refusing to let them take root.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked, my voice laced with a hint of suspicion.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Oh, the nerve! Here I am, trying to be the ever-so-charming host, and you accuse me of… niceness?" He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Honestly, Y/N, I'm deeply wounded."

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. It felt good, a welcome change from the constant ache in my chest. As we pulled into the bar's crowded parking lot, I spotted a familiar face – the Gryffindor girl from school, the one with a permanent case of RBF.

Suddenly, the prospect of a night out filled with new faces and zero Theo drama seemed a whole lot more appealing.

"Alright," I announced, a determined glint in my eyes. "Going inside and having fun sounds way better."

Blaise's smirk widened. "Now you're talking," he said, finally pulling the car to a stop. "Let's do this."

We pushed through the heavy bar doors, the sudden wave of loud music and flashing lights hitting me like a physical blow. My eyes squinted against the assault, struggling to adjust to the dim, pulsing atmosphere. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, spilled alcohol, and something vaguely floral that I couldn't quite identify.

Then I saw it.

Bodies. Everywhere bodies. Couples intertwined on couches, limbs tangled in a way that left little to the imagination. People grinding against each other on the dance floor, clothes barely clinging to their sweaty forms. My mouth fell open in a silent scream.

"Are you kidding me, Blaise?" I shrieked, my voice barely audible over the pounding music. "Did you invite me to an orgy?"

Blaise chuckled, his earlier cool persona replaced by something a little more… suggestive. "Not quite, sweetheart," he drawled. "But if you're interested, I know a guy…"

Blaise winked, then turned his attention to a group of women across the room. My stomach churned. Had he brought me here just to ditch me?

"Where are you going?" I demanded, grabbing his arm before he could slink away.

He looked back at me, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You wouldn't want to know, sweetheart. Trust me." Before I could argue, he was weaving his way through the crowd, leaving me stranded in a sea of strangers.

Panic clawed at my throat. I was completely out of my element, suffocated by the throbbing music and the overt displays of affection. Trying to navigate the throng of people felt like trying to walk through a mosh pit. Elbows jabbed, drinks sloshed, and muttered curses collided with the music. Every step forward felt like a battle.

Just when I was on the verge of tears, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

I snapped my head towards the source of the sound, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. There, standing a few feet away, was Cedric Diggory, a friendly face from Hogwarts. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Oh, thank God!" I exclaimed, practically throwing myself at him. He caught me with a smile, a steady presence in the swirling chaos.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out, clinging to him like a lifeline. "I came with Blaise, but… well, he kinda ditched me."

Cedric's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Don't worry about him," he said reassuringly. "I can take you home if you want."

The offer was tempting, a safe haven from the overwhelming sensory overload. But then my gaze fell across the crowded room, landing on Theo. He was… well, making out with someone. Not just anyone, but two someones. His hands were everywhere, his lips moving feverishly between two very enthusiastic girls.

The sight of him sent a fresh wave of anger and hurt coursing through me. I wanted to scream, to cry, to set the whole place on fire. But instead, I did something completely unexpected.

"Actually," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "Do you want to dance?"

A slow smile spread across my face as Cedric offered his hand. Relief momentarily eclipsed the anger simmering beneath the surface. He led me onto the dance floor, his touch light and hesitant on my waist. Compared to Theo's rough possessiveness, it felt… foreign.

"Theodora Nott," I muttered under my breath, the name a bitter curse on my tongue. Every fiber of my being ached to tear my gaze away from Theo.

Cedric's breath tickled my ear as he spoke, but my mind was elsewhere. Then, our eyes met. Theo's. His face contorted in a mixture of surprise and disbelief, like he'd seen a ghost.

Theo seemed momentarily speechless, his jaw clenched tight. Then, in a move that surprised even me, he shoved the two girls aside, their confused faces momentarily forgotten. He barged his way through the crowd, a determined scowl on his face.

"Diggory," he spat, his voice laced with venom.

"Nott," Cedric replied, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"Think I can take this from here?" Theo said, his gaze never leaving mine. "Thanks for keeping Y/N company."

Cedric glanced between us, a hesitant frown creasing his brow. Knowing I needed to act fast, I plastered a sickly sweet smile on my face.

"It's alright, Cedric," I chirped, my voice dripping with fake sincerity. "Theo's here now, and you know, practically like a brother to me."

Theo's jaw clenched tight, his anger barely contained. It fueled a fire within me, a perverse satisfaction at seeing him squirm. Cedric, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, simply nodded and melted back into the crowd.

As soon as he was out of sight, I reached out and lightly touched Theo's arm. "Hello, brother," I purred, the word laced with mockery. "Enjoying yourself?"

He swatted my hand away, his voice tight with irritation. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Dancing, drinking, you know ," I replied, my voice light and carefree. "Hopefully getting some… you know, without having to share." I couldn't resist adding a pointed jab at his earlier display of affection.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "That's not the right answer, Y/N."

"Oh, so now you're the authority on what's right and wrong?" I scoffed. "Just get lost and let me enjoy my night."

"Not happening," he growled, stepping closer. For a fleeting moment, I swear his eyes flickered to my lips, sending a tremor of something unexpected through me.

"Not happening," he countered, his eyes flickering towards my lips for a fleeting moment.

A shiver ran down my spine, but I refused to let it show. "So you get to have fun, but I can't? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you were having a blast with your little… (here I paused, searching for the perfect comedic insult) …buffet." I forced a smile, pushing myself away from him in a playful, yet firm, manner.

He didn't get a chance to retort before a gasp escaped my lips. A clumsy dancer, fueled by who-knows-what concoction, careened into me, spilling the entirety of his drink down my dress. The scarlet fabric clung to my body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Theo let out a frustrated curse under his breath. "Damn it, Y/N, and your damn stubborn red dresses ," he muttered, before grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the crowd. His gaze darted around frantically, before settling on a nearby staircase.

The world spun a little faster as Theo pulled me through the crowd, his grip tight on my arm. We navigated through bodies and flashing lights, finally ending up near a darkened stairway leading upwards. He pushed open a door, revealing a large, beautifully furnished room – a stark contrast to the party raging outside.

"Stay here," he instructed, his voice low and urgent.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed at his bossiness but strangely comforted by his protectiveness.My mind was still reeling from the sudden alcohol shower, my thoughts fuzzy and disconnected.

Theo's presence alone was overwhelming. All the anger, hurt, and confusion I'd been feeling seemed to coalesce into a potent cocktail of emotions. My mind, however, wasn't processing things clearly. The red dress clinging to my body, the sting of Theo's earlier words, the memory of seeing him with those girls – it all swirled together in a chaotic mess.

Ignoring the instruction to stay put, I crossed the room and locked the door with a satisfying click. Grasping the hem of the ruined dress, I ripped it upwards in one swift motion. There, standing before a giant mirror, was me in all my red lace glory – bra and panties matching the ruined dress.

Theo stepped in, a black t-shirt clutched in his hand. His gaze locked with mine, a slow burn spreading across his face. He scanned me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the shocking red lace bra and matching panties that were now my only attire.

For a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the music fading into a distant hum. The air crackled with a tension that sent a jolt of electricity through me.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" he finally managed, his voice rough with a mix of concern and something else – something deeper.

The question snapped me out of my haze. A defiant chuckle escaped my lips. "Not a single Shot," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady as I walked towards him.

The t-shirt fluttered to the floor, forgotten. His eyes were fixed on me, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. I stopped just inches from him, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, his face just inches from mine. The heat of his body radiated against mine, intensifying the buzz in my head.

"We don't have to be in love," I slurred, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A part of me knew this was insane, But another part just craved his attention, his touch.

All I craved was his attention, his touch.

"I just wanna be… one of your girls tonight," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. A shiver ran down my spine as the reality of my words hit me. Was I really saying this? But then I remembered Theo with those other girls, the way they would whisper about him at school, the way they boasted about their "experiences" with him.

Suddenly, a strange sense of defiance mixed with a simmering desire fueled my next words. "I want what you give them," I confessed, my eyes locked on his. "The kind of thing they brag about to their friends for years."

He reached out, a single finger brushing against my cheek. My breath hitched at the contact.

"Give me tough love don’t hold back," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Push me, choke me. Show me what it's like to be… yours even if it’s just for a night ." My voice dropped even lower. "Anything," I whispered, "just don't pretend you don't want me."

My words hung heavy in the air, the audacity of them making my cheeks burn. But before I could even think about backtracking, Theo surged forward, scooping me up into his arms. A gasp escaped my lips as he pulled me close, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over me.

He lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he pulled me close. My hands instinctively found purchase on his broad shoulders, the heat radiating through his shirt setting my skin alight.

"That's wrong," he rasped, his lips brushing dangerously close to mine.

"It's not," I insisted, the defiance laced with a desperate plea.

He didn't answer. Instead, he kissed me. It was a hard kiss, desperate and hungry, as if he was trying to erase everything that had come between us. My body melted against his, all thoughts fleeing my mind except for the fierce press of his lips against mine.

He carried me across the room, depositing me onto a large table. pulled away after what felt like an eternity, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a tremor through me. He pushed a stray strand of hair from my face, his eyes searching mine. "I'd hold onto something, if I were you." he murmured, his voice thick with possessiveness that both terrified and excited me.

My fingers brushed against his face, his warm breath ghosting over my lips as he leaned down.

His hand moved down my body, a slow, deliberate caress that sent shivers erupting across my skin. His fingers grazed my thighs, a light touch that somehow managed to ignite a fire within me. My breath hitched, a moan escaping my lips as desire battled with the remnants of reason.

His lips brushed against my ear, his voice a husky whisper against my sensitive skin. "Choose a word," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

I nodded numbly, unsure if I would even be able to speak if I needed to.

"Red," I managed to whisper, my voice laced with desire as his lips trailed along my neck, eliciting a soft moan from deep within me.

"Fucking red again," he muttered, his lips pressing against my skin with a hunger that ignited a fire within me. I arched my neck, offering him more access, more of me.

"You use this if it gets too much, understood?" he said, his voice commanding. I nodded eagerly.

He continued to kiss my jaw and neck with an intensity that left me breathless. My hand tangled in his hair, urging him closer. When he bit down on a sensitive spot on my neck, I couldn't contain a scream of pleasure.

His hand cupped my core through my panties, and I instinctively gripped his shoulder, my body responding to his touch. I had never experienced anything like this before, but I couldn't admit that to him.

"Have you done anything like this before?" he asked, his breath hot against my earlobe. I moaned softly as I lied, nodding in response.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rush of sensations.

He parted my legs forcefully and held my jaw in his hand, locking eyes with mine. "You did?" he questioned, a hint of possessiveness in his tone.

I nodded again, unable to speak as desire coursed through me.

"He's dead, whoever he is," he declared, sending a shiver down my spine. His fingers slipped inside my panties, and I gasped at the sudden intimacy, my body responding eagerly to his touch.

"Theo," I managed to gasp out, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Yes, baby?" he responds, his voice deep and husky. The way he says "baby" sends shivers down my spine. It feels too good, too right, felt like a sweet caress to my soul.

"You can do whatever you want to me," i whispered, my fingers tracing his jawline. "Anything."

He responds by parting my lips with his finger leaning down to take my lower lips into his kiss. It's so soft, so gentle, that I feel like I've been transported to heaven. His tongue enters my mouth at the same time he touches my clit, and I moan.

He rubs my clit in gentle circles, and I hold onto his shoulder, digging my nails into his skin. He pulls away from the kiss, my lips are still on his, and I moan into his mouth. His tongue continues to explore mine as his fingers work their magic.

"Oh Merlin," I cry out, and he smiles against my cheek.

"Not Merlin, baby, but me," he whispered against my cheek, his touch sending me spiraling further into ecstasy. He added a finger inside me, and I cried out, my back arching with pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight. You sure you've done this before?" he questioned, a hint of disbelief in his voice. I've done this before, in my dreams, with him. I bite my lip to keep from moaning too loudly, and he looks displeased with that.

"Keep making those sounds, I love the sound of your voice," he says, and I do it again. He stops kissing me” you did that again and i stop, understood? “ I nodded immediately.

He’s not done yet. He pushed my bra strap down, placing kisses along the exposed skin.

His fingers start to move faster, as he kissed me, swallowing all my moans. He adds another finger, and I scream, my back arching again.

I bite my lips without even noticing and he slowed his movements I hold onto his hand fast, afraid he'll stop.

"Please don't stop, I'll be good, I promise," I beg, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Fuck, say it again," his gaze intense with desire.

"I'll be good, Theo," I repeated, my voice a desperate plea.

He moves his fingers faster in response, hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars. He keeps hitting it, over and over again, while circling my clit.

"I'm going to--" I try to say, but I can't finish my sentence. Pleasure consumes me, and I scream his name. He plays with my hair, pushing my tears and hair away from my face.

"I know, sweet girl," he murmured, his words pushing me over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm."So sweet, so good."

He watched me with intense desire as I came, his fingers never ceasing their movements. "And so fucking hot," he added as he looked at me while experiencing his own release.

“you look so pretty when you’re cumming for me,” he murmured, placing soft kisses on my neck

I breathed heavily as he pulled his hands from me, bringing his fingers to his mouth and savoring my cum. "You taste so sweet, baby," he murmured, his gaze locked on mine.

He cupped my face, placing soft kisses on my lips, again and again. "So sweet, so angelic,"

With a gentle touch, he lifted me from the table, carrying me softly and placing me on the bed. His face was close to mine, his nose brushing against mine, and he kissed me deeply. I moaned as he opened my bra clips, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my jawline, then my collarbone.

He traced his way down, kissing every inch of my body until he reached my breasts. I closed my eyes as he put a soft kiss on them, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Eyes on me, baby. Don't shut them," he commanded, and I nodded, my breath heavy. I looked at him, my love for him overwhelming.

With each lick and kiss, I moaned louder, the pleasure building with every touch, and I arched my back, my fingers gripping the sheets.

With a final lick, he traced his way down, kissing every inch of my body. He kissed my stomach and looked up at me, his gaze intense.

He parted my legs, the sight of him between them is my idea of heaven. I nodded, and he pulled my panties down.

As he pulled my panties down, I felt a rush of shyness,"You will keep them open," he said, and I nodded again , my breath hitching.

"Good girl," he praised, his lips trailing kisses along my thighs. I couldn't resist running my fingers through his soft hair, pushing it from his face.

"You want rough love, you say?" he stated, using my own words against me.

"Yes," I moaned, my mouth gasping as I felt his mouth on my wet pussy.

"And you keep listening to what those girls say?" he asked.

"Yes, and it hurts," I managed to say.

"So I have to make up for it then, baby, don't you think?" he asked,

He didn't waste time. His tongue explored my folds, and it felt strange but in a good way. He licked and sucked, and I felt like I might explode.

He kept doing it, for what felt like an eternity. He kept my legs open, and my back ached. I cried heavily, it was the best thing I had ever felt. I could feel my body already over the edge.

"Don't cum," he said, and I shook my head. He continued eating me out, so much. I could feel his fingers inside me, and I screamed again.

"Please," I begged, unable to resist the overwhelming pleasure he was giving me.

"You cum, and it's over," he warned, his finger entering me gently.

I held onto his shoulder tightly, my body teetering on the edge. "Say the word, and I'll stop," he offered.

But I couldn't bring myself to say it. "No," I managed to whisper, my voice filled with need and desire.

His tongue flicked my clit, and I felt my orgasm building. I screamed his name, and he kept going, pushing me further and further over the edge. I screamed again, and again, and again. I couldn't take it anymore, and I came hard, my body shaking with the force of it.

He looked up at me, his lips glistening with my juices.

I was still trying to catch my breath from what just happened as Theo's words registered in my mind. "You are a virgin," he said, and I shook my head fast, trying to dispel the shock.

"No, no, I'm not. The boys I've been with before weren't experienced," I managed to say, feeling a rush of embarrassment at my slip of words. Why did I say "boys"?

Theo's gaze held fire as he processed my words. "Boys?" he repeated, his voice tinged with something I couldn't quite decipher.

I immediately felt the need to defend myself. "You don't think I'm attractive enough to be with more than one boy in my life?" I asked, a hint of defiance in my tone.

"Quite the opposite," he assured me, but his expression remained serious. "I want to know who dared and did that," he added, his eyes searching mine.

I bit my lip nervously, realizing the implications of what I had unintentionally revealed. Boys were afraid to pursue Lana because of Theo's reputation, but the way he reacted made me wonder if he wasn't threatening the boys for just getting close to lana .

"You can't just control who I can be with, Theo," I said, surprised at my own boldness.

"I think I can," he asserted firmly.

I took a breath, trying to calm the tension that crackled between us. "I won't mind," I said softly, my voice pleading. "I would do anything to please you. I would do anything you ask me to."

"Stop talking like that, y/n," he ordered, his tone strained.

"Okay," I acquiesced, sensing that I had crossed a line.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, clearly struggling with his own emotions.

I reached out and touched his hand that was on my face, trying to ease the tension. I smiled while kissing his hand, then surprised both of us by putting one of his fingers inside my mouth and sucking on it gently.

"You are going to be the death of me," he muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I need you, Theo, all of you, even just for the night, please," I pleaded, desperate for him to understand.

"Don't cry, unless it's from the pleasure I give you," he said, brushing away my tears gently.

I propped myself up on my elbow to get closer to him, craving his touch and his reassurance. He kissed me again, and in that moment, I felt like I could live in this bliss forever.

He reached for a condom, and I tried not to show my nerves as he prepared himself. His size was daunting, and I couldn't help but wonder how it would fit inside me. My head hit the pillow again as he spread my legs, his hardness teasing my entrance.

He entered me slowly, and I cried out as the pain shot through me, tears streaming down my face. "You are a fucking virgin," he exclaimed, his own frustration evident.

"It's not a fucking game, y/n," he continued, his tone softer but still edged with tension.

"I'm sorry, please do something," I pleaded, feeling overwhelmed.

He wiped my tears away, his features softening. "Fuck, baby, don't cry. It will get better, I promise. Just relax," he reassured me, his voice soothing.

"Breathe, it's just me," he added, placing kisses on my forehead and then my cheek.

"I think... I think you can move now, please," I managed to say, trying to regain my composure.

He held my face in his hand while the other supported him as he moved slowly, allowing me to adjust to him. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure and the connection between us.

"You want fast, I can take it," I said, unsure if I was ready but wanting to prove myself to him.

"It's not a competition, y/n. You don't have to prove anything, baby,"

"The girls you've been with, they must have..." I started to say, but he cut me off.

"They didn't matter. You do," he said, surprising both of us with his confession.

He settled into a rhythm that felt perfect, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensations. His thrusts ranged from slow and tender to fast and intense, driving me wild with pleasure.

"Talk to me," he urged, and I struggled to form coherent sentences amidst the pleasure.

"It feels... good," I managed to say, my words coming out in fragmented breaths.

"Yeah?" he questioned, and I nodded, unable to articulate just how amazing it felt.

He increased his pace, and I arched my back, meeting his movements eagerly. "What about this?" he asked, his touch sending waves of pleasure through me.

"Do it again," I begged, wanting more of him, more of this intense pleasure.

He obliged, and the pleasure intensified, pushing me closer to the edge of ecstasy. I moaned and cried out his name, lost in the sensations that only he could evoke.

He thrust a few more times, then finally reached his own peak, his body collapsing slightly against mine as we both caught our breaths.

After a moment, he pulled out and disposed of the condom, then lay beside me.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I was afraid to talk afraid to ruin what we just had, My hand hovered in the air, reaching for his face, but Theo stopped me, his grip surprisingly tight on my wrist.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo against the backdrop of my racing thoughts. Please, no. Not the cold shoulder again.

" The- Theo," I whispered, my voice trembling, but he pushed my hand away before I could say more. His sudden change left me feeling lost and vulnerable, like I had done something terribly wrong.

"You… sore?" he finally spoke, his voice strained.

I blinked, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. The Theo who had been making love to me just minutes ago seemed to have vanished. This was the cold, distant Theo I knew all too well.

"A little," I managed to whisper, my voice cracking.

"Then get dressed," he said curtly. "I'm taking you home. Your big night is over." his words cutting through me like knives. I tried to speak, to explain, but he silenced me with a stern command. "Not a word, y/n. Not a fucking word."

He got out of bed and started putting on his clothes, tossing a t-shirt and his jacket in my direction. As he grabbed my phone and things, I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces. It was as if everything we had shared meant nothing to him.

As shaky legs carried me to my feet, I pulled on the clothes, tears blurring my vision. A choked sob escaped my lips, and another, and another.

"Congratulations, Y/N," I whispered to myself, my voice raw with emotion. "You're officially one of his girls."

"Congratulations, y/n. You’re officially one of the girls," he remarked, his words cutting deep into my already wounded heart.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Part 2?

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #theodorenottsmut #theodore nott #fluff imagines #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott masterlist #theodore nott smut #theo nott

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Fairytale Series:

Rapunzel

Part 1 Part 2

Yandere Witch x Rapunzel Reader x Yandere Prince

For many, long years you had resided in an isolated tower deep in the forest with an elderly woman named Agnes and her daughter Hilda. The three of you had lived here together and created a nice home for yourselves in a place no man could ever harm you… or at least that’s what Agnes instilled in you and Hilda since you were children. Men were evil and couldn’t be trusted. They would lure you in with sweet words and promises, but then they’d swallow you whole like a beast.

Since you were ten, Hilda and Agnes never let you lift a finger nor did they let you outside. “It’s dangerous for you. You’re far too delicate for the forest. Leave it to us, (your name).” Agnes would always tell you before she took Hilda with her to forage and hunt.

Despite your years with the two of them, Agnes told you that you were not biologically her child. “Hilda and I found you in the forest one day. You were just a baby and we couldn’t leave you… so you can stay here with us, forever. You’re ours, my dear.”

They’d brush your hair as it slowly began to grow longer than the length of the tower. Your long hair was used to come and go after Agnes and Hilda sealed off the door to ‘keep you safe.’

Every time you’d ask to go out or inquire about what they’d see, Agnes would shut you down. “Curiosity killed the cat, dear. You just wait here, we will be back.”

The mother and daughter often took trips for supplies. Whether it was berries or necessities, their trips only took a few hours… sometimes they took a few days. It just depended on what they needed. The pair never let the supplies dwindle much. Agnes hated being irresponsible when it came to stock.

It was when you were over the age of twenty that Agnes’s health took a turn. Hilda would often weep with you as she held you close. You and Hilda had grown so close… Hilda swore she wouldn’t let her mother down. That’d she’d carry on her will. (A will you didn’t have a clue about)

When Agnes passed away, Hilda immediately took charge over the chores around the tower. The beautiful young woman often fretted over you as she made sure the two of you were cared for. She took over brushing your long locks and gathering supplies.

Sometimes Hilda would braid her long black hair with hers. So ‘the two of you were connected.’ It was always fun whenever Hilda would let you play with her hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back! I can bring you back your favorite berries.” Hilda would gave you a reassuring smile before she headed out into the forest. You watched her form until she disappeared into the trees.

So you’d get back to painting the walls with a hum. Your hair draped behind you like a waterfall as you sat on your homemade swing.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a loud clank on the side of your tower. What on earth was that?!

You jumped off your swing and ran to look at the balcony. A grappling hook was slung around the metal frame as a hooded figure began to scale the tower. Who we that?!

You went to shut the balcony door but ended up slipping on your own hair. Your back hit the floor as you whined in pain. Your eyes wide in terror at the knight that now stood in front of you as he quickly winded up the rope. The knight mumbled some curses before he shoved the grappling hook in his bag.

“W-who are-“ the knight pushed you further into the tower as he put a gloved hand over your mouth. Your body trembled when you looked into their lilac eyes. You’d never seen such pretty eyes before…

There was shouting below and the sound of hooves. Was this knight being pursued? You couldn’t tell since the knight held you firmly in their arms until the voices disappeared into the distance.

The knight breathed a sigh of relief before they released her. You quickly shoved the knight away from you as you scooted your body as far away from them as you could. You swore your heart was about to leap from your chest.

“Who are you?” You shakily asked but the knight gave you a small bow. Their hands slipped off the silver helmet on their head to reveal a rather striking individual with sharp features and long, lavender hair.

“I apologize for my intrusion. I’m Prince Vinicio of the Corcoran kingdom.” The knight’s voice was a lot deeper than she expected. How could a woman have such a deep voice?

“Prince? Don’t you mean princess?” You softly asked which made the knight erupt into laughter.

“No. Despite my rather feminine appearance, I’m male.”Vinicio smiled warmly at you. “I just noticed how long your hair is. Have you been growing it out for a long time-“

You jumped when he reached a hand out to you which made him frown. Vinicio’s mind began to wander as he glanced around your home. Did you live here all alone? This wilderness was not becoming of a lady, especially not one as stunning as you. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“P-please leave. I’m not supposed to talk to men.”

Vinicio frowned but gave you a small bow out of respect. You must be being held against your will in this lonely tower… he’d have to gain your trust to save you.

“I apologize, I’ll take my leave.” Vinicio put his helmet back on but turned to give you one last look. “But can I meet you again tomorrow? I can talk to you from below the tower. I won’t climb up here again.”

You bit your lip. Agnes had always warned you and Hilda about men but Vinicio didn’t seem dangerous… “Okay. But only if you promise to not climb.”

Vinicio smiled warmly at you. “I promise.”

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere Prince #Yandere witch #yandere male #yandere harem #yandere lovers #love triangle #princess reader #yandere female #yandere lesbian #yandere obsession #yandere concept #yandere short story #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #Yandere Rapunzel #fairytale au #yandere fantasy #yandere headcanons #original work #yandere boyfriend #Yandere girlfriend

[merakiui]

ebb and flow.

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, nsfw, stepcest, obsession, getting high/use of edibles, reader is implied to have small breasts, octavinelle trio is human in this story, au with no magic, brief mention of alcohol use, brief mention of implied somnophilia, reader and trio are 18 in the last scene of the story (in case it isn't clear) note - like the tide, floyd's interests ebb and flow. you happen to be more than a passing fancy.

When he’s old enough to put his thoughts into words, Floyd declares, rather obnoxiously, that girls are gross and he wants nothing to do with them.

“All they ever wanna do is talk about dolls and dresses,” he laments, scuffing his shoe against the cobbles.

“You know I’m a girl, right?” You scoff and turn your nose up, mildly offended. “And not all girls are like that. I’m not like that.”

And it’s true. You give as good as you get. You lunge after Floyd when he yanks your favorite toys out of your hands or when he tugs on your hair, every infraction intentional. He knows just how to rile you up enough for you to give chase. You’re keen to wrestle him in the mud on rainy days in the same way he’s willing to race you up and down the streets to prove outlandish points.

Growing up with two brothers—though they aren’t your family by blood, referring to them as your step-brothers is a knotty mouthful you prefer to avoid—taught you things you never would have learned if you had a sister.

Perhaps their presence served to stoke the fires of playful violence—meaningless quarrels that were resolved in a matter of minutes, often punctuated with halfhearted apologies. Once, in the middle of a particularly nasty brawl, you kicked Floyd in the jaw and knocked his front tooth free. Morbidly amused, Jade applauded you for the show. Floyd held his bruised face in one hand, glaring viciously as blood dribbled from his lips. He reeled his arm back, but it never landed. Your father chewed the lot of you out before he could throw the punch.

“What are we going to do with you?” your mother would say while she patched the both of you up. “Always fighting like this… That’s not very nice now, is it?”

The twins’ mother died shortly after giving birth and so they never knew the concept of a mother until five years later when their father remarried. It was then when you joined their family of three, and the twins had taken to their new mother like fish in water. Adoringly, they would tug on her skirt and demand attention. She was all too happy to indulge them, lifting them into her arms one at a time.

“You know that means Mama and me, don’t you?” you add, skipping ahead of him.

“That’s different. Mama doesn’t count. She’s special.”

“What about me?”

Floyd takes one look at you and smiles that mean, mocking smile. “You’re even worse. You’ve got girl germs.”

You don’t bother granting him a head start. He’s already running.

On the cusp of a growth spurt, his face peppered in pimples, Floyd is only fifteen when you chase him out of your bedroom.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Your piercing shrieks and Floyd’s raucous laughter echo through the halls, drawing the perpetually curious Jade out of his room like a worm from an apple core.

He’s greeted with the sight of Floyd, who has clasped your bra around his head and is now parading about proudly. A plush octopus flies after him and smacks into the wall. Seconds later, you burst from your room with embarrassment painted on your face.

“Oh my.” Jade observes the scene unfold from behind his fist. His mismatched eyes glitter with mischief.

“You’re so tiny! Your boyfriend’s gonna fall in love with a shrimp!” Floyd sticks his tongue out at you. “Shrimpy (Name)! Shrimpy (Name)! I’ve got a shrimp for a sis!”

“That’s not funny, and Azul’s not my boyfriend!” You reach for him, but he avoids you with an agile sidestep. “Knock it off! Give it back!”

“But it fits me better.”

“It does not!” You turn to Jade and gesture wildly at Floyd, who is now batting his lashes like a princess. “Don’t just stand there! Help me out.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m much more suited to the sidelines. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your fun.”

You grit your teeth. “You ass—”

“So much noise! What in the world is going on here?”

Your mother makes her way up the stairs just as Floyd tugs the bra off his head. You round on her before the twins can. 

“Mooom, Floyd’s being gross. He stole my bra and won’t give it back.”

“Huuuh. No way. She’s totally framin’ me. I don’t have her bra.” Floyd folds his arms over his chest, feigning innocence. “That’s just icky. Why would I have it anyway?”

“Indeed,” Jade agrees coyly, pretending to search for it. “No bra in sight.”

“You’re liars—you and Jade!” You sneer at them. They merely smile angelically. “I’ll kick both of you in your dicks if you don’t—��

“(Name), mind your language!” Sighing, your mother issues both boys a stern frown. “Floyd, sweetheart, it’s not nice to tease your sister. You as well, Jade. Return what you stole and apologize.” She bends down to retrieve the fallen plush and passes it to you. “You too, (Name). You’re family. Family shouldn’t fight.”

“I don’t owe him an apology.”

“And I don’t have her bra.”

“He’s lying! Floyd was in my room, digging through my clothes.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh!”

Jade smiles wide enough to reveal the braces on his teeth. “Now that (Name) mentions it, I did see Floyd sneaking about. Oh, but maybe that’s not right. I only caught a glimpse, after all.” 

Floyd has no reason to look so betrayed. Jade oscillates between sides whenever it sates his hunger for amusement. Today, as luck would have it, he’s on your side. For now.

“If you’re as innocent as you claim, surely there’s no reason to keep your arms clasped behind your back.”

“You really don’t have anyone’s back, do you?”

“Floyd…” Your mother looks at him expectantly, her eyes soft despite her tone.

He thrusts his arm out and drops your bra. “Fine. Take it back. Wasn’t havin’ any fun with it anyways.”

“Honestly, you’re such a pervert,” you snap, swiping it from the floor. “Next time you wanna come in my room, you’d better knock first. How would you like it if I went into your and Jade’s room and stole one of your shirts?”

He sticks his tongue out at you, defiant like the brat he is. If your mother wasn’t standing behind you, you’d have exacted your revenge right then.

“(Name), be nice to your brother. Floyd, apologize to your sister.”

Floyd doesn’t look you in the eyes when he spits a mean-sounding, “Sorry.”

Jade can only snicker, feasting on this live entertainment like it’s the richest meal.

“And I’m sooo sorry you’re annoying and everyone’s gotta put up with you.” With an exasperated huff, you strut back into your room and slam the door shut. It locks with a loud click.

“Give her some time. She just needs to cool down,” you hear your mother explain. “But, really, you should know better, Floyd. It’s not right to go into anyone’s room and take their things.”

“I would never do something so egregious, Mother,” Jade admits, which you find hard to believe because he’s just as sly, if not more so, than his twin.

“She’s just mad I’m funnier than her,” Floyd says. A blatant falsehood if you’ve ever heard one.

You could never understand Floyd’s obsession with your laundry. Maybe he was just your typical hormone-addled teenager with nothing better to do but fantasize about women and their undergarments, and seeing as you were the only girl he was close to—both in age and as siblings—who else could bear the brunt of his delinquency?

Or it had nothing to do with that at all, and he was just determined to be as much of a pest as possible.

Back then, that made sense.

Back then, you were foolish.

Back then, you didn’t know. No one did. Not really.

Lying between your brothers, lost in thought, you stare at the plastic stars and planets pasted to your ceiling. A dulcet adagio trickles out of the tiny speaker on your bedside table. The honeyed vocals soften the static in your brain, snuffing every burden with beautiful bossa nova. You soak in every lyric, imagining yourself in the singer’s position: falling for someone in midnight blue, blooming beneath their touch, your dress falling to your ankles, exploring each other’s shorelines…

The fantasy floats away as soon as Floyd opens his mouth, and you’re brought back to reality. No lover in your arms. No midnight blue. No flowering feelings. No dress.

“When’s this stuff supposed to kick in? I don’t feel a thing.”

“Patience,” Jade murmurs, practically melting into the mattress. “You’ll know once it happens.”

“Well, I don’t. Your shit sucks.”

“As does your attitude.”

“Whatever.” Floyd snuggles closer to you, pulling your arm into his chest. “What about you, Shrimpy? You feel it yet?”

“Mmh, sorta… I dunno. Don’t call me that.”

“Once a shrimp, always a shrimp.”

“I did offer the other half.”

“I’ll take it if I feel like it.” You shake Floyd off and pout at Jade. “Mom and Dad’ll lose it if they find out, you know.”

Jade flashes his teeth at you in a cheeky grin. “I’m counting on you to be a sweet, dependable sister and keep my little secret safe.”

“Lips are sealed.”

“What a good pet you are. So obedient.”

You exhale a soft, gasping laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“Only because you’re weird!”

He giggles and leans in close, his nose brushing yours. When he speaks again, it’s in a softer tone, near-hypnotic. “So you do feel it.”

“Maybe.”

With a petulant whine, Floyd presses himself against you from behind. “No fair. I wanna be all silly like you and Jade. Gimme the other half. I’ll take it right now.”

“You can grab it.”

“You’re closer.”

“Alas… My limbs are lead.”

“Asshole,” Floyd gripes, leaning over you and Jade to swipe the box from the bedside table. He often keeps his stash there. Sometimes it’s stocked with gummy edibles or mushrooms, all wrapped in plastic. Jade’s resourceful like a squirrel, crafty in ways you can’t fathom.

Today, you’re holed up in your room because you have a bigger bed. There are fairy lights strung up on the walls, providing the space with just enough dimness for you to see your surroundings. It’s the perfect ambience for this slow, lazy Saturday in November. Your parents are out for the afternoon and won’t be back until later, and you couldn’t be any happier to have the house to yourself.

As soon as the door shut, you exchanged knowing looks with your brothers and hurried back to your room. Jade told you he’d take you and Floyd to his favorite spot in the forest after midterms and then the lot of you could truly kick back and relax with some pre-rolls. He’d invite Azul and make it a picnic in the woods. A whole day filled with fun. In your heart, it would be a date. Your brothers would just be the unwanted third and fourth wheels.

Really, you could care less about getting high. Azul is more than a drug—he’s oxygen—and you crave him like an addict feens for a fix. Floyd thinks your crush on him is stupid and misplaced. You beg to differ. You’ve admired him since childhood. How could you possibly fall out of love now?

Floyd flops back into the empty space beside you, chewing the rest of the gummy worm. His arm drapes across your waist. “What’re we doin’ tomorrow?”

“I’m going to the library to study with Azul.”

“Lame.”

“You’re not invited.” You roll over on your side to address him, speaking slowly. “Don’t show up.”

“Now I kinda want to. I wanna see what you and Azul get up to.”

“Studying.”

“Mmh, I doubt that.” Jade sticks to you like moss, his eyes fluttering shut. “Azul’s studying, at least. You’re daydreaming.”

“Not my fault he’s cute.”

“I’m cuter.” Floyd’s lips turn down in a disappointed moue. “Ain’t I cute?”

“No way. You’re ugly.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

“No one asked you, Jade. ‘Sides, ain’t that basically the same as sayin’ you’re ugly, too?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles dumbly, the words muffled in your shoulder. “What do you think, (Name)?”

“Get yourself a girlfriend and then you can ask her.”

“Won’t you be my stand-in girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Floyd curls his fingers around the strap of your tank top. He tugs it up and down your arm in a languid rhythm. You’re floating amongst the clouds, your mind filled with a pleasant fuzz, so scolding him isn’t a priority. “Forget about bein’ our sis for a sec.”

“Get lost.”

“How cold…” Jade sniffles.

“Shrimpy’s ruthless.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Floyd’s hand crawls across your chest to grope you through your shirt. “Mmh, nope. Still small.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“I think you’re sized just right.” Jade’s spidery digits creep along your hip and splay across your stomach. “Azul won’t even notice. He doesn’t pay attention to your assets like we do.”

“I wish he would.” You meet Jade’s half-lidded stare. “Does he talk about me?”

“In what context? You’ll need to be specific,” he purrs, and if you weren’t swimming in bliss you’d elbow him in the mouth.

It’s like pulling teeth with Jade. He makes things so irritatingly difficult for no reason.

“You know the context.”

“Sometimes he says stuff,” Floyd replies instead. He rests his head in the crook of your neck and inhales the sugary notes of your perfume.

“Good stuff?”

Vibrating with a woozy warmth, you squirm between your brothers. It’s stifling being in the middle of their sandwich, but the proximity is pleasing. Comfortable. Reassuring. You feel like an anchored ship between the both of them, safely pinned down amidst the tumultuous waves of your bedsheets. You sigh dreamily when Floyd’s legs twine around yours.

“He thought your sweater was real cute.”

“Which one?”

“All of ’em.”

“Hmm. Okay.” But that doesn’t satisfy you. “What type of girl is he into?”

“Why don’t you make him your boyfriend? Then you can find out,” Jade says.

He aims for a sharp smile and falls short. It mellows out into something stupid and lopsided. He thinks he’s the funniest creature on the planet, and in this moment he is because the retort has you snowballing into a fit of giggles.

“Maybe I will.”

Floyd tracks your throat as it bobs with every swallow. He glances at your jaw next, at the glitters speckled on your cheeks. They sparkle like miniature stars, an entire galaxy imprinted on your skin. “You’re wearin’ makeup.”

“Hm?”

“Perfume, too. Smells good.”

“I bought some when I went to the mall.”

“When?”

“Last week? Two weeks ago? I can’t remember.”

“You doin’ it for Azul?”

“Who else? Certainly not you.”

Floyd scowls at Jade. “Don’t answer for her. I wanna hear it from her.”

“You’re my brother. Why would it be for you?” you mumble, more confused than unsettled.

Obviously it’s for Azul.

“Why not? It’s not fair other guys get to see ya lookin’ this good. Why should I be excluded just cuz I’m your brother?”

His lips drag against your neck. There’s nothing special about his affection. It’s dubiously platonic, but you’re used to it. He’s always been prone to expressing himself through physical means. Too-tight hugs, pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze in clasped hands. It was cute when you were children, but now you’re seventeen and it’s getting harder to explain his clingy nature.

“I don’t care what other guys think.”

“Just Azul?” Jade prompts, toying with the hem of your top. His fingers slide beneath it to prod at your navel, and suddenly Azul is no longer the most important part of this conversation. “Have you ever considered piercing it?”

“What? My belly button?”

“Ooh, good idea. You could match jewelry with us. How about it? I’ll getcha some sturgeon scales.”

“Mom’ll kill me.”

“In that case, we’re both dead.”

You blink at Jade, searching for the meaning in his mismatched hues. He opens his mouth, unfurling his tongue to reveal the venom piercing. The shock washes over you like a wave, and just as it’s receding it hits you—what you’re looking at.

“Your tongue! You actually—since when?”

“Two weeks.”

“What the hell! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come with. Moral support and stuff.”

He laughs when you nudge him. “It wasn’t so bad. I’d like to get more.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Not at all.”

“Dangerous.”

“Thrilling,” he corrects, a minacious glint in his gaze.

“Jade’s changin’ up his whole look. Super cool, ain’t it?”

“And what about you?” You turn over towards Floyd. His hands settle on your lower back. He all but tugs you away from Jade, who frowns and shuffles closer until his hips press against your ass. You feel his mouth at your bare shoulder, lavishing it with little pecks. “Do you want more piercings?”

“You into guys with piercings?”

“I don’t really care. Piercings are great. Tattoos, too.”

“Then I’ll get a tattoo.”

“So it’s settled. (Name) will pierce her navel, and Floyd will get a tattoo.”

“Sure,” you agree, but you don’t expect anything to come out of it. Just a random idea thrown around in the haze of your high.

You’re closer than family should be, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you’re twisted between them. This is normal. At least, it’s the normal you’ve grown up with.

What isn’t normal, though, is Floyd’s insistence that he ought to shape himself into the man of your dreams when, clearly, the man of your dreams goes by the name of Azul Ashengrotto. But you’re not worried. It’s always said in jest, or you assume it’s in jest.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if Azul would like you more if you had a pretty piercing to show off.

You’re weeks away from prom when Azul says yes.

“Wait… Really? Seriously?”

“I was under the impression we were all going,” he says with that charismatic chuckle you love dearly. “As a group, yes?”

Your hopes plummet alongside pieces of your heart. “Oh. Y-Yeah, right. A group. Of course.”

“I do appreciate the poster, though.” He holds it up as if it’ll reveal a secret message when caught in the sun. The cartoon octopus you spent hours sketching, lining, and coloring smiles back at him. “‘It would be so tenta-cool if you could be the sea to my shore at prom.’ How ingeniously cheesy.”

Your laughter is hollow. That’s the last time I’m asking Jade for advice on ocean puns.

“I’m glad you think so… Hey, you’re coming over before the dance, right? We’re thinking of doing something.”

“A party before the party?” Azul rolls the poster up and carefully fits it into his messenger bag. It sticks out from under the flap. “I’m not opposed. What did you have in mind?”

“We could get dinner.” Just the two of us. “Whatever you want, really. My dad’s planning to send us there in a limo. Real classy, y’know.”

Azul falls into step with you. “If that’s the case, we might as well go all out.”

Sensing an in, you stare at him. “The girls in my class are going on and on about how prom’s gotta be this magical thing. It can’t get more magical than a fancy car.”

“Goodness. It’s really not that special. You can’t exactly put ‘Prom Queen’ on your resume now, can you?”

“No, but you can make lots of memories. So I was thinking—hypothetically, of course—if you’d wanna go as, like, my fake date. Like, we’re going as a group and everything, but if you want we could get flowers for each other and match outfits and… B-Basically, I’m just trying to see if there’s any merit to what they’re saying about prom. About it being magical with a date.”

“Hm… That’s true. It will be our final social event before we graduate and go out into the world. Our last chance to say and do whatever we’ve neglected in previous years.”

“Right.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” His stare is fixed firmly on the path ahead. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“So…” You swallow your anxieties; your heart is in your throat. “So you’ll be my hypothetical date?”

“I would be honored.”

“Okay. A-All right… Yeah! Great!”

Azul’s pretty blues briefly flick over to you. His cheeks are tinged pink. “Wonderful. I… I’m pleased we’ve worked this out. All hypotheticals, naturally.”

“Yeah, definitely. Just hypothetical.”

“Did…you have a color in mind? Have you picked a dress yet?”

“Something pink or purple. Maybe red. I’m not really sure.”

“Blue would be very flattering on you.” As an afterthought, he scrambles to add, “But that’s just another hypothetical.”

You watch the way he wrings the strap of his bag. “I agree. Blue’s a good color.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I could wear you.” You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth, even more so when Azul raises a bewildered brow. “B-Because your name—no, sorry. That’s dumb. I don’t mean it in the crazy-murderer-who-skins-you-alive way. I meant in the way that’s like—”

“Cheek to cheek?”

“Yeah. No, yeah, that’s right.”

What am I saying? None of this makes any sense. 

Azul laughs and nudges you playfully. “You can wear me. Hypothetically, I’m your date to the dance. It’s only right that I act as your accessory for the evening.”

“Then… T-Then let’s be each other’s garments!”

He hums his approval and the conversation dies there.

You make the rest of the walk out of school in awkward silence. At the gates, Azul turns to you.

“None of this is hypothetical, is it?”

You heave a relieved breath. “Not at all.”

“Then allow me to do away with pretending. I’ll be your prom date. Factually.”

“My factual prom date…”

“It…doesn’t sound as smooth as a hypothetical.”

“But it’s real.”

He smiles shyly. “That it is.”

On the night of prom, alone in an empty corridor, Floyd yanks you into a rough kiss. The music from the ballroom is so loud you can faintly hear it from down the hall. It pulses through you with energetic vibrations, joining your panic in an unsteady duet. You push at Floyd’s chest, struggling against the wall he has you pinned to. He breaks off halfway just to savor your gasp before moving in to reclaim your mouth. It’s a ravenous action. He kisses you like he intends to devour you, licking and nipping at every possible crevice. His teeth click against yours as he endeavors to taste the wine at the back of your throat—courtesy of sneaky, rebellious Jade and his discreet water bottle.

Finally, after gathering enough strength, you shove him off of you. He stumbles, hurt flashing across his face. Ferociously hot up to your ears, your heart stumbling in your rib cage, you can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.

That wasn’t real… No way…

Still processing it, you smudge your lipstick when you wipe the drool from your mouth.

You and Floyd watch each other in silence. You’re waiting for him to break it. He’s waiting for you to run away.

“What…was that?”

“You were cozyin’ up to Azul—”

“Because he’s my date!”

“Yeah, but you—Shrimpy, c’mon, you know we agreed to go as a group…”

“And so what? That doesn’t give you the right to kiss me. I was going to—I had an entire plan for this. Azul was gonna be my first kiss!”

“Well, now he’s gonna hafta be second.”

You sputter in shock. “You—you’re so… I just… Wow.”

Floyd’s face hardens and softens and then hardens again. He looked like a kicked puppy a few minutes ago, cowardly and small, but now there’s determination smoldering in his stare.

“I like ya. I like ya a whole lot.” You open your mouth to protest, but he beats you to it. “More than a sister.”

And there it is—the truth you couldn’t confront.

Your frustration withers and blooms anew in a complicated tangle of weeds. “You…like me. Like… Like me, like me?”

Floyd cards a hand through his slicked hair and exhales a heavy breath. “I mean… It’s obvious, ain’t it?”

“Floyd, I… I’m sorry, but I like Azul. You know this.” Now it’s your turn to cut him off before he can speak. “You’re family, Floyd. My brother.”

“So what?”

“It’s wrong, that’s what! We’re family. That’s all we’ve ever been… Look—I don’t have time for this. Azul and Jade are gonna wonder where we went. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You brush past him, hoping to leave this conversation here and pick it up after the dance. But Floyd won’t have that. He seizes your wrist and tugs you around.

“Just…” He avoids your stare. “Just hear me out, okay? I just wanna love ya.”

“So love me like a normal brother.” You try to pull yourself free, but he holds firm. “I really don’t have time to argue. Actually, this isn’t something I should have to argue in the first place.”

“We’re not related in that way. It’s fine, isn’t it?” He grabs your waist and drags you close.

“Mom and Dad won’t think so. Azul won’t. Honestly, Floyd, let it go. We’ll talk later. Please just—”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

You inhale slowly, forcing yourself to remain calm. “No, I don’t. I really don’t.”

“I’ve wanted ya longer than Azul—than Jade. Longer than anyone. And I never got to have ya.” Floyd plasters you to the wall again, but this time he slots a knee between your thighs. “Drove me crazy every time I saw ya walkin’ around the house in those stupid shorts or when you’d bring your friends over and you’d wear that stupid nightgown. The soft one with the lace and bows. The one that’s so thin it shows your shrimpy tits.”

Your glower is so blistering it could melt him down to his bones. “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe.” He laughs, but it isn’t funny. “Didja know? I wanted to kiss you in your sleep. Touch you all over. Stick my fingers in you and watch you squirm… Feel how tight you are when you cling to my cock. You’re still a virgin, ain’tcha? Azul hasn’t done it with you yet, right?”

You yelp when his hand slips under the ruffles of your dress and climbs up your thigh. “W-Wait—stop! Don’t—”

“Gonna take that as a no.”

“Floyd—”

“See? Can’t you say my name instead of his? You don’t gotta daydream with me around. I’ll make you feel good. You don’t need that stupid dildo when you’ve got me.”

His fingers press against the outline of your pussy, teasing you through the fabric. Your body goes rigid. “Y-You can’t… Not here. Someone might see.”

“Let ’em. Then they’ll know you’re all mine.” Floyd noses your throat and deflates against you, hedonistic and selfish. “You always smell so fuckin’ good. Like candy. Sweet and yummy. Makes me wanna bite you and never let go. Taste your shrimpy heartbeat in my mouth…”

“S-Seriously…” You squeeze your eyes shut and bite back a whimper when he squeezes your clit. “Get off of me. You can’t—you’re my brother.”

“Nah. Brothers don’t go around stealin’ their sister’s stuff and usin’ it to get off, do they?”

It occurs to you that you should be furious with him. He deserves more than just your ire. Instead, you can only feel intoxicated as you listen to him ramble filth.

“Remember that pair of panties you thought was clean? The ones with the stain.”

“Yeah, the ones I use when I’m on my period—”

“Not those. The other one.”

“W-What—” You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your gasp. He rubs you in slow, deliberate circles. With dimming focus, you try to think of anything else—of boring, bland things—to fight off mounting arousal. “What about it?”

“I had that pair wrapped around my dick before you put ’em on.”

“So that was—the stain was—”

“Mhm.”

“Ew! You’re the worst! That was my favorite pair, Floyd!”

He snickers. “At least it wasn’t you. My old man’ll beat my ass if I knock ya up. Had to use the next best thing.”

“Use your hand, dumbass! Don’t use my stuff!”

“Then stop fuckin’ yourself on your dildo. I hear you through the bathroom door, y’know. Moanin’ like you’re in heat. All of it for Azul. I wanted to come in and help ya out every time, but I couldn’t. And that really ate at me.”

“I don’t want your help,” you spit, glaring.

“No? But you’re so wet. I think my fingers will slip riiight in.” He pulls your panties to the side and prods at your folds. “You wanna test it?”

You shake your head a second too late. Floyd’s already pushing two fingers inside. The breath sticks in your throat. He’s actually doing this, right here in the open. Someone could turn down the hall and spot you. That someone could be—

“A-Azul might catch us. Stop. You really can’t…”

“Aww. What? Don’t want Azul seein’ you like this? Don’t want him to see the mess you’re making? Don’t want him knowing you like being wrapped around your brother’s fingers?”

He’s mean when he curls them suddenly, a brute and a bully all at once. They press against wet, velvety walls, and the noisy squelch leaves you shuddering. You breathe heavily, little huffs that tremble sweetly as he stretches you out.

“S-Shut up. You’re a pervert.”

“That makes two of us.”

You yank him closer by his tie, intending to be threatening and failing. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Sure you are.”

Without warning, he reaches for your chest and yanks your strapless dress down to reveal your breasts. Your perky nipples poke out against the lingerie tape. He whistles lowly while he marvels at them.

“Still the same pair of shrimpy tits.”

“Nuh-uh. I went up a size.”

“Yeah-huh. I would know. I steal your bras all the time. Same cup size, Shrimpy.”

“So you’re depraved and shameless.”

“No reason to hide it anymore.”

He drags his fingers out and thrusts them back in. You choke on a stifled moan. Deep down in a logical corner of your brain, you know you shouldn’t submit so easily. It’s wrong, but you can’t stop the pleasure that washes over you with every stroke of his fingers. It sends pleasant bolts of bliss up your spine. Your knees wobble, and your thighs are sticky with your slick. When he grinds his thumb against your clit, forcefully insistent, something in your stomach snaps. You come undone in an instant, crashing against a sinful shore. Orgasm wracks through you in a powerful tremor, shaking the thoughts in your skull like a disturbed ecosystem in a terrarium.

Unrelenting, he fucks you through it. You’re boneless in the aftermath, chest heaving and mind reeling.

Floyd’s fingers glide out with ease, shimmering with your juices. He puts them in his mouth to savor the taste of you, his tongue slithering between the space of both digits. Horrifyingly, you admire him as he licks himself clean. Even though you shouldn’t, you wish desperately to feel that muscle inside you, working you towards another grand peak.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You’re still in a daze when Floyd fixes your panties and dress. You look presentable, if not slightly debauched. Your makeup is a mess, and Floyd’s all too eager to fix it for you. You stand still when he wipes at the corner of your mouth with his thumb and then carefully applies lipstick. Within no time, you’re back to how you were.

“Lookin’ good,” he praises, stuffing the tube in his pocket. “The prettiest Shrimpy at the party. They should make you Prom Queen.”

You swat at him. “Don’t…” And then you sigh. What does it matter? He’s going to call you that regardless of what you think.

Thankfully, the slow dance is only just beginning when you return. You find Azul lingering near the wall, tapping anxiously at his phone. Jade’s also there. Physically. You can’t say the same for his head. He’s taking a trip in his own mental paradise. Floyd stalks after you, his hands stuffed in his pockets. If you didn’t just squirt around his fingers minutes ago, you would’ve assumed the atmosphere of the party was to blame for his euphoria. But you know the real reason.

Azul doesn’t, though.

So it’s with a guilty heart when you lead him onto the dance floor for a waltz.

Your childhood crush—the guy you’ve loved more than life itself—is right in front of you, looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, but the only one you can think of is your step-brother.

That can’t be a good sign.

Floyd joins Jade in his corner. He gazes through him and offers his water bottle. It’s nerdy enough for its contents to be unassuming, what with its mushroom print, but Floyd knows better than to take it at face value. Even so, he grabs hold of it and downs what’s left of the wine. It’s so sweet it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

“Azul’s not staying the night, is he?”

“I’m not sure.” Jade finds you and Azul in the crowd of dancers and hums. “How cruel of you to want to separate them.”

“He’s not gettin’ laid tonight if that’s what he thinks. Not if I can help it.”

“I don’t think he even knows how.”

Floyd laughs. “Nah. He knows.”

“Does he now?”

“C’mon, Jade. He undresses her every time he looks at her.”

“I suppose so.” He smiles moonily, distracted. “She’ll never let you.”

“She won’t let you either.”

“I don’t mind a little pain. To be bloodied and bruised by her gentle hands… I know of no greater exhilaration.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “Azul’s got it lucky. He gets to hug and kiss her whenever he wants. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta pretend like I don’t wanna fuck her shrimpy brains out every time I get a whiff of her perfume.”

“The odds aren’t very favorable, but I suspect you’ve already had your fun.”

Floyd grins wickedly. “She’s cute. I couldn’t help it.”

“I must agree. She sounds sweetest when she’s caught in the throes of pleasure.”

Floyd starts to nod and then pauses. “How do you know—”

“Oh my. It appears I’ve said too much.”

“No, no. Keep talkin’. You haven’t said nearly enough.”

“You’re not her only brother, you know.”

Floyd thinks there’s more to that sentence, but Jade isn’t willing to get into the details. Not here, at least. He doesn’t have to pry too deeply to understand the hidden implications.

“Asshole. You went and did it before I could.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jade giggles. “A little midnight snacking never hurts. She’s soft and snug inside. Very warm.”

Floyd shoves him away. “Fuck off.”

As long as it’s not Azul, he thinks, watching him as he spins you like a gentleman. Anyone but him.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd #n/sfw #tw: stepcest #tw: dubcon

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail four years ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Charles area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“...No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.” 

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.” 

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s head as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

[suukee]

other half 彡 levi ackerman

» summary ⋆ levi doesn’t exactly notice it, but one of his love languages is physical touch. (how he acts when he’s in love)

» content ⋆ levi ackerman x reader. fluff, hurt/comfort. mentions character deaths. written with season four, special two in mind.

» word count ⋆ 1070

Levi doesn’t exactly notice it, but one of his love languages is physical touch.

That’s because, growing up, he lost everyone he treasured.

His mother passed away when he was nothing more than a living skeleton, too young to live on his own. The last memory he recalls is laying his head down on her lap and her feather-like touch. Her fingers were gentle as they ran through his hair. Sometimes it had grown so long to the point where she’d braid them.

The man who found Levi, rotting beside the corpse of his mother, raised him as though he was a caretaker, but not like a father. It’s vague in Levi’s older years, but he remembers the head pats and the hair ruffling. The man was overall careless and strong, but he had soft moments where he’d praise Levi. And just out of the blue, the mystery man abandoned him. Years later, when it was revealed that this man was his uncle all along, he had died in the next moment.

Then there was Furlan and Isabel, the only two people he had considered his family in his adult years Underground. Isabel was a girl with no personal space for the people she cared for. For as long as she could remember, she loved hugs. And while Levi was stiff and complaint about it, she’d do it again and again. Pats on the shoulder from Furlan were enough of a relief to know he was there. Yet, they soon left, devoured on their first expedition outside the walls.

Levi’s very first squad respected his space, unlike Isabel. Even so, they meant something to him. He’d only seen the aftermath of their lives. He doesn’t have much of a physical memory from them. He carries the weight of being unable to protect them as they always would for him.

Then came the commander—both of them. The people he grew to appreciate. He wouldn’t dare to admit out loud they had become his friends. The two strong leaders made a great sacrifice for the sake of humanity. It was heavy. Like the death of his squad, he added that weight to the list. He could feel the hands of Erwin and Hange on his shoulders urging him on.

They’re all gone. Bittersweet memories. Repeating nightmares taunt him just when he thinks he’s got it wrapped around his head.

Through such hardships, he’s gifted with you. The war hasn’t come to an end, not yet, but you’re the only person he knows who survived countless battles from the very beginning.

You have become the only person in the entire world to whom he will cry, vent, and lean toward when he needs to. Whenever he wants to.

His comfort is his best friend. His lover. His partner in crime. That’s always going to be you.

Anyone who catches him holding your hand or kissing your cheek may find it strange. He doesn’t want to be touched by anyone, let alone touch someone himself. He’s a damn intimidating man. One look is all he needs to drive people away. And while it took some time to get to the point where he could freely be himself, the thought that he doesn’t deserve you still gnaws at him.

You treat him like a living person, not as Humanities Strongest. You went through hell and back just to get to know him, to understand him—why he acts and feels the way he does. You’ve changed him into a better man, and you’ve accepted his flaws. Your devotion and love are so innocent and pure, he knows you’d do it all over again. Just for him.

He didn’t make it easy to break down his walls. His guard was exhaustingly high. He tried to push you away in case of the day he loses you, then it wouldn’t hurt so much. But as his calloused hands find their place on the soft skin of your cheeks, eyes shining of love, giggles echoing in his ears, he doesn’t look back. You’re the one he wants to protect. Lay his life down for. A reason to look ahead.

Sometimes, you’re too busy laughing to notice he smiles when you’re this close. But you know he’s content despite how rarely he smiles.

At meetings or meals, he’ll sit across from you. There are times when he rests the tip of his boot atop yours lightly. It’s just his way of keeping in contact with you. If he decides to sit next to you, he’ll be close enough that your knees press against his gently. It did take him some time to kiss you, but he was uneasy about public displays of affection. On his own, and with your patience, he comes to terms with holding your finger or keeping a grip around your waist whenever you’re out together.

He’s a different man in private. He holds you so close, hugging you tightly like you’ll disappear if he lets go. He loves it when you come to the office late at night, settling yourself on his lap as he completes his work—writing with one hand and holding you against him with the other (he complains someone will see and that you should be getting rest, but makes no effort to get you off). When exhaustion kicks in, Levi loves to rest his head on your shoulder, keeping a hand on your thigh and gently caressing the fabric of your pants or, even better, your skin. His body weight is all on you when he’s knocked out cuddling, not that you’ve ever complained about it. Not that you ever will.

Who would’ve guessed the stoic captain had such a soft side?

Nighttime is the worst. A swarm of nightmares disturb his rest. That’s when he becomes desperate for your touch. Your chest and your lap, that’s his new favorite pillow. Your fingers playing with his hair, his undercut, or rubbing his upper back boosts his melatonin. Your arms are the safest place in such an unforgiving world. You’re a calming piece of his life he doesn’t dare to lose.

He can’t.

Even though the war isn’t over, and there’s no time to spend together, it’s your presence that aids him for a while. Even if he can’t see with his eye properly, he relies on touch. Just your hand, and he’s good.

Who would he be without you? He doesn’t want to know.

#aot #aot headcanons #aot drabbles #aot fluff #aot angst #aot levi #aot x reader #attack on titan #snk #snk fluff #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman headcanons #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi heichou #levi headcanons #captain levi #captain levi x you #mywriting

[thewulf]

The Analyst's Arrival || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Hi can I request a hotch x bau reader? I'm sure its been done before but I just love your hotch fics!! When Strauss hires the reader without Aaron Hotchner's approval, tensions run high. Hotch is distant and a little mean, but the reader's unwavering positivity and kindness start to chip away at his walls... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Yelling, gunshots (non wounded), general CM triggers

The BAU conference room hums quietly with the usual pre-meeting chatter. Derek flicks a crumpled paper ball at Spencer who is engrossed in his latest physics journal. While JJ shares weekend plans with Prentiss. The light mood does little to ease the stiffness in Aaron Hotchner’s posture as he stands at the head of the table with his folders organized neatly in front of him.

The door swings open and Erin Strauss steps in. It was a rare occurrence that immediately draws everyone’s attention. You follow behind her, your confident stride belying the curious glances you receive from the team.

"Good morning, everyone," Strauss begins. Her voice pulling the room into a focused silence. "I’d like you to meet Agent Y/N L/N. She’s joining us from the NYPD where she served in the Major Crimes unit. Agent L/N has a sharp analytical mind and extensive field experience which I’m confident will be invaluable to our team."

Hotchner's eyes narrow slightly, not at you, but at the way Strauss seems to relish the surprise on his face. He had not been informed of this decision—a move that didn't just sidestep his authority but outright ignored it. A move he hated.

As polite smiles and nods pass around the room, Hotchner remains motionless. His gaze finally landing on you. You seem unaffected by the tension your presence has stirred as you returned his scrutiny with a polite, unwavering smile.

"I'm very excited to be here and look forward to working with each of you," you spoke. Your voice steady and warm. "I’ve heard only the best about the BAU team."

"Thank you Agent L/N," Strauss cuts in smoothly. "I’ll leave you in Agent Hotchner’s capable hands." With a final nod Strauss exits, the click of her heels echoing a stark finality to her departure.

There is a brief silence as you linger in the doorway. "Why don’t we get started then?" Hotchner says. His tone more a command than a suggestion. "Morgan, Reid, can you bring Agent L/N up to speed on the current case?"

As the team dives into the details of their latest unsolved case Hotch observes you. You listen intently, asking pertinent questions that demonstrate not just your understanding but your capability to dive right into the deep end. Despite his initial resistance he can't help but admit—albeit grudgingly—that you seem competent.

Yet as the meeting progresses Hotch feels a gnawing sense of irritation. It isn't directed at you, but at Strauss and the situation he’s been forced into. Watching you interact with his team, a part of him wants to see what you can do. To see if Strauss’s confidence in you is justified. But as the leader of the BAU and with walls built from years of leadership, admitting that will take a bit more than just a good first impression.

In the days following your introduction the BAU team falls into a familiar rhythm with you, gradually weaving you into the fabric of their tightly knit group. Spencer shares book recommendations, curious about your interests. While Morgan teases lightly, testing your sense of humor. Prentiss and JJ involve you in their lunch outings often asking about your experiences with the NYPD.

However, Hotchner maintains a professional distance. During briefings he is succinct, his interactions with you strictly businesslike. His questions about your reports are pointed and perhaps harsher than necessary. You sense his doubt. Not just in his words but in the lingering looks that question your conclusions or the slight frown when you speak up during meetings.

One afternoon you're updating the team on a profile you've been developing. "Based on the victimology the unsub is likely someone with a deep-seated resentment towards authority figures. Possibly stemming from a troubled childhood," you explain as you clicked through the presentation slides.

"Seems like a stretch without more evidence," Hotchner interrupts abruptly. His critique hangs in the air. Heavier than the typical scrutiny profiles usually receive. You notice a brief exchange of looks among the team, but they remain silent.

Despite this you maintain your composure, responding calmly. "I'll dive deeper into the case files and see if I can substantiate that with more specific behaviors," you assure him with a nod that's meant to show both your respect for his experience and your confidence in your own skills.

As you work later in the quiet of the empty briefing room refining your profile, Hotchner watches from his office. The light from his desk lamp casts a long shadow and his expression is unreadable. The easy acceptance from others contrasts starkly with his skepticism and it's clear that you have yet to earn his trust.

One evening as you're the last two in the office Hotchner approaches your desk with his usual resolve towards you. "Agent L/N, I want our profiles to be watertight. I can't have assumptions without solid evidence," he states. His voice low and firm.

"I understand, sir," you reply, meeting his gaze. "I appreciate your guidance. I'm here to learn and contribute as effectively as I can."

There's a pause, a moment where something unspoken passes between you. Perhaps it's the acknowledgment of your dedication, or maybe it's Hotchner wrestling with his own reluctance to accept change. He nods curtly and leaves you to your work.

Despite the cold front you don't let it dampen your spirit. Instead, you double down on your efforts, pouring over case files late into the night. You were determined to prove your worth not just to Hotchner, but to yourself. Your positivity and commitment slowly chip away at the team's initial reservations and even though Hotchner remains distant you start to feel like a part of the BAU family.

As weeks pass your insights during case reviews become sharper. Your suggestions more intuitive. The team begins to rely on your judgment. They sought out your opinion, and slowly, very slowly, you notice a thaw in Hotchner's demeanor—a nod here, a less critical question there.

But the wall he has built around him isn't one to crumble quickly and you know that gaining Hotchner's full trust will be a marathon, not a sprint. Still, your unwavering kindness and the diligent sparkle in your eyes during every case discussion continue to sow seeds of change. Even in the stony ground of Hotch’s reserved heart.

A couple of weeks later and Hotch finally decides you’re ready to join the team in the field instead of staying behind with Penelope. Not that you didn’t like working with her you were just craving to do what you were hired to do.

The air is thick with tension as the BAU team arrives at the suspected hideout of the unsub at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It's late, the darkness only broken by the beams of flashlights and the occasional flicker of police sirens in the distance. Hotchner's orders are clear and concise. His voice a calm command over the sound of rustling tactical gear.

"Reid, Y/N, you're with me. Morgan, Prentiss, take the east side. Radio if you make contact. Everyone, stay sharp," Hotchner instructs. His eyes scanning the perimeter before leading you and Reid towards the main entrance.

The warehouse is a labyrinth of shadows and echoing spaces. A place that seems to absorb sound and light alike. You follow Hotch with your senses heightened every training you’ve undergone pulsing through your veins. As you navigate through a maze of crates and discarded machinery, a noise—a soft scuffle, almost imperceptible—catches your attention. You signal to Hotchner and Reid pointing towards a dark corridor off to the left.

"Stay here, cover us," Hotchner whispers. His gun raised as he edges toward the sound with Reid close behind.

You position yourself with your back to a solid surface, gun aimed at the corridor. Your mind races through various scenarios, but nothing prepares you for the sight of a figure lunging out of the shadows. Heading straight for Reid with a knife glinting in the dim light.

Without a moment's hesitation you break cover, tackling Reid out of the knife’s path. The impact sends you both sprawling to the ground just as Hotchner turns, firing off two quick shots. The unsub goes down, a groan echoing off the walls.

"Reid, you okay?" Hotchner is immediately by your side. His usual stoic demeanor replaced by concern.

"Yeah, thanks to Y/N," Reid gasps. His eyes wide with the adrenaline of the near miss.

Hotchner turns to you. His expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly his features soften, the corners of his eyes crinkling not with frustration, but something akin to gratitude. "Good work, Agent L/N. That was quick thinking."

Your heart pounds not just from the action but also from Hotchner's acknowledgment. "Just doing my job, sir," you manage to choke out though the gravity of the moment isn't lost on you.

As the team secures the scene and paramedics check over everyone Hotchner keeps glancing your way, his gaze lingering longer than usual. In those looks there’s a new respect, perhaps even a reassessment of his earlier doubts about you.

Later, as the team debriefs back at the BAU, Hotch publicly commends your actions. "Agent L/N’s instincts and bravery tonight might have saved Dr. Reid’s life and potentially others. Excellent work."

The team’s applause is warm, genuine, and you can't help but feel a surge of pride. More than the praise it’s Hotchner’s nod of respect towards you that marks a significant shift. It's a turning point not just in your relationship with him but in your place within the team. Your actions have not only proven your worth, but they’ve begun to dismantle the walls Hotchner had built around himself, brick by brick.

In the weeks following the intense warehouse operation the dynamic within the BAU team subtly shifts. You are no longer just the new agent. You have proven yourself as a vital part of the team. Hotchner notices the change not only in how the team interacts with you but also in his own perceptions.

One crisp autumn morning as the trees outside the Quantico offices burst with gold and russet hues, Hotchner finds himself observing you from across the bullpen. You’re assisting Morgan with recalibrating the physical training program for new recruits. The ease with which you handle the task, balancing Morgan’s strength with strategic insights, does not go unnoticed by Hotchner. There's a gentleness mixed with competence in your approach. A stark contrast to the decisive action you displayed in the field.

Later that day, you offer to stay late to help Morgan review the training schedules, ensuring they are optimized for the team’s needs. Garcia joins in eager to add her tech-savvy touch. Hotchner overhears laughter from the office you’re sharing, a sound that is light and genuine, making him pause as he packs up for the night. The sound of friendship and shared effort makes the BAU feel more like a tight nit family and he realizes you are a big part of that shift.

During a team briefing the following week Hotch openly seeks your opinion on the psychological conditioning aspects of the training program. As you outline your thoughts by citing recent research and adaptive training methods he listens intently. The team watches this interaction, clearly seeing Hotchner’s respect for you which influences their own views.

When the team encounters a critical situation with a string of high intensity raids you suggest an innovative tactical maneuver that saves valuable time and minimizes risk. Watching you handle the pressure with composed determination Hotch feels a significant shift within himself—a deep-seated respect for your skills and a growing admiration for your resilience.

It’s not just your professional competence that reshapes his thoughts but also your empathy and dedication. You take the time to ensure that the team is not only prepared physically but supported mentally. A role that enriches the team in ways Hotchner hadn't anticipated.

One evening as everyone is about to leave you pass by Hotchner’s office. He calls you in, an impromptu gesture that surprises even him. “Agent L/N,” he begins, his voice reflecting a mix of professional respect and something more tentative. “I’ve been meaning to say… your work, especially in these past weeks, has been exemplary. I initially misjudged you and I want you to know I appreciate what you bring to the team.”

Your response is a nod accompanied by a warm smile, but his words catch you off guard and a faint blush colors your cheeks. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad to be here, and I really truly appreciate your guidance.”

It's then, in that quiet moment, as the setting sun casts a warm glow through his office window highlighting the blush on your face and the sincerity in your eyes that Hotchner sees something he hadn't fully allowed himself to recognize before. The softness of the light, the quiet dignity with which you accept his praise and the undeniable warmth of your smile strike him profoundly.

For a brief moment Hotchner is silent, observing you not just as a capable agent but as a person whose presence has subtly but indelibly changed the fabric of the team—and his own perceptions. The realization that he finds you beautiful, in more ways than one, surfaces quietly but powerfully in his mind. This acknowledgment isn't just about your physical appearance but encompasses the entirety of your influence on him and the team.

As you leave his office with a certain lightness in your step. The thoughtful look on Hotchner's face mark a turning point. It's a small almost imperceptible moment, but it’s one where personal and professional lines blur slightly, hinting at deeper unspoken possibilities that neither of you may yet fully understand.

The next case up had been grueling with long hours and high stakes that left the entire team feeling the weight of their responsibilities. As the post-case debrief wraps up in the BAU conference room the team disperses, leaving behind a palpable relief mixed with the usual fatigue. But as everyone else heads out to grasp at some much-needed rest, Hotchner lingers at the conference table organizing his notes with more care than perhaps necessary.

Seeing you gathering your belongings slowly he finds the resolve to address the change he's felt brewing within him. "Agent L/N, could I have a moment?" he asks. His voice much softer than usual.

You nod, curious, setting your bag down and returning to the table. The room is quiet now, lit only by the dim lights left on for the night shift.

Hotchner takes a deep breath, his demeanor uncharacteristically open. "I owe you an apology," he starts. His eyes meeting yours. "When you first joined the team, I was... less than welcoming. I questioned your capabilities. Not because of any fault in your record or your behavior, but because I was resistant to the change you represented."

You listen, surprised by his candor, as he continues, "I've always insisted on control, on predictability. After everything I’ve been through, it seemed like the only way to protect the team, to protect my family from further loss. But I've come to realize that I was protecting myself more than anyone."

Hotchner pauses. His gaze shifting away momentarily before returning to yours, more intense, more vulnerable. "You’ve brought a new perspective to the team, a resilience and warmth that I didn't know we needed. You've saved lives, not just through your actions in the field but by being who you are. And...” he hesitates, the next words clearly weighing heavily on him, “and I find myself grateful, not just for your contributions to the team, but for the light you've brought into my life."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. The formal barriers between you melting away in the quiet honesty of the moment. “Thank you, Hotch," you respond, your voice low. You were touched by his admission. "I’ve always admired your dedication and getting to see this side of you, it means a lot."

Hotchner nods with a slight smile breaking through his usual reserve. "I guess what I’m really trying to say is, I would like to... explore this, whatever this is, with you. If you’re open to it," he adds quickly, almost awkwardly.

As the room quiets and you acknowledge Aaron Hotchner’s feelings. Even though your elated you feel that pit of dread form in your stomach. Aaron was your superior… a shadow of concern passes over your face, quickly deepening into visible anxiety. "Hotch," you start, your voice carrying a mix of hope and worry that quickly spirals into panic. "What about Strauss? If things change between us... I mean, if we do this, couldn’t it really complicate things? What if it impacts the team, or your position, or—"

Seeing your distress, Hotchner steps closer. His expression softening significantly as he picks up on your escalating fears. "Hey," he interjects gently, his tone soothing. "Let’s just take a moment, okay?"

You pause, your breath shaky, caught up in the whirlwind of potential consequences that his words had unwittingly unleashed.

Hotchner reaches out slowly. He was giving you time to accept his comfort before his hands rest lightly on your shoulders. "We're not going to rush into anything," he assures you, his voice calm and steady. "Yes, there are risks, and you’re absolutely right to consider them. But we’re not in this alone. We have a team that supports us, and we have each other."

His words help, but it's the firm comforting presence of his hands, the warmth from his touch, that really begins to calm your racing thoughts. "We'll be careful," he continues. "We’ll make decisions together. I respect you too much to let this cause you any distress. If it ever becomes too much, we stop and we stay professional. That’s a promise."

Your breathing slows, steadied by his reassurances. Looking into his eyes you find a sincere commitment there. A steadiness that you’ve always admired in him now directed towards nurturing whatever might grow between you.

Seeing that you’re still tense, Hotchner does something he rarely does—he pulls you gently into a hug. It’s a careful gesture making sure to respect the boundaries but offering comfort. "We’ll handle whatever comes, together," he murmurs. "You're not in this alone."

The hug was unexpected but deeply comforting. It helps to dissolve the last of your apprehensions. You let out a slow breath, allowing yourself to lean into the embrace. You felt a sense of safety in his support.

"Thank you, Hotch," you manage to say with your voice muffled slightly against his shoulder. "I needed to hear that. One step at a time. I can do that."

"One step at a time," he confirms. Giving you a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to respect your space. "We have all the time we need."

As you both leave the conference room, your steps feel lighter. The burden of immediate decisions lifted. With Hotch’s support you feel ready to face whatever challenges might come knowing that not just the weight of the case, but also the weight of new possibilities could be shared.

In the weeks that follow your relationship with Hotchner develops quietly but deeply. Both of you are cautious, acutely aware of the professional boundaries that must be maintained in the intense environment of the BAU. Yet outside of those walls, in the small, stolen moments you find together, a new world seems to unfold. A world where you can be just Aaron and Y/N, not agents with burdens too heavy to bear alone.

You start with simple coffee dates after long shifts where the conversation drifts from case debriefs to shared interests in literature and quiet confessions about your lives outside the FBI. These moments are a revelation, filled with laughter and soft looks that linger longer than necessary. They are moments that stitch the fabric of your relationship tighter with every thread of shared vulnerability and joy.

Aaron, who has always been guarded with his emotions, finds in you an understanding ear and a comforting presence. You learn about his son, Jack, about the painful loss of his wife, and how these experiences shaped him, not just as an agent but as a man who fiercely protects those he loves. Your empathy and gentle encouragement help him navigate the lingering shadows of his past. Allowing him to embrace the possibility of happiness again.

For you, Aaron becomes the person you didn’t know you needed in his strength. His steadfast nature and unyielding integrity inspire you, guiding you through the complexities of your role within the BAU. His belief in your abilities boosts your confidence and his support becomes your anchor in the turbulent sea of your demanding careers.

Together you navigate the highs and lows of life at the BAU. After particularly harrowing cases it’s Aaron who helps you decompress by taking long walks by the lake near your apartment or simply sitting together in comfortable silence. And it’s you who brings light into his evenings with Jack making sure to join them for movie nights and slowly becoming part of the family he holds dear.

The relationship does not go unnoticed by the team but the respect you both maintain at work ensures that your personal lives enrich your professionalism rather than detract from it. Your colleagues see the subtle changes—how Aaron smiles a bit more, how you’re both more relaxed despite the demands of your job.

After a few months of dating, you and Aaron walk hand in hand along the quiet paths of a nearby park, he stops, pulling you close. The city lights cast a soft glow around you, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath. "Y/N, these past months have shown me something I hadn’t dared to hope for," he says, his voice low and full of emotion. "That it’s possible to find light even in the darkest places. You’ve brought that light into my life."

You smile while reaching up to touch his face gently. "And you’ve shown me that strength isn’t just about holding up the world on your own, but knowing when to share the load," you reply, your heart full. "I love you, Aaron."

"I love you too, Y/N," he whispers, and as he leans down to kiss you, it feels like a promise. A promise of a future together where love and understanding can thrive amidst the chaos of the life you’ve chosen.

As autumn turns into winter the relationship between you and Aaron blooms amidst the frosty edges of the season, weaving warmth into the crisp air around you. Your love, quiet but profound, becomes the silent strength that both of you draw from during the demanding days at the BAU.

One chilly December evening after a usually tough case that had stretched your limits and tested your resilience, Aaron plans something special to celebrate not just the end of the case but the life you are building together. When you arrive at his house after the long day, you find the living room transformed into a cozy winter wonderland. It was complete with soft blankets, flickering candles, and a fireplace that crackles with warmth.

Jack was at a sleepover and Aaron greets you at the door with a gentle smile dressed in a comfortable sweater that makes him look homier than ever. "I thought we could use a quiet night in," he smiles while leading you into the room.

The table is set with your favorite foods and there’s a gentle playlist humming through the speakers filled with songs that have slowly become 'yours'. Aaron pulls out a chair for you, his manners impeccable as always, but his eyes are shining with a joy that is purely personal. As you eat, the conversation flows easily—plans for the holiday, funny anecdotes from the day, shared dreams for the future. After dinner Aaron leads you to the couch where a blanket is draped invitingly. He sits beside you pulling you close into his side, and you nestle against him feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Y/N,” Aaron murmurs, his voice soft in the quiet of the room, “when I think about all we’ve been through, I realize every moment led me right here, to this. To us. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

You look up at him touched by the sincerity in his voice. “And I can’t imagine a better person to share my life with,” you reply. Your hand finding his. “You make everything... brighter. More beautiful.”

Aaron smiles, his gaze tender. “I have something for you,” he says while reaching into his pocket to pull out a small, exquisitely wrapped box. He opens it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a pendant that glimmers softly in the firelight—a compass.

“It’s to remind us that no matter where we go or what cases we face, we’ll always find our way back to each other,” he explains. His fingers brushing lightly over the pendant before fastening it around your neck.

You touch the pendant overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gift. “It’s perfect, Aaron. Just like this night, like this.”

He leans in with his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is slow and sweet, a seal over promises made and kept. The rest of the evening passes in gentle laughter, shared kisses, and dreams whispered between the folds of blankets under the watchful glow of firelight and twinkling stars outside your window.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

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[mall0ww]

Wife reader literally tries sprinting out of the bed before Ghost can grab her, just before she escapes he's grabbing her by the waist."where do you think you're running off to" vibes 🤤😩I just need giggly happy simon man . 😪 😔

Simon " Ghost " Riley x Wife! Reader

Kind of a continuation from this :)

CW's : none

Thank you for the ask, anon! Simon and his lil wife here got me all giggly and I'm happy to write more about them 😌

- - -

You really thought you could fool the Simon Riley like that?

Look, another day had passed in which your dear husband had gotten away from the consequences just like that.

The day before, your coworker's already gave you disapproving looks- not that it had been the first time they did that-, but it grew more frequent, with you always running late to work. No one has said a word about it, yet you feared the worst. Even though you're not the only one that is too late more often than not. The other person was a mother of a little child, she had valid reasons for being too late, though.

But you?

What would you say to your boss? " Hey, sorry I'm late again because my husband didn't wanted me to leave the bed " or what?

So, you chose a different approach today.

You didn't move yet. Seemingly Ghost was asleep, with how loosely his arm was wrapped around you this time around.

And even though you would've liked to stay in bed, you know you couldn't.

So you decided to be extra sneaky today.

Giving yourself a shove, you quickly rolled (not so elegantly) out of your husband's arm, out of his reach.

Atleaet that's what you thought.

A small sigh left your lips, your back still to him, as you realized you could finally start your day norma-

Nevermind.

Your little train of thoughts got interrupted as you heard the rustling of the bedsheet. So you quickly tried to put more distance between the two of you.

Of course though, you didn't manage to react quickly enough.

So, once more, his arm wrapped itself around your waist, his muscles flexing just the slightest bit as he pressed you against his chest.

Oh what a familiar position. With your eyes facing your taunting little clock once more. Just like the days before.

You groaned quietly, but Ghost was quick enough to shush you again.

" Babe, I really need to get ready for work... Don't wanna have any more unnecessary problems there. "

Your voice was a whisper, words mumbled as you unwillingly felt your body succumb to your husband's warmth and comfort, reacting this relaxed once more.

" y'don't need to worry, lovie. I've already discussed tha' topic with your boss. "

... What?

#simon riley #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x you #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader

[offthepages]

I wanna be yours.

Azriel x Shy reader

Summary: When you’re invited out for Emerie’s birthday. The last thing you expected was to have the shadow singer wrapped around your finger for the night. (Based off of this request)

Warnings: Suggestive themes, and eluding to more.

Ageless and Minors DNI

Requests are open!!

Masterlist

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You kept your head down, watching as your feet carried you down the streets of Velaris. You didn’t know why you agreed to go out with your beloved book club. But Nesta, she was so insistent. Gwyn popped in too to confirm she’d be going too. You couldn’t turn it down. But that didn’t stop you from being nervous.

The party was at Rita’s as normal. But tonight it was for Emerie’s birthday. And Nesta had gone all out. As you push open the door your breathing hitches as you look at the crowd. Multiple other Valkyries stood around, the whole freaking Night Court was there! You thought you might pass out, truly. You clutched the small gift for your friend in your hand and started forward, looking around for Nesta. Or someone you’d know at least. You could drop off the gift, a nice new dagger you had made for her- the handle engraved with her favorite quote from the series she wouldn’t stop gushing about. Beautiful and deadly- just like her. But your thoughts are cut short by the heat of someone’s body next to you, and thier breath hitting your ear.

“Boo.” And you jump several feet in the air, whirling around to find Azriel looking at you with an amused grin. You had clamped down on the scream you were going to let out, not wanting to drag any attention to yourself.

You glare at the shadowsinger. “Azriel!” You hiss, pouting up at him. “Thats not funny!”

He holds up his hands in defense, still smiling gently. “Nesta sent me to get you. She said you looked ready to bolt.” Smoothly he offered his hand to you. Looking at it, he was right. You were about to dip. Curse Nesta for knowing that. You take his hand with ease, letting him pull you into him. Navigating you through the crowd, his large hands settled on your waist as he gently pushed you forward. Each step made him press closer to you until all you could feel was his sturdy chest. You prayed to the Mother that you weren’t blushing- or that it wasn’t obvious.

Azriel had never been a touchy person. Nesta had told you that much, albeit with a smirk when you tilted your head in confusion. Explaining that usually he liked to keep his distance, didn’t speak much around people he didn’t know well. But with you it had never been like that. From the moment you met he smiled and greeted you with a kiss to your hand. And you could have sworn you saw pride swelling in his beautiful hazel eyes. And moments like that only happened more, Azriel doing something that made you blush and watching the satisfaction shine through his whole demeanor. Just that morning you had been learning to take down enemies much bigger than you. Azriel made sure you were his partner, pushing and pulling you in the right directions to get you to pin him. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Cassian had explained why this maneuver was good for taking down enemies larger than you. You didn’t miss the way he looked at you as he said something about how even the smallest movements could have the biggest impact. So he paired up everyone, Nesta and him. Gywn and Emerie, You and Azriel. 

Azriel stood in front of you, arms crossed over his broad chest. Watching you size him up. In one move you tried to get him down. But instead you got Azriel grabbing your waist and taking your wrists in his as he pinned them against your own. “Too slow.” He whispers in your ear and lets you go. Standing back to his full height as he waits for you to try again. Glaring at him, trying to find your best inner faith in yourself. You start again, trying a different angle. 

Again he wraps one of his thick arms around your middle and another across your collarbones. “Still too slow. You’re thinking too much. Let your movements be fluid.” He lets you go again, feline grin as he coos “You got this princess.” 

Your cheeks heat, but you push it down. Rushing at him, grabbing his wrist before spinning in and trying to lift him. But he stops you again. Instead intertwining your fingers, spinning you around and into a dip. Your eyes widen at the fluidity of it. How suave Azriel had just been. He tuts at you, “If you wanted me to hold you. All you had to do was ask. But you’re not even trying.” He sighs and brings you back up. Letting go. 

Gritting your teeth, you surge forward. Watching as Azriel’s eyes widen, the pawing at your body this time wasn’t to toy with you. But genuinely trying to avoid getting knocked down. But it was all for naught- as you triumphantly pinned his hands above his head. Straddling him with ease, panting on top of him. You leaned in, whispering, “I won.” Before standing and brushing yourself off. The rest of your teammates were still trying. So you looked back at him. 

Ariel stood, his cheeks dusted pink. You have never made him blush before- or at least to your knowledge. But you felt pride in that. For all the teasing he did. Subtle touches, sexy comments, looks in the halls. Bastard deserved it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Now here he was. Hands on your hips, chest pressed to your back as he scanned the crowd to try and find your table. All you could feel is his warmth pressing into you. As if he wasn’t phased at all by this morning. Even just thinking about it made you blush! The way you had pinned him had been… it left little to your imagination about his wing span. It made something deep within in you crave more. He gives you a gentle push forward and continues down his path. Leading you to a small back corner, tables all scattered with people and presents. This was where the real party was apparently. You spot Nesta, and she quickly waves you and Azriel over.

Expecting the shadow singer to let you go now that you were safely at the table, but it seemed you were wrong. He was still slightly behind you, but one hand remained on your hip, drawing small shapes into the fabric of your dress. As you looked up at him, he wore a proud smirk. Looking down at you with a wink.

You squeaked and looked away quickly. Nesta was also smirking at the two of you. But she leaned in, “I’m glad you came!”

You smiled at your friend, “I’m glad I did too! Has Em showed up yet?” Nesta shakes her head. “Not yet! But the night is young.” She looks between you and Azriel as she waggles her eyebrows at you. Quickly covering your face you whine. Suddenly you feel something wrap around you and bring you closer.

A wing. It was a wing. You peak out from behind your hands to find that Azriel had created a thin winged barrier between you and Nesta. Selfishly pushing you into him in the mean time. Your hands gently lay on his chest. He leans down to whisper to you, ”Isn’t it too early to be whining?”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. ”Theres a time and place for whining?”

Azriel smirks again- feline in nature. And you curse yourself for finding it so attractive. ”Well for one i’ve barely touched you. Secondly you’re not even under me yet.” Your mind flashed back to that morning. He had been under you…and now? Your eyes widen, and your face grows redder. Mouth opening and closing before you just burry your face in his chest. He chuckles lowly, patting your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As the night progressed you found yourself loosing up a little. Nesta had pulled you, Gwyn and Emerie onto the dance floor, helping you learn to move with the music. Soon enough the three of you got the hang of it. Laughing warmly, singing loudly, and swaying your hips to the beat. Loving the feeling of music beating so loud it feels like a heartbeat. You were starting to understand why Nesta loved it so much.

As the music switched from upbeat pop, into a more sensual rhythm. Nesta showed you how to slow your actions down, but you stopped watching her when she beckoned Cassian over. You stayed with Gwyn and Emerie, the three of you continuing to dance the night away before one by one they got asked to dance with other men. Before you could return to the table, a strong set of hands held your waist.

“May I have this dance?” Azriel’s smooth voice purred into your ear. You gently laid your hands over his, looking up at him and nodding. You watched Nesta for a few seconds, her hips grinding into Cassian’s. And you blew out a breath, leaning further into Azriel. Letting your hips sway with his.

He groaned softly into your ear. Leaning his head into the crook of your neck. Gently kissing your exposed skin. ”You looked so good dancing like that. I couldn’t help myself.” He whispers, his hands squeezing your hips as he helps you grind into him more. ”Now look at you. Not so bashful anymore huh?”

Your cheeks heated and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Arching your back against him. “You’ve been watching?”

His low chuckle vibrates through him- and by extension you causing you to press your thoughts together tighter. “How could I look away?” His hands trail up from your waist to just under your bust, before trailing back down to the end of your dress that had ridden up to mid thigh length. Keeping his hands only on the area’s you were clothed already. But you were desperate to feel his hands on your skin. “Watching you sway your hips? Run your fingers through your hair? You look beautiful-“ He leans back into you, kissing your cheek before whispering. ”It makes me want to ravish you.” Your face heats, biting your lip as you look up at him. “Wh-who says you can’t?” Azriel’s eyes lock onto yours and you watch the shadow singer debate his options. He could continue this little game of cat and mouse. Teasing you and letting you go on and on. Or. He could simply take you back to his place and tease you more there. “We’re in public, princess.” He says evenly. “I couldn’t possibly ravish you here. Not the first time at least.” That gets a small gulp from you but you quickly whisper. “I don’t think our absence would be noticed.” Azriel’s eyes darken and he grips your hips tighter. “You know what this entails, right?” You slowly nod. “I know. And I want it.” Azriel doesn’t say a word, silently bringing you to his house.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: Writing suggestive pieces, vs like- smutty pieces is so different. 😭 But i hope it turned out all right. Also sorry for it being so short!

#azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel smut #acotar smut

[somber-sapphic]

Hii!! Been a fan of your of your stuff for a while now, could I please request Nat x reader with maybe Nat coming back home from a mission sick or something? using prompts: "Could you pass me a tissue, please?" + “I think I caught something. My head is pounding." + “Let me fuss over you."

Thanks!!

Healing Hours

〖Summary: Natasha returns early from a mission with a bad case of the flu.〗

〖Word Count: 1.3k〗

〖Pairing: Sick Natasha x R〗

〖Notes: I hope you all enjoy this!〗

You sighed and slammed your book shut, unable to on the words on the page. Natasha was supposed to be back from her mission in two days and you were a mixture of excited and nervous. She had been radio silent for days, only sending messages concerning the mission. 

That meant no sweet texts to you, only communication with Cap and Tony.

It was standard for a mission like this, she was in a potentially dangerous situation and to minimize any danger they minimized contact. Even though you understood it didn’t mean you had to like it. You had continued to train while she was away, the physical act of hitting something distracting you from your anxiety. If you could keep your energy up you could keep the emotions at bay. 

With a frustrated groan you pulled out your laptop, resigning yourself to some YouTube cat compilations. Those usually held your attention, and it helped that cats were adorable. Maybe you could convince Tony to let you have a cat, if you laid out a good enough argument he might let you. 

For a while you let yourself be captured by the videos moving across the screen, watching the pixelated cats fall off of things only to get up unharmed, attack humans, and be afraid of toasters. You were pulled out of your feline trance by a slight jiggle of your doorknob.

You looked up from your laptop, staring at the door handle and reaching for your weapon. No one was supposed to come into your room, and you had strict rules about knocking before opening the door. You grasped the smooth handle of the knife under your pillow, tensing your body in preparation for a fight. 

There were a million thoughts swirling through your mind, how had someone gotten into the tower? Why hadn’t FRIDAY alerted you? Were the others safe? 

A dark silhouette appeared in the doorway, and you threw your knife, the blade sinking into the wood of the door frame beside the person's head. It was a warning shot, you didn’t miss. Your goal was to scare the person off to avoid an altercation that you didn’t want to get into.

“Jesus Y/n, what the fuck was that?” A raspy voice asked, someone flicked on the light illuminating a very grumpy-looking Natasha. She walked into the room and threw her toolbelt onto the dresser, being much less careful than she usually was. She loved that belt; it had saved her life many times and she always handled it with care. 

“You fucking scared me! You’re supposed to be in Latvia, not breaking into my bedroom!” You shot back, lowering yourself against the headboard, the tension leaving your body. The adrenaline coursing through your veins began to calm down, slowing your rapid heartbeat. 

“And you’re supposed to be asleep, it's 2:00 in the morning.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“Like you're any better,” Your words trailed off as a sharp sneeze cut through the room, leaving Natasha hunched over and sniffing. 

“Why are you back early?” Suspicion laced your words as you took in her disheveled appearance. When she was in uniform, she went to extensive efforts to make herself look professional even in a more relaxed setting. 

This time her clothes were slightly wrinkled, and her hair was a mess. You didn’t expect her to look picture-perfect after coming back from a mission, but she did try to make herself look stoic coming home to impress the men. She turned to face you, revealing an unnatural flush to her cheeks and red-chapped nostrils, the telltale signs of the flu. 

“I think I caught something; my head is pounding. Steve pulled me, decided I wasn’t healthy enough to be in the field. He threatened to come and get me himself.” She mumbled, sniffling again. She rubbed her nose against her sleeve and coughed into the air. 

You smiled at the idea, picturing her arguing with Steve who would seriously come and get her if he felt the need. 

“Okay love, go get showered and I’ll get some supplies. Do you think you’ll be okay to do it by yourself?” You asked, concerned that she might fall over if left alone. Natasha rolled her eyes, wincing at the motion. She shook her head slightly as if to clear it then nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to get it over with, then sleep.” 

“Yeah, I bet you do. It’ll feel really good I promise.” When you heard the shower running you climbed out of bed, getting to work. You rifled through the drawers of your bedside table and pulled out a bottle of Nyquil alongside a thermometer, a box of tissues, and a bag of cough drops, all things left over from the last time you’d gotten sick. 

Next, you tiptoed into the kitchen and got a glass of water and one of juice, not wanting to make tea until Natasha asked for it. She rarely drank it and you knew she didn’t like it but you’d be happy if she consumed any fluids. 

When you returned to your room you were surprised to find your shivering girlfriend curled up in the bed, her wet hair splayed out over the pillow. You’d only been gone for ten minutes tops, you hadn’t expected her to have showered so quickly. 

“Did you enjoy your shower?” You asked, setting the glasses of water and juice on the small table by her side of the bed. She shrugged and sniffled thickly, rubbing her fist against her red nose. 

“Could you pass me a tissue please?” Her voice was so stuffy, poor thing sounded awful. And she didn’t look much better, not that you would tell her that. You grabbed a tissue from the already prepared box and pressed it into her hand, turning a way to simulate privacy as she blew her nose weakly. 

“Oh, my sweet Natty, you really don’t feel well do you…” You muttered, more to yourself than to her. Natasha nodded and turned to look at you with a pout set on her chapped lips. Barely three seconds later her gaze unfocused and she snapped forward with a rough sneeze that she didn’t have time to cover. 

“Okay well that wet hair isn’t going to help. Sit up for me, take some medicine, and I’ll dry your hair while we watch a movie.” The redhead did what you instructed, lifting herself onto the pillows with a wheezy sigh. 

You poured out a dose of the medication and watched her drink it, making sure that she got all of it. The gulp of “grape” flavored goop was quickly followed by half a glass of juice. You were internally pleased with the amount of juice she had just willingly drank, usually keeping her hydrated was a chore. 

“Get comfy and pick a movie, I’ll grab the hair dryer.” She settled on Jaws for reasons that you couldn’t explain. You knew she loved it but you didn’t exactly consider it a good sick day movie. It didn’t matter, she already looked half asleep. You doubted she’d make it through the first act even with the sound of the hair dryer. 

“C’mere baby, let me fuss over you.” You climbed into bed and pulled her into your lap, positioning her so that she was laying back against you with her head on your chest. Just as you’d predicted it didn’t take long for her eyes to start drooping, the sound and warmth of the hair dryer seemed to be lulling her to sleep. 

“M’sorry for getting sick.” She mumbled, a huge yawn escaping her lips. You rubbed her shoulder and pulled the blankets up around her, making sure that she was comfortable. 

“No apologizes necessary Nat. You just relax, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

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