#perhaps i just wasn’t meant to be happy

[karuvapatta]

Next part of the Untitled Jonelias Magic AU. Thank you @ceaseless-bitcher for your feedback, worldbuilding ideas, and line suggestions!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

***

“Do you have an appointment?” the secretary – Rose? Rosie? – asked politely, opening her calendar.

“I do not,” Jon said.

“I see,” she said. “Well, forgive me, Mr Sims, but Master Bouchard is currently in a meeting. If you have a message for him, I would be happy to pass it along.”

“Look,” Jon began, then shut his mouth immediately thereafter. The secretary – Rosie; he was pretty sure her name was Rosie – regarded him with a bland, polite smile, her hands folded neatly on the desk. Behind her were the doors to Master Bouchard’s office, presently out of Jon’s reach.

“Is there anything I can do for you, then?” she asked.

He should have written a letter. He should have refrained from coming here in the first place.

“Is it possible to arrange a meeting?” he asked. “I—I really need to speak with Master Bouchard.”

He didn’t want to accost the man after one of his lectures, or seek entry to the research floor without invitation. That seemed to be a step too far. But maybe he would have no other choice, if Rosie continued being this difficult.

“I will have to confirm it with him. I will let you know once I have any details,” Rosie said.

“Thank you,” Jon said curtly. He wrote down his contact information, and could not help one last heated glare in the direction of Bouchard’s locked office door.

It was foolish. It wasn’t important. The sense of urgency gnawing at his stomach was entirely unwarranted. He needed to put that feeling to rest and move on. If Bouchard refused to see him, he would do just that. He would stop showing up to his lectures, stop reading his papers, stop hovering near the research department…

Half-heartedly, he wished that this would be the end of it. And yet the reply arrived two days later, with the meeting set for next week. Jon didn’t know how to feel about that. He spent altogether too much time trying to come up with something intelligent to say, some compelling argument as to why he wanted to see Bouchard in the first place. Yet when the time came, his mind was blank and his throat was dry.

“Mr Sims,” Bouchard greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jon swallowed. The office was just as he had remembered it, with Bouchard silhouetted against the large window behind him. Jon felt uncomfortably exposed where he stood; he could not see the man’s face clearly, with the afternoon light nearly blinding him.

“Take a seat, please,” Bouchard said, pointing to the familiar chair in front of his desk.

Jon moved slowly. He placed his hand on the back of the chair, fingers twitching against dark wood and embroidered fabric. Bouchard’s pale eyes were on him; he could feel them as acutely as he felt the sunlight on his skin. He had questions, so many questions echoing in his head, and yet he struggled to voice any of them.

Bouchard was a patient man. He sat back, fingers steepled together, and said nothing at all as Jon hovered awkwardly in front of him, at war with his own thoughts.

“Have you chosen an apprentice yet, Master?” Jon asked.

He hadn’t meant for these to be the first words out of his mouth, but now he couldn’t take them back.

“Oh my,” Bouchard chuckled. “Gossip really spreads like wildfire, doesn’t it?”

This wasn’t an answer. Jon frowned at him.

“Why do you want to know?” Bouchard asked.

Still the same frustrating non-answer. Jon’s frown deepened; his fingers clenched tight around the back of the chair. The bracelet shifted against his skin, responding to the movement, or perhaps the sudden flash of anger.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “You will not tell me anyway.”

Bouchard’s mouth twitched into a smile. This—he found it amusing. Jon was a source of entertainment for him, for whatever reason. The reasonable thing to do would be to turn back and leave; Jon, of course, stayed right where he stood.

“What is it that you want from me?” Jon asked.

“Why do you assume I want anything from you?” Bouchard asked calmly.

“You—” Jon bit his lip. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He was making an ass of himself. But—well. “Why did you reject my application?” he asked. This was a reasonable question, was it not? “Is it because of the—” he pressed his fingers to his wrist and the bracelet bound tight around it, feeling it thrum gently, matching the rhythm of his pulse. “I didn’t think it mattered,” he added quietly.

“It does matter,” Bouchard said. “To you, most of all. Why pretend otherwise?”

It was driving him insane, the way Bouchard insisted on answering Jon’s questions with even more questions. What would it take to get a normal reply out of the man? Why was he toying with Jon?

“I have been practicing,” Jon said. “You know I have. I—I want to learn.” He dropped his gaze, throat seizing with embarrassment. But he needed to say the words out loud, he needed to have them out in the open. “Master, I know I’m capable of this with your guidance. I want to be your apprentice. Please.”

He braced himself for whatever might come next. Maybe he ought to apologize for his outlandish request, offer an explanation, play it off as a joke… except he couldn’t bring himself to lie right now. Bouchard would probably know if he did. So he glanced up, chancing a look at Bouchard’s face, to better judge his reaction.

Their eyes met; Bouchard smiled.

“To answer your earlier question, Mr Sims,” he began. “Yes, I already made my choice. But I had to wait for you to make yours.”

Oh.

Jon still didn’t know why. But now he had the chance to find out.

#jonelias #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #elias bouchard

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Treebark Week — Frost

An elemental fae like Martyn shifted with the seasons—he was best suited for the spring and summer (in that he looked the most human, then, provided you ignored the leaves in his hair), his skin shifting to a dull gray in the fall, and a bright, hypothermic blue in the winter. It’s how it always was, until he was dropped into the Life games—something about the code constricted him, keeping him that peachy tone, and with his hair covering his ears, one could assume he was wholly human, which is what the server did. 

He didn’t fault them for it—even Timmy, and Grian, and BigB, who should’ve known better, it’d been a few years since he last saw them, so of course they wouldn’t realize, and Martyn quite liked keeping a few cards close to his chest, so he didn’t correct anyone who claimed he was one of the few—if only—humans on the server. 

The whole “falling forever” if not in one of the games certainly shoved the thought of correcting anyone out of his mind, regardless, because he was so rarely called a human anyways, and he thought Ren got that he wasn’t human, what with the whole “you can’t turn me into a werewolf, it won’t work” thing.

But that didn’t change the surprise on his, or the other Hermits faces when he was invited on to visit and was visibly covered in a layer of frost. 

“Whoops,” Martyn said, having taken a tumble out of the rift he got in through. “Didn’t mean to fall for you lot.”

His words did not make the staring any less intense, and he shifted under their scrutiny. “…do I have something on my face? My shirt?” He glanced down, and then blinked. “Oh. It’s winter, is it?”

He brushed off any of their questions with a well timed joke, trying to make himself look good enough that perhaps they’d let him stay a little longer, integrate himself a bit as he scanned the crowd for his king Ren. He was, just like the last time he saw him, next to False (who was perfectly nice, really, if Martyn ignored the pulsating jealousy in his stomach when he saw them together), but at least he was looking in his direction, brow furrowed as he glanced between them.

The rift was rippling again, though, signaling that someone else was coming through and so Martyn stepped aside, letting the Hermits greet the next guest. He was happy for the new distraction, anyways, letting himself be swallowed by the crowd if only so he could peer at Ren without anyone scrutinizing his behavior. 

He didn’t get that chance, though, as a clawed hand reached forward to grab his wrist and tug him closer, out of the crowd, and he found himself blinking up at a much taller than he remembered Ren. 

“Wow, you’re tall. I hadn’t realized—the Life games really nerf us all, don’t they?”

Ren grinned down at him, still looking a bit awkward, but his comment definitely seemed to put a few pieces into their places. “Oh, er, yes, I’d forgotten that you hadn’t—you’re very blue, is that what you normally look like?” He still hadn’t let go of Martyn’s wrist, fingers pressed against Martyn’s pulse, which he was trying very hard to ignore that it was racing.

“Nah, not all the time. I’m just a very wintery boy right now, is all. Comes with the fae package.” He wriggled his fingers on his free hand, as if to demonstrate. “You lot caught me during the worst months, unfortunately. If I had known it was winter, I might’ve had second thoughts.” 

Of course, that wasn’t strictly accurate—Martyn would’ve shown up regardless, if it meant getting out of the void for a bit—a chance to stretch his legs, and, of course, Ren was here—right in front of him!—to talk to and joke around with.

Ren still hadn’t let go of his wrist. “I suppose,” he said, thoughtfully, “that we should’ve called it Blue Winter, instead, me Hand.” 

His words made Martyn wheeze out a surprised laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Milord,” he mock protested, “was red for your colors, and the blood you spilled to protect us!”

Ren grinned right back down at him, finally letting go. “But you, me Hand, are blue like the frost that protected us! We mustn’t forget your work in the pack. Er. Side note: how long will you be blue, exactly?”

“Whenever winter ends and the grass thaws, I’ll get my more spring-y colors back, maybe grow some flowers, you know how it is.”

Ren’s hand came up, then, to caress his cheek, and his eyes peered down at Martyn through his shades. The look was striking, and Martyn couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next— “‘course, there are faster ways to warm me up.” 

False, who was still stood right nearby, thanks, let out a groan, but Ren’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Well, if that’s what it takes, I suppose I can prove myself very valuable to your cause.” His words were booming, carried well, and Martyn, although he couldn’t currently blush, definitely felt like he should be. 

“Oh, well, if you’re offering—“

Ren dropped his hand away from Martyn’s face, and nodded, more to himself than anything. “Let’s get you warmed up, shall we, Hand?”

——

“You know, this wasn’t what I expected,” Martyn said, words muffled a bit, thanks to the fur currently trying to make its way into his mouth.

Ren, who couldn’t speak, on account of currently being a giant wolf, just thumped his tail lazily in reply. 

False, who had no idea why she had come along, but was at least not currently being laid on, unlike Martyn, took her hand away from Ren’s head (eliciting a whine) to poke Martyn in the cheek. “Shush. I think I’m already starting to see the pink come back to your cheeks.”

#Treebark #inthelittlewood #rendog #fic #trafficshipping #treebarkweek2024

[reobsessed]

Unfamiliar Waters

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content: Bathing, kissing, hair washing, fluff, comfort, slight conflict that gets resolved immediately, no sex, minor mention of torture. 1500 Words. Summary: You were in dire need of a bath after a harrowing fight outside the inn you were staying at. Unfortunately you find the tub already occupied by Astarion. In an attempt to bond with and get him out of there, you offer to wash his hair. Another short Astarion fic I started a while ago. Wanted to do something fluffy and intimate without any sex. Thanks again to Suri for edits and help with lines and the title!

You flung open the wooden doors, uncaring as wood chipped against lavender painted walls. Just as you were halfway through discarding your shirt, an indignant cry caught you off guard.

“What in the sweet hells, do you mind?!” The towel and toiletries fell from your hands. You’d never been very perceptive and today was no exception. Already fully submerged in the tub was Astarion; chest bare slumped over the side, a dripping copy of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette in hand.

“Astarion?! I haven’t seen you in hours, is this where you’ve been?” You spluttered. “We really could have used your help. There was a fight right outside the inn. There’s absolutely no way you didn’t hear the commotion.”

“Some of us take pride in our appearances and besides, I needed time away from that festering group of ingrates.” As if to emphasise his point he shuddered. “You know, you could all learn a lot from me, starting with regular bathing.”

“And how exactly are any of us meant to bathe when you’re in the bathroom four hours every day?”

“Oh I don’t know, Baldur’s Gate has plenty of scenic rivers and lakes. I’m sure the bear has no problem leading each of you to nature’s finest bathhouse.”

You rubbed your temples with a freehand. As much as you loved this man, he could really start to grate on your nerves after a while. You scooped up your belongings and made your way over to him, arranging your towel neatly on the floor beside you.

He looked up from the paper disinterestedly. “As much as I love your company, dear, I hope you’re not planning on joining me. I hardly think this,” he gestured disapprovingly at the tub, “can fit us both.”

“Astarion, if there’s anything I can do to cut this exceedingly long bath short, I would be more than happy to assist.”

His eyes widened momentarily. How stupid of you, you hadn’t considered the implications of what you’d said. 

“No, no, that's quite alright. I’ve still got my hair to wash and that’ll take at least another half an hour.”

Perching yourself on the edge of the tub beside him, you began rolling up your sleeves.

“Then allow me.” You smirked.

He flung the sodden paper to the floor and stared at you dumbfounded. “You mean you- wash my hair. I’m sitting here naked, dripping and gorgeous and all you want to do is ‘wash my hair’?”

“Couples do things for each other. Things outside of sex and combat, I might add,” you sniped back. Using your fingers, you began combing through his dampened locks.

“Without the sex, I suppose that leaves only the one thing we do together then.”

“That’s true.” His body tensed. “No, no wait- '' Flustered, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your forehead against the back of his head. A feeble gesture, intended to soothe him and buy you enough time to explain.

“Just kidding,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you knew it wasn’t genuine.

“I like doing other things with you,” you mumbled into his curls. “I don’t care about the sex.” You relaxed your hold, allowing him to turn around to face you. Delicately, you reached out and wiped a stray piece of hair from his forehead. As you did so, his unnaturally pale cheeks took on a darker hue, perhaps from the heat or from your touch, you weren’t sure.

He cleared his throat and turned away again. “I see then. Well, this is as good a time as any to try something new.” 

“Really?!” your head perked up. “I’m so excited, haven’t washed anyone else's hair since I left home.” You began swirling a hand in the tepid water, carefully choosing a spot faraway from where Astarion sat. “Did you and your siblings ever do this for each other? Like my family did,” you asked without thinking.

He shot you an incredulous glare, which soon contorted into sarcastic glee. “Oh, of course we did! And then in between our torture sessions we’d paint each others’ nails! What good fun it was.” His smile dropped and he fell backwards into the bath, splashing you in the process.

You scratched the back of your head. “Sorry I-”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Leave it, my love. No use dwelling on all that now.” You nodded your head in agreement, not that he could see you. “Come now, we don’t have all day.” 

You hummed in agreement, looking over the various bottles that sat on a shelf beside the bath. Astarion was a very particular man and you didn’t wish to upset him by, god’s forbid, using the wrong fragrance. You gestured towards the selection of shampoo. “What’s your poison?”

“Hmm, I think today I‘m in the mood for jasmine- no wait- night orchid and ginseng- actually, that honey shampoo sounds positively delicious.”

“Might net you some unwanted attention from our camp bear,” you joked, hands sifting through the knots in his hair.

“Fair point. Alright then, I think I’d like to try that raspberry one, the one you got from that dear little market stall.” 

The same one you liked to use.

With a gentle firmness you cupped the sides of his head. You hoped it was enough to stop him from turning around and seeing the pure glee etched onto your face.

“Alright, I need to get it wet, lean back,” you instructed, as you scooped up a handful of water.

He did as he was told and reclined backwards, eyes closed and squinted, anticipating the stream of water. Doing this for your brothers and sisters had been easy. Hells, you could get away with lobbing them in the river and they’d be just fine. Astarion, on the other hand, required a more delicate touch (even if he’d never admit to it) and you were more than happy to cater towards him.

With slow precision you poured the cooling water over his scalp, immediately pushing back any stray drops that threatened to drip down into his eyes. 

Gods, how was it possible for such a man to be so beautiful and how was it that such a man had chosen you as his partner? Your hands stopped and your gaze lingered, as you took in his picturesque features.

An eyelash heavy with steam peeled open, giving you an inquisitive look.

“Enjoying the show, darling?” A thick, humid heat bloomed across your cheeks. “By all means, keep admiring me.”

“Shut up and close your eyes!” You grabbed the bottle from the side and began lathering it in your hands. The familiar fragrance filled your nostrils and despite having grown accustomed to having it as your own scent, you were looking forward to how it smelt on him.

You rubbed the foam through your fingers, fully enveloping his hair in a thick mousse. As your nails dragged across his scalp you heard him moan. 

“That feels positively wonderful.”

“Oh yeah, like this?” you asked, repeating the same motions as before. He mmm-ed softly, sinking further into your hold. You paused for a second, this might be the most satisfied sound you’d ever heard coming from his lips, not a bad thing of course, given his past experiences. 

His eyes were open again, staring up at you, face awash with bliss. 

“Itching for a taste are we?” he goaded lightly.

There was no use dignifying that with a response. You brought your lips down upon his, his head still clasped in your hands. It was brief and sweet, reminiscent of those first kisses you’d once shared with young lovers. Unthinkable that such innocent yearning could be reclaimed so late in life. 

Reluctantly you broke the kiss and pulled away.

“I do rather like that, you know…”

“I know and so do I.” You beamed. “Okay now can you please hurry up so I can have a bath,” you pleaded, peppering his mouth with more kisses.

“Always so demanding,” came his curt reply (the audacity). Nonetheless, he complied and finished up. 

A deep sigh of relief escaped your lips after finally lowering yourself into freshly ran water. About halfway through wetting your hair, a freezing pair of hands on your shoulders caught you off guard.

“Astarion!” you shrieked. The little rogue had snuck up behind you.

“Oh, do be quiet, and don’t splash me. Wouldn’t do to get me wet again.” You watched as he rifled through the shampoo bottles disapprovingly. “We must go to the market together again soon, darling, just the two of us. I know just the product that’s perfect for your hair type, might do something about that helmet musk too.”

You opted to ignore that last dig, instead choosing to relish in the satisfaction of a warm bath and your lover threading his fingers through your hair. “I’d like that,” you hummed happily. 

A contented silence descended over the room. You felt at peace and when you saw him hovering above you with that serene grin on his face, you knew he felt the same.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #reader x astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #my fic #bg3 fic #fanfic #vampire

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 187

Clockwork would openly admit that he couldn’t see Danny’s timelines. Not since the moment he stepped into that portal and became something more. A child of Infinity, of the very Realms itself. 

But he’ll also admit that it always meant that the child surprised him all the time. This just happened to be a startling surprise, and an admittedly amusing one, even if Danny was openly complaining about the situation. 

“It’s not fair! You have to be able to fix this, right? Right?!” the ghostling, quite literally now, practically yanked at his cloak. “Clockwork, I was going to graduate, I can’t be two! Please, you’re the master of Time, you can fix this right!?” 

No, no he could not, seeing as young Daniel was in fact, immune to timeline machinations, doubly so for his own. To the ghostling’s open distress, which he did his best to soothe. What he could do instead, was stop time in his home dimension, and instead let him age back up again. 

Which the young halfa wasn’t happy about, but it was the best thing they had, so Clockwork supposed he had a ghostling now. A tiny adorable ghostling who kept pouting each time his much younger body had any sort of effect on his behavior. 

He’d never exactly had a ghostling before, nevermind one who was part human, but he would admit he honestly was enjoying it. Most time was spent alone, something he hadn’t realized until Danny ended up crashing into his unlife. 

Honestly he would openly admit that he absolutely adored his little ghostling. Who was now around four, at least physically, and had gotten into the adorable habit of curling up in the pendulum in his chest. Which was honestly the safest spot in Long Now, he’d admit. 

The singular issue however, with this habit, was that when someone attempted to summon him, they got his ghostling as well. And well, normally he could very much control himself for these summonings that happened every few hundred or so years, but well. There was a reason why even the Observants had stopped popping in the moment they realized he had a ghostling. 

Nesting ghosts do not mess around should they feel one is messing with their very vulnerable child, and really it’s not his fault the mortal cultists woke up and startled Danny. Perhaps deleting them from the timeline was a bit too far, if the other mortals rapid paling was to go by, but oh well. 

#Prompts #Dcxdp #Dpxdc #Danny is so embarrassed the first time he accidentally calls Clockwork father #Clockwork on the other hand was utterly delighted and treasures that moment forever #Space core Danny #I just think it’s poetic of him being Space and CW being Time #JL & JL Dark arriving just in time to see idiots summon the “Realm Regent” are freaking out #Danny was Napping and isn’t pleased to be woken up #But then his toddler-influenced brain notices Bright Colors and also sees STARS out the window and gets excited #Yes a few Observants got killed by a very unhappy Clockwork who might have unchained himself since he now has something besides himself #Yes Danny is technically 17 and 4 and hundreds of years old all at once #But Mr Time-shifting form CW does not mind nor care lol #No Danny is not ghost king #Nor will he ever be ghost king #CW is regent because his husband (they never finished that divorce) is in a sarcophagus of sleep rn

[missukiyo]

— ex-husband! gojo x reader

read part 2 here

cw: angst. just pure angst. co-parenting, brief mentions of miscommunication, fluff if you squint…

a/n: repost!! this post somehow got taken down last time. first ever ‘fic’ on here so i really appreciate any form of constructive criticism.

ex-husband! gojo who you are forced to see every fortnight due to the co-parenting arrangement set in place for your beloved 5-year-old daughter, sayuri.

ex-husband! gojo who would linger at your doorstep during drop-offs, almost as if searching for an unspoken invitation back into your life.

ex-husband! gojo who would intentionally leave a bunch of his belongings at your place, even if it was something minor like chewing gum, just to find a reason to pop by again.

ex-husband! gojo who would occasionally call you ‘princess’ or ‘baby’ out of habit, catching himself mid-sentence and playing it off casually.

ex-husband! gojo who would gently hold the hand of your precious daughter sayuri during his pickup, leading her to his car for the two weeks they’ll spend together. he would cast a glance back at you at least once, his heart beating rapidly when he caught your gaze. oh, how he wishes you could be a complete family.

ex-husband! gojo who would try to conceal the sadness in his eyes when sayuri innocently asks why mommy and daddy can’t live together. he struggles to find the right words that won’t break her little heart or reveal the depths of his own.

ex-husband! gojo who would still keep a family picture of you, him and sayuri as his wallpaper. a bittersweet reminder of what he once had before he threw it all away.

ex-husband! gojo who, during some of sayuri’s school events, finds himself involuntarily stealing glances at you.

ex-husband! gojo who clings onto the hope that one day you’ll look at him the way you used to, even if it was just for a fleeting moment, even though deep inside, he knew that the shattered fragments of your heart could never be mended

ex-husband! gojo who, on sayuri’s birthdays, buys her two gifts — one for her and one for you, unable to break the tradition of making you feel special, even if it’s just a little.

ex-husband! gojo who, on a particularly lonely night, contemplates sending you late-night text messages, only to delete them before hitting send. some bridges were just never meant to be rebuilt.

ex-husband! gojo who would endure restless hours, plagued by the thoughts of whether you would eventually move on and perhaps find a person that wasn’t him to claim as your lover. part of him yearned for you to choose him, and him only. that your heart will only have room for him and no one else. yet, despite the pain having a hold on his heart, he suppressed his selfish desires, opting for your happiness even if it lies beyond him. he hoped that, even if you decide to move on from him, that chosen person will bring you unparalleled happiness. whoever you decide to move onto would be the luckiest man, or woman ever — for satoru never judges. he hopes that he or she would hold you tenderly as you drifted to slumber, and shower your face with affectionate kisses the time the morning commenced. he wished for your heart to mend, even if it meant it would beat to a different rhythm. maybe, this was fate’s way of biting back at him.

ex-husband! gojo who wishes he would’ve treated you better during your marriage with him. he wished he would’ve listened to you more — the subtle nuances in your voice and the silent cries for understanding that went unnoticed till it was too late. he wanted to make you smile again, even if it was the last time he’d ever get the privilege to see your toothy grin.

ex-husband! gojo who dreams of a parallel universe where he had never let go. where he never signed those damned divorce papers in the first place. where the family portrait on the wall of his bedroom room tells a different story — one of enduring love.

ex-husband! gojo who is soon learns to be grateful that you two are civil towards each other, even if it was majorly due to the co-parenting arrangement. a life like this was better than a life without you at all.

and yet ex-husband! gojo would wish to restart everything if he could.

ex-husband! gojo who promises to love you properly in his next life. and the next. and the next.

© MISSUKIYO | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

#gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisan #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojou x reader #jjk headcanons #ex husband gojo #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru angst #jjk angst

[zriasstuff]

Way too close-Theodore Nott x reader

Forced proximity between Theodore Nott and fem!reader (2k words)

Some tension needs to be resolved… (not 18+ content though, this is SFW)

If someone would have told you earlier today, that if you went to tonight’s Slytherin party you’d be stuck in an old closet with the Theodore Nott later on, you’d have never went.

But here you were, stuck beside Theo in an old closet used for storing rags and brooms, which smelled extremely unpleasant. You could practically feel a broom stabbing you in the back, but you didn’t want to move because you’d have to get closer to Theo in the process. He was facing you at the moment, but you weren’t looking him the eyes, instead you stared at the dusty closet floor.

It’s not that you absolutely hated Theo, although he hasn’t been exactly the nicest to you in the past. He always believed that he was entitled to do whatever he wanted without thinking about the consequences, especially the ones that would be inflicted on other people.

You remembered that a year ago, there was this huge rumor that your boyfriend at that time had made out with another girl. It wasn’t true though, and Theo had been the one that spread that lie. You guys broke up anyway, you just weren’t meant for each other, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that Theo had put a huge dent in your relationship and had made you feel so extremely humiliated.

It was a thing of the past, you moved on, but something about him still made you feel uneasy. And besides, he just had this overall intimidating, dark aura around him, as if he’d start a fight with you any second. Perhaps it’s just the way some people are.

You had originally thought that he’d refuse to spend 7 minutes in heaven with you, when the spinning bottle had landed on you, but to your surprise he was quite alright with it. Maybe not happy, definitely not unhappy though.

“What are you thinking about”, he asks you, disrupting the silence that had lasted for a solid minute already, while curiously looking down on you.

“Nothing, really”, you reply.

“Well you look like you got a stick up your ass, what’s with your weird posture?”

Rude. Were you really standing that crookedly, you ask yourself.

“If you must know, there’s this broom digging into my backside and I can’t stand properly without…”, you go silent, hesitating to name him the reason. Why would you, it would only be another six minutes.

“Without what?”, he further questions you in a demanding tone.

“…without practically leaning onto you” Fuck, you said it, and you knew you were blushing so hard right now. Why had you even said that? It was not like it made the awkwardness better. Luckily, darkness surrounded you, masking your intense blushing. What would he say now? You couldn’t possibly imagine a response.

“Then I guess I don’t want you to be uncomfortable now, do I?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he being sarcastic? He certainly looked serious.

“What are you waiting for, move”

You definitely did not know where this was going, but after a bit of hesitation, you decided to do it, since he was so insistent. Although you were still confused on why he was so comfortable with having you lean on him. You think probably because he’s used to having girls all around him.

Moments later, finally lean onto him, pressing your body closely against his. Faces only inches away from touching. The warmth of his body immediately spreads to you, and you feel his breath on your skin. There was this awfully weird tingle going through your entire body.

His intense stare stuns you so much, that you feel your knees going soft for a second. It’s like you couldn’t focus on anything else besides his electric touch, it made you melt. Meanwhile, you also realize you’d never been this close to any guy before, ever. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all…

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks”, you dryly reply.

This could be nice, you start to think to yourself. Perhaps you could start some small talk with him, to make the position you were in less full of tension.

“So-”

“So, do you wanna make out now?”

WHAT. What the hell, that came out of absolutely nowhere, and your mind starts to spin. Making out with Theodore Nott after just 3 minutes of talking ? Why in the hell would he even suggest that? He must be out of his mind.

He barely knew you, and now he wanted to make out? So many questions were circling your head, but not a single, coherent response left your mouth.

“uhm- wha, what?”, was all that escaped your mouth in a stuttering manner. It was all you could come up with.

“Clearly, you are not very experienced with party games, so let me explain“, he just so nonchalantly says. “Seven minutes of heaven is for making out. And it doesn’t hurt when the person you’re stuck with is really hot. So, since you’re more comfortable now, can we make out?”

He really had no sense of shame you thought to yourself.

All that left his mouth so matter of factly, that you barely had time to process what he said. Did he just call you hot? Not that you had much more time to overthink it because his lips smashed against yours already.

He used one hand to hold your waist, to keep you close to him, and the other to grab your head. Every single one of his touches sent electric waves through your body, and the kiss itself was so unexpected, yet so gentle. He knew exactly how to make you feel good, and his lips were so soft and they intertwined with yours in such a magical way. It ignited a growing desire in you, that you also clung onto him tighter, wrapping your arms around his neck. Every aspect of this made you want to get even closer to him, but no.

He can’t just do this all of a sudden. You barely know him, besides from the thing he did to you in the past. Plus, this was such an intimate moment, and there was no way you were going to experience it in a dusty closet, so you pull back, as much as you want to continue locking lips with him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, you flip the mood around 180 degrees. That may have sounded ruder than you’d expected, which you didn’t mean to. But you still had to confront him.

“Listen, I know you make out with like 10 girls a week, and this game may be an excuse for you to make out with another one, but I barely know you, and the things that I do know of you aren’t exactly nice”.

There, you’d confronted him, the most intimidating person you know. Seems like you were still pretty hurt by what he did, even if you told yourself it didn’t affect you all that much anymore.

“Playing hard to get huh?”, he raises an eyebrow at you while saying that. “You know, seconds ago, if I recall correctly, you seemed to enjoy the kiss a lot too. And now you wanna act like I forced myself on you, so what’s up with that?”

He was right, you did enjoy it too. It wasn’t fair to blame him completely. What if you had just shut up and enjoyed the kiss? There was no turning back though at this point.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t just pretend the kiss was all you. But I meant the part about you not being such a nice person”, you correct yourself.

“Now, what’s not nice about me?” He asked that in an accusatory tone, but he actually looked genuinely interested.

“Do you not remember what you did to me a few months back?”, you had hoped he would have some sort of memory about that.

“I barely remember what I do during any day, so no. I swear I’ll make it up to you though”, he replied honestly.

“You spread a rumor about my ex cheating on me, which wasn’t true by the way, never apologized, made me feel humiliated for days, and now you want to make out?” When you hear yourself speak those words, it really just made the situation seem even worse.

After not blinking and thinking for a few seconds Theo comes up with something and says “I didn’t realize it was that hurtful, but you gotta know do a lot of stupid stuff”

“I still don’t hear an apology”, you clap back, “and you doing stupid stuff often isn’t an excuse to be a bad person, maybe you should just quit doing stupid stuff.” What came out of Theos mouth was the lamest excuse you have ever heard, and he deserved to be knocked down a peg.

“So you’re seriously not gonna make out with me?”, he asks, sounding almost annoyed.

You didn’t think he could be any more of an asshole than he already was, but here you go. Theo wasn’t even worthy of a reply, so you just rolled your eyes.

At this point 7 minutes must’ve already passed you think because there was no way that 7 minutes were this long. You raise your arm to knock on the closet door, to signal to someone to unlock it, but before you could, Theo stops you in your tracks.

“Wait, wait, wait”, he said while holding onto your wrist, “I’m sorry, I know I come off as a jerk right now and most of the time too, but I do like you and want to make it up to you for having hurt you in the past.”

Even though he sounded halfway genuine, you didn’t fully believe he was sincerely sorry. He had also just completely changed within seconds. You just wanted to get out now, forget everything that happened, but there was no way of avoiding his gaze, that was scanning you right now for an answer.

“And how will you do that?”, you challenge him, to see if he really means it. It would be nice if he did make it up to you after all this time. Better late than never you think. You just didn’t want him to play a stupid trick on you instead.

Theo takes some time to think about his answer again. In the end he replied with “I’ll take you on a nice date.” He sounded way too cheeky saying that.

“That’s kind of selfish don’t you think, I don't believe a simple date will make it up to me”, you retorted at his proposal. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it, the amazing kiss was still on your mind. When you thought of it, it made your stomach all fuzzy again. You just wanted him to be genuinely apologetic.

When you looked at him again, he was smiling for some odd reason. He countered with “Well, how do you know that it won’t make it up to you, if you don’t even give it a try?”, he did have you there. Perhaps it was his cheeky, yet charming smile, or the kiss, but you saw his point. There was no way of knowing before actually giving him a shot at redeeming himself. Theo continued smiling and he knew that he had somehow convinced you.

To give him a date wouldn’t be the end of the world, so what’s the point of making it more complicated than it is.

He was still patiently waiting for an answer, so at last, you gave him the satisfaction and agreed to a date. It was a huge relief on both of your sides, and you could hopefully finally put the past to rest after the date.

After a bit of more talking and banter, someone finally unlocked the closet doors and apologized for having forgotten all about you. Theo chuckles and flashes a grin at you before saying “Don’t be sorry, I thank you.”

#harry potter #slytherin #oneshot #hp fandom #theodore nott #slytherin boys #forced proximity #7 minutes in heaven #hp fanfic #fanfic #theo nott #harry potter oneshot #slytherin reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you

[swiftlyinlove]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

summary: You and Spencer are best friends, but there's always been a little spark between you. When he cancels your plans for Christmas, you're determined to prove that you know him better than anyone else.

warnings: idiots in love, christmas fluff, a little angst if you squint??

word count: approximately 4.5k

a/n: Hi! It's been a long time since I wrote much of anything, but writing this for Christmas has been an absolute joy. I love Spencer so much, and this poor boy just suffers... I wanted to give him a happy ending for Christmas - or a happy beginning. I hope you like it.

The first thing you realized after the beep signaled the end of the phone call was how weird Spencer was acting lately.

To be fair, you two had an unconventional friendship. Due to the nature of his job, Spencer was often busy and therefore you couldn’t communicate as much as you'd like to, but you'd set up a base rule to make sure you never lost touch with one another: mandatory Friday night video call.

Every Friday, without fail, you would Facetime. Spencer wasn’t fond of technology, you were aware, but he’d gladly face his prejudice and lack of knowledge of anything digital if it meant talking to you. It didn't matter if he was home or if he was in another state for a case; come nine pm on a Friday, you two would be catching up about your lives.

That, of course, meant that you'd grasp at every opportunity you could to be with each other. He was in town for a case? You would meet up and have dinner if he had time; if he was doing something important and couldn’t finish it in time for dinner, he would drop by your place at the craziest hour in the morning and lie down next to you, gently shaking you awake to reveal he had gotten take out from your favorite restaurant.

Despite being awakened from your slumber, you would greet him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen - well, after letting out a little shriek of surprise, to which Spencer would respond with an “It’s me, little menace” and a chuckle that would make your heart flutter every time. 

The nickname had originated from your childhood. Spencer didn’t have many friends in middle school, and the fact that he was much smarter than kids his age didn’t help. His classmates either made fun of him or avoided him altogether, but you were… different. 

When you first moved into town, you were very nervous for your first day of school. Making friends was never easy for you, as your peers would deem you rather weird for always having your nose stuck in books. However, you quickly realized you had nothing to worry about - it took one look at little Spencer Reid, reading Crime and Punishment at the lunch table, for you to know you had found your place.

You sat next to him, ignoring the snickers from the so-called “popular kids”. He hesitantly lifted his gaze from the wrinkled pages - you reckoned he had probably read that book many times before -, expecting to see someone with a mean scowl ready to taunt him.

Instead, his wide eyes were met with your bright smile, your rosy cheeks, and your adorable ponytails, and he frowned in confusion. “Hello…?”

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You greeted him excitedly. There was something about him that made you feel confident, so you continued. “I’m new here and I noticed you were sitting alone. And that seems like a really cool book if you don’t mind me saying, and I just thought you-”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. You could feel your cheeks warming up, and you were sure you looked as flustered as you were feeling. Before you could even dwell on how embarrassed you felt, Spencer’s lips broke into a smile. 

And that was it. From that moment on, you had been inseparable. Well, perhaps not physically; after all, he was academically way ahead of you and everyone else, and he even managed to graduate from high school at only twelve years old. 

That didn’t stop you from hanging out every moment you could, nor from exchanging letters every single day when he went to college. To this day, you still had those letters, safely tucked into a charming wooden box you kept on your bookshelf, but you’d never tell him that (although you were sure he knew, as the great profiler he was).

So, despite being separated due to your busy jobs - his more than yours - and living in different states, it wasn’t a surprise when you started arranging to spend the holidays together.

Since his mother was still institutionalized, Spencer didn't really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with and therefore didn't care much for the traditions. You, on the other hand, loved the holidays, but since your parents had passed away when you were in college, you were also alone during the season.

Thus, you cut a deal. Every year, he would use his extra vacation days to take a week off around Christmas and you would take turns visiting each other. Usually, you were both very excited about this occasion – it was one of the rare opportunities you had to be together in person, and you missed each other terribly.

This year, though... You had just called Spencer to confirm the date so you could book your flight to Quantico, and he had simply managed to say he couldn’t take time off before hanging up on you.

You were confused by this but chalked it up to it being one of those days for him. Working at the BAU, Spencer had to deal with a lot of gruesome cases often and, after a really bad one, he didn't find any energy to do much of anything.

While he'd never avoided you per se, when those days coincided with your phone calls, you would try to comfort him the best you could, and sometimes even managed to cheer him up a little. 

This time, you didn't even have the chance to, and that threw you off. Still, if Spencer was in a bad mood, maybe he just didn't feel like talking. Not even to you.

Deciding to not push it any further, it's only a few days later that you brought up your trip to Quantico, this time via text. You spent the entire day nearly jumping at your phone each time it vibrated, expecting a notification with his name on it.

It was only later that night that you'd get your answer in the form of an ‘I can't this year’. You read the text over and over again, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking, but you had hoped that, once he was in a better mood, he would be just as eager as you for your shared holiday season. 

It occurred to you that perhaps something happened, perhaps he couldn't file for a vacation because he had a big case that he couldn't step away from.

But if that were the case, he would've told you so. He would've explained, apologized even, and tried to schedule another date for your trip to make it up to you. So, you concluded, he just didn't want to see you.

That thought haunted you for the entire week.

Finally having enough of feeling blue and not getting any work done, you decided to go straight to the source in search of answers. Well, source adjacent - Spencer was still replying rather coldly to your texts, so you couldn’t ask him directly. Penelope Garcia was the next best thing.

You had met the members of the BAU after a particularly successful case in your city. Their flight would only leave in the morning and Spencer thought he could take the opportunity to take you to the cinema for a late-night movie, just like the good old days of your adolescence.

However, Penelope and Rossi had other plans. To properly celebrate their hard work that led to saving multiple women who had been kidnapped a few weeks prior, they decided to take the team out for dinner in a nice restaurant.

“And it’s mandatory. It’s not like we have anything else to do tonight, so no excuses.” She had warned in a playfully threatening tone. 

Spencer shifted in his spot while putting away his things in his satchel. After all the years he worked at the BAU, he still hadn’t told his coworkers - his found family, really - about you. It was the one thing he kept close to his chest, the one secret he wanted to keep forever.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brushed his hair behind his ears, not daring to turn and face the team while he spoke. “I sort of already have plans.”

His voice was so quiet that the team wasn’t sure they had heard him correctly. After a moment of silence, Derek’s lips curled into his (in)famous smirk and he gently nudged Spencer’s side, making the lanky boy turn around to face his friends.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed and he kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to face the curious expressions on their faces. But when Derek nudged him again, asking him “Who’s the girl?” with such a teasing tone, he couldn’t help but look up.

“She’s just a friend.” He blurted out, eyes immediately widening upon the realization of what he admitted.

While the rest of the team just shrugged it off and dived into their conversations, Derek patted him on the back - the force of which sent Spencer stumbling a few feet forward -, and Penelope lit up like he had just told her that he won the lottery.

“You have to bring her!” Penelope begged, grabbing his arm as they walked towards the door of the local precinct they had been working on for the case. “I want to meet this mystery woman.”

Penelope didn’t say it to him then, but she was sure you weren’t ‘just a friend’. She might’ve not been a profiler, but the look in his eyes when he spoke about you and his hesitation to cancel your plans for the sake of the team made her think that perhaps you were much more special to him than he realized.

Her suspicions were, of course, confirmed when he showed up at the restaurant a few hours later with you in his arms, wearing an elegant black dress and a radiant smile on your face as you whispered something to him, immediately breaking into a fit of giggles.

Spencer tried to feign indignation at your comment, but he couldn’t help but smile as he led you to his friends, who were all watching the interaction with surprise and disbelief. Your laughter calmed when you reached the table, but the smile never fell from your face as Spencer introduced you, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That’s when Penelope knew.

You clicked rather well with his friends. They were, naturally, very curious about you, and you did your best to answer all their questions. Meanwhile, Spencer, who was sitting next to you, placed a hand on your lower back, making sure you didn’t feel overwhelmed under the attentive eyes of his friends.

Penelope and you were a match made in heaven, Spencer reckoned. You quipped back and forth the entire night, even swapping numbers by the end of it, and Spencer even joked that you had found a new favorite FBI agent as you made your way to his car.

Chuckling at his statement, you stopped in your tracks, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite. But she’s a close second.”

Spencer was sure his heart had stopped right then and there and that he had gone to heaven.

Since that night, you frequently called Penelope to talk about numerous things - from the latest TV shows you were both hooked on to recipes for dessert -, but you rarely talked about Spencer. Until today.

“Penny, I need your help.” You blurted out as soon as the blonde answered your call. 

“Woah, woah, calm down my friend,” Penelope answered, amused and slightly worried about the urgency in your tone. “What’s on your pretty little mind?”

All it took for Penelope to know something was wrong was two words. “It’s Spencer.”

“What about boy wonder?” The technical analyst questioned, trying to make sense of what you were saying.

“He’s been acting so cold lately.” You explained, sighing in exhaustion as you plopped down on your couch. “Well, you know how we always arrange to spend the holidays together?”

Penelope hummed in agreement - every year when Spencer would put in a request to take time off during the holidays, she would make sure it was at the top of Strauss’ paperwork, knowing he was doing it for you.

At her approval, you continued. “This year I was supposed to come to Quantico, but every time I try to bring it up, he shuts me down and just says that he can’t. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this and it's been driving me nuts all week.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at your image on the phone. 

“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person? Because he seemed pretty excited last week. He wouldn’t shut up about how he found the perfect gift for you and how he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.”

This confused you even more, and you frowned as you processed her words. “Yeah, well, this week he can barely text me back. I don’t want anything crazy, Penny, I just want to be with him for Christmas.”

“I don’t know what happened. As far as I can tell, he did put in the request for a vacation.” Penelope replied. Then, her face lit up in realization and she cursed under her breath. “Morgan.”

“Morgan? What does Derek have to do with this?” You asked, more disoriented than ever.

“Wait here,” Penelope said, quickly getting up from her chair and leaving you to stare at her empty office. She returns a few minutes later, looking pretty annoyed, to see you making a cup of coffee in your kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweet cheeks.” The blonde said apologetically, making your gaze return to your phone, forgotten on the counter as you waited for her.

You quickly picked it up, registering her distressed expression. “What happened?”

“I found out why Reid’s acting like an ass to you.” She replied, her voice softening as she saw the glimmer of worry in your eyes. “It seems like Morgan has done quite a number on him.”

“What do you mean Morgan has done a number on him? What did he do?” You questioned, growing irritated by Penelope’s ability to beat around the bush. You loved her, you really did, but you just wanted to know what happened.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but since you’re so upset…” Penelope trailed off, pursing her lips. “Morgan better pay me back.”

“Penelope, just spit it out.” You interrupted, your impatience reflected in your tone.

“Fine. I told you Reid wouldn’t shut up about you, and Morgan may or may not have teased him about his feelings for you and it may or may not have caused Spencer to clam up in his shell.” Penelope rushed through her words and you blinked, unsure you had heard her correctly.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as you asked her, “Spencer… Has feelings for me?”

Penelope looked reluctant to answer your questions, clearly not wanting to violate Spencer’s privacy. Ever since she met you, she knew you and the resident FBI genius were destined for each other, but she wanted you to discover on your terms.

“Penny, please.” You sounded out of breath, and it cleared any sign of hesitation on Penelope’s mind. 

“Baby girl, I can’t be the one to tell you that. You have to ask him.” She responded, her voice full of empathy. “But between me and you, I’m pretty sure you know what the answer is.”

Spencer was certain that he was in the 9th circle of hell. 

Ever since Morgan’s comment, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always knew what you two had was special.  You knew how to make him laugh; Spencer didn’t consider himself to be difficult to entertain, but he could be quite oblivious to his coworkers' jokes sometimes, especially if they were about him. But you? Oh, you managed to make him laugh hysterically with a simple comment, and it endeared him. 

You had been with him through the good and the bad, after all. You were there at his graduation, celebrating his first Ph.D. - and the two that came after that, too - and you were right there by his side when he watched his mother be dragged away to a mental institution, holding his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

That was what he loved most about you. He could always count on you to be there for him. He recalled the first moment he realized you were much more than a friend to him.

It had been after the Tobias Hankel case. Spencer slipped in and out of consciousness as the doctors dragged him through the hospital, murmuring to themselves about testing the drugs in his system and checking his vitals.

His life wasn’t in danger anymore, but he was oh so tired. He had spent days upon days of captivity without a wink of sleep, locked in an empty cabin where he was tortured by two of Tobias’ personalities, and all he could think about between getting tormented and getting drugged was you.

He was sure he was going to die then, and his main concern was that he wouldn’t be able to see your pretty smile again. He would tell you this when you appeared at his bedside a few hours later, claiming that you received a call from the hospital - unsurprisingly, you were each other’s emergency contacts - and had threatened a stewardess to get a ticket to the next plane to Virginia, and you would call him ridiculous for it.

It was only when you were sitting next to him on his hospital bed, his head leaning against your chest as you combed your hands through his hair, that he allowed himself to cry, to reveal how truly scared he had been under Tobias’ hands.

You whispered sweet nothings in his ear as you softly lifted his head, making sure he was looking at you when you softly kissed his tears away. His arms had tightened around you, a silent sign of his gratitude, and he knew then, he knew, you were everything to him.

How could he have not fallen for you after all that? 

But he could never tell you. He had been rejected many times in his life, but if he was to get rejected by you? He was sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

So he tried to bury his feelings deep inside him, keeping you a secret from the people who knew him best and, when the time came, introduced you to them. As a friend. Because that’s all that you were. Friends.

When Morgan teased him about his feelings for you, Spencer entered panic mode. If Morgan could see Spencer was madly in love with you, then you could see it too - you could always read him like a book, after all.

And if you hadn’t brought it up… You didn’t want to. He knew you’d never want to hurt him, so the only logical conclusion he could reach was: you don’t feel the same.

He tried his best to avoid you. Cutting you off whenever you brought up your plans for the holidays, replying to your texts with short answers, and even refraining from watching Doctor Who in his free time, because it only reminded him of how you two used to lie on your couch during summer break and watch it together. 

What he didn’t count on was opening his door in mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve and seeing you standing in front of him, coat covered in the snow that was falling outside the comfort of his building and a small smile on your face.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.” You said bashfully, not sure how he would react to your presence. 

“Merry Christmas.” He replied, his breath knocked out of his lungs at how beautiful you looked standing there. He might have fallen in love with you all over again. 

After a beat of silence, he wet his lips, looking at you with the same wide-eyed gaze he greeted you with when you were kids. “What... What are you doing here?”

Your lips curled into a sheepish smile. “What, you thought I was gonna miss Christmas?”

Seeing you in front of him, hearing your voice without the faint static of the phone for the first time in a while… it was surreal to him. He couldn’t help but cave in and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer into a tight hug.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders just as tightly, your body finally relaxing against his. You could feel his nose nuzzled into your neck, and you smiled against his shoulder.

“I missed you.” You whispered, letting your words linger between the two of you.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back, and you knew he was sincere. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I know.” You breathed in his scent, pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder before pulling away. He reluctantly let you go, a remorseful smile on his lips.

Spencer guided you into his apartment, and you took note of how he put up your usual Christmas decorations. “You managed to set up the tree by yourself?” You teased him.

He chuckled, watching as you settled on his couch and patted the space next to you. He promptly followed your lead, sitting down beside you. “Yeah, it was a real challenge.”

Before you could even reply, Spencer reached out to grab your hand, his thumb softly caressing your knuckles to calm his racing mind.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I’ve been stuck in my head lately, and it’s not fair that I treated you like that. We’ve had this tradition forever and I feel like I disrespected it and-” Spencer rambled, and you pressed your lips against his to shut him up.

Your sudden action stunned him, and he couldn’t help but succumb to your spell. Placing his hands on both sides of your face and closing his eyes, he kissed you back as gently and tenderly as he could, feeling you melt against him.

Once you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a lovestruck, surprised gaze. He seemed to be speechless, which made you giggle.

“I hope that was on your wishlist this Christmas.” You joked, leaning your forehead against his. 

Your gaze softened as you took in his expression. “Penny told me everything. In all seriousness, I understand why you did it.  I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me.”

He gulped, feeling vulnerable under your loving stare. He always got the impression that you could see right through him.

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been in love with you almost my entire life, and when I finally realized it, I was afraid that if I acted on them, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.” He murmured, his tone growing sadder.

“And when Morgan joked about my feelings for you, I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought and perhaps you already knew and didn’t talk about it so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He continued, closing his eyes again as if the mere thought was too painful to bear. 

He took a deep breath, his thumbs starting to slowly brush against your cheekbones. “I didn’t want to face you and find out if it was true, because… Because my heart couldn’t take it.”

You listened quietly to his words, his touch on your skin grounding you and sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It broke your heart to hear him speak like that, as if the mere thought of you feeling the same never crossed his mind, as if it was absurd. 

You knew he had low self-esteem, a permanent scar from all the times he was bullied throughout his life, but his self-deprecating view never ceased to shock you.

“Spencer…” You whispered his name like it was sacred, like he was something to be worshipped, and it made his heart skip a beat. “I know all your favorite songs, how you take your coffee, and your favorite books. In order. I know you. I’d be crazy not to love you.”

You could feel him exhale in relief at your quiet confession, his racing mind finding solace in your words. “Really?”

“Of course.” You replied with a chuckle, leaning forward to press a feather-light peck against his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since we were, like, sixteen. All I ever wanted was to be the one to give you everything you want.”

He smiled as you pulled away once again, thinking about how much time you two had lost while dancing around your feelings. Although, he supposed, it wasn’t lost time - you had spent those years giving each other love, even if it wasn’t necessarily romantic.

“We’re both idiots.” He replied, making you laugh once more. You stood up, grabbing both of his hands and guiding him to the kitchen. He followed you with a bright smile on his face; he would follow you anywhere, he suspected.

“I was thinking I could make those cookies you like and, afterward, we could perhaps… snuggle by the fireplace?” You suggested, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

He pretended to think for a moment, before he finally gave in, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. “Anything you want, little menace.”

Spencer hummed, burying his face further into his neck. “I was thinking of reading a few books. Santa was going to keep me company.”

Later that night, when you were both snuggled up against each other in front of his fireplace while eating the gingerbread cookies you both made, you asked him curiously, “What were you planning to do for Christmas, if I hadn’t shown up?”

You laughed quietly at his admission. “Well, Santa doesn’t know you like I do.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Your genius agreed, peppering little kisses onto your skin. “You’re the best Christmas present ever, do you know that?”

“Yeah? Wait until you see what I actually bought for you.” You replied, a playful smile on your face. “Besides, a little birdie told me you got me the perfect Christmas gift.”

“I’m gonna kill Penelope.” He muttered under his breath, sending you into a fit of laughter. 

Well, maybe this Christmas time

You'll finally realize

That I could be the one

To give you everything you want

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #penelope garcia #derek morgan #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid cm #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #fluff #best friends to lovers #criminal minds oneshot #Spotify

[freedomfireflies]

Show Me*

Summary: The second part to Teach Me*

Class is in session, and this time, Harry needs a little help exploring his favorite kinks. Like...how to get somebody off underneath a table.

And you're more than happy to lend a helping...hand.

Word Count: 6k

“So…how did she like it?”

Harry laughs as he slips out of his car. “Wow, I think that’s a new record. Waited a whole thirty seconds to ask me.”

“Bite me,” you retort as he makes his way toward where you’re waiting on the sidewalk. “Well?”

He shrugs, hands shoving into his pockets. “Dunno. We never got to it.”

“So, just straight to the fucking, then, huh?” you question. “No foreplay at all? I mean, hey…if that’s what she’s into…great. But, personally, I think the foreplay is the best—”

“All right,” he interjects with a wicked yet amused grin. “That’s not what I meant. She got called into work before we could.”

“Oh.” You offer him a pitiful frown. “Sorry, bud.”

“Bite me,” he mimics as he brushes past you. “S’fine. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That’s the spirit,” you encourage as you fall in-line beside him. “Gives you more time to find your nerve.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, glancing down at the concrete. “Or more time to practice…other things.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah,” he says again, one brow raising as he looks back over. “You know, like…how to eat ass.”

Finally catching onto his joke, you groan and reach out to shove him away from you, watching as he stumbles with a laugh. “Fucking hilarious.”

“Listen, I was actually looking forward to it,” he continues, hand over his heart as if disappointed. “I bet you really know how to eat some ass.”

“Ha…ha.”

“What? You do, don’t you? Cause of…Eric?”

The familiar but dreaded name sends a shiver down your spine as you recoil away and scrunch your nose in horror. “Ew.”

He looks proud. “Well? Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” you huff before sighing. “…no. But he wasn’t that great of a teacher, anyhow.”

“No fucking kidding,” Harry snorts with a smile. “You’re much better.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he beams, reaching out for the door of the restaurant to swing it open. “After you.”

“As it should be,” you tease, winking to hint at the double entendre, and his eyes roll.

You find your large group of friends already gathered around a table near the back of the room, and quickly make your way over.

For the next few minutes, you all exchange pleasantries, catch-up, and tease Harry about his failed attempt at mating.

He’s a good sport about it, flipping everyone off with a smile before changing the subject. 

Because, despite the jokes, all of you know that Harry could have anybody he wanted. Maybe his experience in the bedroom is lacking but that’s only because it was a personal choice that he made. And everybody knows it. As far as charm and seduction go? Harry Styles is a king.

Perhaps even a God.

…no, that’s giving him too much credit.

You shake your head, clearing the thought away as you listen to your friends gossip about the newest celebrity drama and reality TV scandals.

And you try to care. Really, you do.

But your mind keeps…drifting.

To Eric.

God, you could just kill Harry for re-planting that seed in your subconscious and reminding you of the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

Because there was a time when Eric was everything to you. When you were closer to him than you were to Harry. When you trusted him—completely—with your mind, soul, and body.

And of course, he just had to shit all over the self-growth and progress you’d made.

You feel your phone vibrate from its place on your thigh, and you glance down to see Harry’s name flashing across the screen.

Sneaking a curious sideways peek his way, you swipe up to read his text. 

So…Pete Davidson is Kim Kardashian’s stepfather now? Am I hearing that right?

Confused, your brows pull together as you look over at him.

His explanation is to nod at your friends across the table with a smirk, and you laugh.

I don’t know, you type. I wasn’t listening.

Oh? Why not? This is fascinating stuff.

Idk. Just wasn’t.

Harry’s expression seems to fall as he studies you before his fingers are flying across the screen. You were thinking about Eric, weren’t you?

…nooooooo.

His eyes narrow.

So what if I was?

Bee…you can do better than that. Even in your head.

See, you say that, and yet…here I am.

Because you’re not doing better. You can…you just aren’t.

Yeah? And how exactly would I do better?

You catch the way his lips pull back into a Cheshire-like grin as he begins to type.

Well, you kind of already did do better. With me. The other day.

Swallowing a scoff, you type, That was only because I felt bad for you.

Think you felt a lot of things that day, Bee. But bad wasn’t one of them.

You toss him a playful glare. Are you ever gonna let that go?

Not likely. After all, you did promise me another lesson.

You don’t need another lesson, you just need to stop being so goddamn annoying.

Come on, you can’t deprive me now. Not when I know I have so much to learn.

Google it.

Ouch.

You’ll live.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

This time, you do groan, and reach over to swat his arm. “Stop,” you hiss. “You really are fucking annoying.”

“Learned from the best,” he retorts, leaning closer to you in an attempt to conceal the conversation. “Learned a lot of things from you, actually.”

“Harry,” you huff again, but you’re smirking. “My god, you don’t really wanna learn how to eat ass do you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what I wanna learn. That’s why I need a teacher. To teach me what I want.”

You know he’s fucking with you. You can see it all over his face and yet, for some reason…your interest is piqued. “Thought that was a one-time deal.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But…the door to knowledge is never closed.”

He follows this up with a devious chuckle to let you know he’s teasing, and you nudge him again. “See? Annoying.”

For a moment, you both put the topic to bed and return to the conversation happening across the table.

But again, your mind wanders.

Wanders all the way back to your bedroom and the image of Harry’s curls wound around your knuckles.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about that afternoon quite a few times since it happened. After all, you’re only human. And Harry had done a rather excellent job. Sure, you’ve had a tad better. But for his first time…it wasn’t half bad.

And you’d waited to feel weird about it after the fact…but you never did. Which was strange. The two of you returned to your normal routine as if it had never happened.

And you were certainly glad for that. So why is it that now, as the opportunity for a relapse is placed so obviously in your lap, are you not repulsed by it?

Why is it that you haven’t immediately shut the idea down? Laughed it off? Why is it that you’re…considering it?

Again?

You almost want to shudder at the very thought, but as you look over to the chair beside you and take in Harry’s relaxed smile as he listens to your friends talk…something seems to shift.

You will admit, since your little…experiment…you’ve begun to equate those kinds of memories and feelings with Harry instead of Eric.

And that’s another thing you wouldn’t dare complain about. You like the idea of being able to associate pleasure with someone that makes you feel safe. Secure instead of unhinged.

And perhaps this is a huge mistake…but suddenly, you can’t seem to see the harm?

He gets to learn how to make a woman feel good and you get to erase Eric from your past permanently.

What could possibly be so wrong with that?

Subtly, you clear your throat as you turn your head to him, calling his attention away as he raises a brow. 

“Okay, so…if I were to agree to another lesson…” you begin hesitantly as his eyes grow wide. “I’d need a little…information.”

He angles his body toward you as well, murmuring, “Yeah? Like what?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t know…what kinds of kinks do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats smugly, nodding his chin at you. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me find out?”

You quickly glance across the table to make sure nobody is listening as you lean in and whisper, “Well…I don’t even know where to start with you. You’re a virgin, it’s hard.”

“I’m not a virgin,” he corrects with a scoff. “I just…haven’t done it a lot since the first time.”

“Mhm,” you snort. “Doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t know what you like, there’s no way I’ll know.”

He studies you for a second, seeming to think. “Well…why don’t you tell me what you like? Maybe I’ll get some ideas.”

You hesitate. What do you like? “Uh…okay. I mean, I like pretty much everything, I guess.”

“Yeah? Like what? Name something.”

Well…shit. “Um…I don’t know. Have you ever heard of…exhibitionism?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought, brows lifting up with intrigue. “I’m 27, I’m not dead.”

“Hilarious.”

“Why? S’that something you’re into?”

You swallow but force a relaxed and nonchalant demeanor. “Kind of, yeah. Fun to play with what’s mine when anybody could see.”

He almost seems impressed, leaning back as he looks at you. Really looks at you. “You don’t fucking say.”

“Okay, don’t make it a whole thing,” you whisper urgently, already swatting at him in warning. “It was just an idea. We can always think of something—”

“Show me.”

You pause. “Show you…what?”

He nods his chin at you. “Show me how you’d play with what’s yours when anybody could see.”

Your expression falls. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He nods. “I’m a vessel. Show me. Teach me.”

And maybe it’s the glass of wine offering you an extra ounce of courage, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already done this once before, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Harry…

But whatever it is, you reach out, and smooth your palm along his upper thigh, just to watch his breath catch. “Are you sure?” you ask softly, careful to keep beneath the suspicion of the group across the table. “Because I need to know if you can…handle it.”

You feel him tense, his fingers flexing across the tablecloth as he regards you. “I’ll handle anything you want me to.”

Your hand drifts a little higher. “And you’ll sit here? And be a good student?”

He shoots you a coy smile. “The best.”

A little higher. “And you know your safe word?”

“‘Stop,’” he answers, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll need it, though.”

“You might.”

“Won’t.”

“Maybe.”

“No fucking way.”

You slow to a stop, centimeters away from the rather obvious dip in his pants. “Don’t say that. Just use it. If you need to.”

His expression softens. “I know, Bee. I will. Promise.”

“Good.” So, with that and a deep breath, you take the plunge, ghosting your touch over his covered cock. 

And it’s different this time because it’s you touching him. It’s his body in your hands and this far exceeds your usual high-five.

You aren’t sure what you expected. You kind of already know he’s big from the few times you guys have gone swimming together. And he’s accidently brushed up against you before when scooting past you and worn sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to help him hide an erection (another reason why you’re never watching a Margot Robbie movie with him again). 

But feeling it now…knowing exactly what this man is in possession of…feels forbidden.

You keep your expression stoic, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your awe as you watch the way his lashes flutter.

“Easy,” you warn in a delicate whisper. “Rule number one…make a sound and I stop.”

His teeth grit as he leans back against his seat. “Fine.”

“Good.” You bring your fingers together until you can cup your palm around him, adding just the slightest amount of pressure before glancing back at your friends.

They’re laughing about something, you don’t really know what, but you smile and nod along as if absolutely enthralled.

And as the seconds pass, you feel Harry grow harder in your hand. Needier. He shifts at least three times a minute, clearly struggling to keep from bucking up into your touch.

You’re being as easy on him as you can. A few squeezes, a bit of palming, and some light brushing just to tease him.

He’s gripping onto the edge of the table so tight, you’re surprised it’s not shaking. But he’s restraining himself, as best he can, and you feel oddly…proud.

You maneuver a little closer, head dipping until your lips are close to his ear. To anyone else, it might look like you're merely trying to be heard over the loud music.

But Harry knows better.

"This...is where the fun is," you tell him. "Knowing it would be so easy to have you coming in your pants. Right here, right now. In front of everybody."

You add a bit more pressure and watch the way the veins in his arms begin to strain against his skin. The way the muscles in his jaw constrict and the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmur as his fingers begin to scratch down the table, desperate to grab onto something. “Feel what it does to you…to be played with. Just like this…exactly like you wanted.”

He sucks in a quiet gasp for air as his head threatens to drop back, little curls falling across his forehead.

He’s not stopping you. And you know he won’t. He’ll happily let himself go right into his trousers, in front of the whole goddamn resturant. Right here, right now.

But that wasn’t apart of the lesson.

So, just when you can feel his resolve begin to crumble…you stop.

He exhales a long, deep breath, slumping into the chair as if completely drained of all energy, and you almost want to laugh.

“So…what did you learn?” you ask softly as you lean back in.

“That Eric’s a fucking ass,” he replies instantly, shooting you a lazy grin. “And that we’re definitely not kids in a tree house anymore.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “Anything else?”

He mulls this over, eyeing you closely. “That I think I’m more of a…hands-on learner.”

Your brow raises. “What does that mean?”

His answer comes in the form of his touch, hand outstretching for your leg, long fingers brushing across the hem of your dress. “It means…I need to see for myself.”

He pauses down by your knee in order to allow you the time to understand and either accept him or reject him. 

But you simply blink, focus falling from his face down to your lap. “Ah…I suppose that makes sense.”

His lips roll into his mouth. “Mhm…what do you say, Teach?”

Your nose scrunches at the nickname but you smile. “I say practice makes perfect.”

And he wastes no more time in slipping beneath the fabric to travel up your thigh and toward your hips.

Now, you’re the one forced into restraint, a gasp immediately hitching in your throat as he brushes his thumb down the front of your underwear.

It instantly brings you back to the last time, and his touch, while familiar and oddly reassuring, makes your head spin.

You slowly look over at him, taking note of the way he’s so goddamn proud of your reaction, and the way he returns his attention to your friends.

Exactly like you had.

Because this is the lesson after all. The concept of teasing and torture and watching somebody come undone so easily.

The idea of getting caught. 

You could tell from the moment you reached for him that this was something he was into. But even when he was trying not to thrust up into your hand, it was obvious that his interest lied with you and your pleasure.

With the idea of putting you under this sort of duress.

He really is a sadist.

Good to know.

"How's this for practice?" you hear him murmur as you become vaguely aware of the way he's scooted his chair closer to you.

You open your mouth, lips parted and ready to respond, but you can feel the beginning of a whimper threatening its escape.

So you swallow—thickly—and nod your head once.

"Good, then?" he asks, and you have to fight the urge to cross your legs over his hand. "Bee...I need you to speak."

But you can't fucking speak. The pressure of his touch has increased, and it feels so...so fucking good. "It's....yeah. Fine. It's fi—"

Suddenly, you gasp, and thankfully, it's lost beneath the jazz music still loudly playing through the restaurant.

But it's not lost on Harry, and you watch his smug smile expand as his teasing begins to slow. "Uh-uh," he tuts softly. "You know the rules. Make a sound...and I stop."

You exhale the singular word, "Har," and he hums.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What?"

You have to physically fight the urge to whimper with desperation. Truth be told, he’s hardly even doing anything, but his hands…

You’d fucked up by sneaking a glance down at the tattooed skin disappearing beneath your dress. Because it’s sinful to feel the cold, metal of his rings brush against your warm thighs. Sinful to know he’s pressing his thumb into you just to feel the way you’ve begun to soak the material he’s so effortlessly playing with. 

He…is sinful.

And then suddenly…his touch disappears. Retreats from between your legs as your mouth just about drops open.

And you could cry at the loss of contact because it felt so safe and so exciting. Teasing or not, it was so fucking good, and you hate him for making you go without.

But then…you learn why.

His fingers move to wrap around the edge of your seat, getting a good grip on it…before he yanks.

Your chair is forced closer to his, squeaking against the floor as he begins to smirk victoriously.

“There,” he declares quietly before his hand is returning to your lap. “Much better, don’t you think?”

And it is better because now he’s so much closer, and has so much more room, and you’re so fucking close to just throwing in the towel and hurling yourself at him. Friends be damned.

“Speak, Bee,” he repriminds after a minute of your silence, and instantly, you begin to squirm.

“Har,” you whisper, both begging him for his mercy and for his cruelty.

“What?” he replies evenly. “What do you need, hm?”

You, you think. “Can’t…s’just…”

“Come on,” he tsks. “Think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

But you can’t.

“Please,” you try again, a faint request. 

“Please…what?”

“Har…”

“Uh-uh. Tell me. What?”

Again, you swallow, willing yourself to stay silent. "Har—”

“No.”

“Harry—"

"...Harry?"

This time, it's Charlie calling his name, and immediately, you go deathly still as you turn back toward your friends.

However, Harry is calm as he raises a brow. "Yeah?"

For a moment, the three across from you simply stare, rather curiously before Charlie says, "Oh, I was just asking how Tina is?"

You could almost moan with relief.

“She’s good, yeah,” Harry answers cooly, pointer finger hooking around the edge of the material on your thighs to pull it aside. “Yeah, real good. Been working a lot, so I haven’t seen her much.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Jackie offers with a pout. “Is she nice? Will we like her?”

Harry laughs, head shaking with amusement as if he’s not dragging his thumb down your clit while you swallow a rather desperate whine. “She’s nice. I don’t know if we’ll ever make it that far, though.”

Caleb’s head tilts. “What do you mean?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve hung out, like…twice. S’not really that serious yet.”

And you almost snort, because to you…he seemed pretty serious about her.

But you suppose eating pussy doesn’t exactly require an engagement ring, and maybe he just wants a fuck buddy.

“Well…she still needs to pass the approval test,” Jackie argues with a wink. “And the fact that she strung you along for two months is not doing her any favors.”

“She was just making him work for it,” Charlie teases. “And he needs to be humbled, so I say good for her.”

“Please. Look at him,” she snorts. “He’s too pretty to be this dumb. Okay, he can do better than Tammy—”

“Tina,” Harry corrects before slowly easing the tip of his finger in, and your entire body goes rigid.

“—yeah, whatever. The point is…you can do better,” Jackie finishes proudly, shooting a pointed look toward Charlie.

Harry begins to smirk, slowly stealing a glance at you. “Yeah. Maybe we can all do better.”

Now curious, Caleb nods at you, and you do your best to control your reactions as he says, “Yeah, speaking of which…have you heard from…him?”

You shake your head quickly, mentally damning Harry to hell as he pushes in a bit further just to make it harder for you to reply. “Uh…no. Nope. Not since that night.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jackie tells you. “No, really. I will. I’ll hit him with my car and drag his dead body out to the woods, and watch the bears eat him.”

You breathe out a laugh, but it’s outrageously forced, and Harry can tell. “It’s…it’s fine. He’s…you know, we all move on. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Harry says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Yeah, you seem fine.”

“Oh, I am,” you murmur through a tight-lipped smile. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Good,” he hums before you can feel him curl upward. “Hope it stays that way.”

Your hands drop to the chair beneath you, and you grip onto the sides for dear life in an attempt to keep from reeling. “Thanks for your…concern.”

“Anytime,” he beams as you feel him slip out. “Just want you to…do and feel the best that you can.”

The wet pad of his finger then returns to your clit as he presses into it just to push it in a teasing circle.

Your eyes just about roll back as you quickly turn your face toward your shoulder and fake a cough. “Fuck…sorry,” you apologize hoarsely as your friends look on.

“Are you all right?” Jackie asks softly. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have brought him up. We can change the subject.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” you sigh, hoping to sound casual, despite the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of a wail. “Really, he’s just…a guy. Just some…stupid…sadistic…evil fucking…guy.”

And while the group across the table snorts their agreement, you see that Harry knows that jab was aimed directly at him.

He winks.

“I, uh…I need to go to the bathroom,” you suddenly declare, grabbing onto his wrist to forcefully shove it away before standing to your feet. “Be right back.”

“Feeling all right?” Harry asks innocently as he watches you push your chair in. 

“Just delightful,” you reply before brushing your hands down the front of your dress. “Seriously, keep eating. I won’t be long.”

You leave the table before Harry can make another quippy remark, quickly making your way for the extravagant restroom in the back of the restaurant.

Honestly, you thought you had a little more self-control. You thought it wouldn’t be so easy to get you so on edge, and yet here Harry is, making you clench so hard in your chair, you nearly burst a blood vessel.

You lock the door behind you and make a beeline for the sink. You flip on the cool water and gently trail it down your arms and chest to cool yourself down as you will the ache between your legs to subside.

It’ll be easy to take care of once you get home, but you’re rather impressed with Harry’s commitment to…education.

And something about looking your friends in the eye as he played with your cunt like a toy was oddly invigorating.

Far more invigorating than it ever had been with…Eric.

You’ve no sooner smirked at this thought when your phone begins to buzz from its place on the counter.

Glancing down, you aren’t surprised to see a text from Harry, but it does make you laugh.

How’s it going?

Good. Just getting myself off before I come back, you answer.

Yeah? Texting me while you touch yourself? Hot.

Well, it’s not the first time.

A good minute passes before he responds, and you can easily imagine the way his eyes went wide. 

Seriously?

Seriously. Why, is that weird?

Are you fucking kidding? No, it’s…I mean, it’s hot. Very, very hot.

Your brow raises. Yeah?

Kind of rude you never told me, though. Clearly I would have been of great help.

In my defense, I was a little…busy. It’s already hard enough to type with one hand.

And even if you aren’t exactly touching yourself right now…you aren’t lying about having done it before. Not on purpose, of course. He just happened to text you right in the middle of your alone time and needed an answer ASAP.

So…you’d answered.

Yeah? Do you need an extra hand? he replies next, and you chuckle under your breath as you lean against the sink.

Why, do you know someone?

Funny.

Thank you, I thought so.

Is that a yes, then?

I think I’m managing just fine.

Yeah? So you’re pinching your clit nice and tight for me? 

You feel your breath hitch. This certainly isn’t helping. Obviously.

And you’re clenching around your fingers for me? How many you using? One? Two? Maybe three? Know you like to feel stretched.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you glance off into the bathroom. He’s trying to kill you. 

Can’t really clench around anything when I have to keep answering these texts. Go eat your food and leave me to it.

And what kind of student would I be if I did that?

An obedient one.

And does that sound like me?

“Nope,” you respond aloud, but type, You have been so far.

Think I’d be more obedient if I finished what I started.

I mean…maybe if you knew how.

You wait to watch the bubbles roll across your screen, but when they don’t come, your heart sinks.

And then…there’s a knock.

A rather fervent and determined knock that makes you jump as you look toward the door.

“Bee…let me in.” 

Shit. “I…uh, I’m a little busy.”

“I know,” comes the deep, sultry reply. “So, let me in.”

“Har—”

“Open the goddamn door, Bee, before I break it down.”

Clearing your throat, you put your phone aside and cautiously tiptoe toward the door.

After sliding the lock over, you pull it back just a hair, and peek through the crack. “Uh, hi. Sorry, this bathroom is a little occupied at the moment—”

His large hand comes out to press against the wood as he forces it open and steps inside. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him before scrambling to push it closed and relock it. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

He strides a bit further into the bathroom before turning around to look at you, almost as if suspicious. “Honestly? I kind of thought you came in here to hide from me.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” His arms cross over his chest. “I know you didn’t actually come in here to fuck yourself, so I thought…maybe you just felt uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know I didn’t come in here to do that?” you retort.

He smirks. “’Cause you always use both hands. And if you were texting me…you weren’t fucking yourself.”

“And how do you know I use both hands?”

He shrugs. “You told me once.”

Oh…right. “Well…maybe I was multi-tasking.”

“You weren’t,” he rejects immediately. “No, I think you either came in here to hide from me…or because you were upset about what they said. You know, about…him.”

An invisible fist snaps closed around your heart as you stare at the man across from you. The devious intentions and teasing from before are long gone as the man you’ve known for years, your best friend…stands before you.

The concern is evident on his face as you take a step closer. “Har…honestly, I’m fine. I wasn’t hiding from you, and I really don’t care about Eric. I came in here to keep myself from coming all over your fucking hand.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the temptation to smile, but his gaze remains skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nod, taking another step. “Come on, I think it’s a little late to start questioning me now, don’t you?”

He sucks on his teeth. “Well…I can never tell with you.”

“I feel like I made my enjoyment quite clear.”

“I thought so, too. Until you made me stop.”

Now, only inches away from him, you come to a halt. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly feel like explaining why I moaned to our friends, you know?”

His thumb rubs across the skin of his arm as he peers down at you. “Thought that was the whole point of exhibitionism.”

You shrug, eyes falling across his features. “Yeah…or maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…like a secret.”

Instantly, he grins, exhaling a laugh at the reminder of the pact you two made when you were younger. “We are good at secrets.”

“The best,” you agree giddily before the laughter dies out, and something seems to shift within his expression.

“Then I think it’s only fair we finish the lesson,” he says quietly, leaning a bit closer as you begin to still. “After all…I still need to show my work.”

Your lashes flutter, the smell of his cologne beginning to overwhelm you. God, why does he always smell so good? “Guess…guess that’s only fair,” you agree faintly, and he seems pleased.

His head dips, nose brushing yours as he works to catch you off guard. “Then tell me what to do, Bee. And I’ll do it.”

It comes out before you can stop it. “Kiss me.”

He’s surprised by this request, going momentarily quiet but you don’t miss the way his focus falls to your lips, as if pondering.

“Kiss me,” you repeat, fingers itching to latch onto the back of his neck. “And this time…do it right.”

He seems impressed as he fights an arrogant smirk. “Right, huh?”

“Yeah.” You straighten up, bringing your mouths a tad closer, but still without contact. “Know you can. Know you know how to be gentle, don’t you?”

And almost as if in retaliation, his hands find your hips, squeezing rather harshly as he begins to back you up toward the wall.

When you collide with it, he grins. “Dunno about that.”

“Try,” you whisper, hands dancing up his chest. “Trust me, you’ll get a lot more points that way. The right kiss can do everything, and I promise…she’ll love it.”

He considers this for a moment, studying you closely before you feel his palm delicately cup your cheek. 

He tilts your head back as he moves in, deliberately slow. “Everything, huh?”

You smile, nodding once. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Everything.”

He kisses you.

Soft, and careful, and sadistically tame. He kisses around your mouth, peppers kisses to your bottom lip, to your cheek, to the line of your jaw. 

He keeps his tongue from you, and you almost huff because after everything, you think you at least deserve a taste.

And finally, once you’re moments away from wilting in his hands, he takes that taste for himself.

Your head spins and your mind goes blank and everything makes sense.

Because kissing him is fun, and it makes you want to laugh, and kiss him forever, and never leave this one spot.

And you’re so enchanted by this revelation that you don’t notice his hand traveling between your bodies to return to its home between your thighs.

But he slips underneath your dress without a moment's delay, fingers returning to their work of pulling your panties aside to finish what he started. And when you gasp into the kiss…he swallows the sound with ease.

“Is that right, hm?” he teases as he slides in. “That good?”

Your lashes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours, and you don’t offer a response because he already knows.

His precision just about kills you. In, out, in, curl, twist, pinch, pull. You can feel the drip down your thighs, can hear the sounds he’s making, can taste his desperation in each kiss he gives you.

And when you suddenly whine and squirm in his hold, he smiles. “There it is, yeah? Right there…s’what you needed, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s exactly what you’d needed, and he strokes the spot with fervor and just a touch of wonder.

It’s cruel and it’s wonderful and it feels so fucking good, and nothing else makes sense to you except him.

Just him and the way you’re about to come undone by his hand for a second time.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, lazily kissing under his ear, and he seems to sigh with contentment as he braces you both against the wall to continue. 

“Come on, Bee…know it’s gotta hurt, doesn’t it?” he coos, but his voice is thick. “Know it hurts, so give it to me, yeah? Just give it to me. Let me make it better.”

And it overwhelms you, consumes you, controls you. His smell, his touch, his words. The past, the present, him. Just him. Only him. Right now. Everything.

The sound that rips from your throat feels foreign to you. It’s loud and desperate and eager, and he presses his lips to yours to be a part of it.

It goes for what feels like hours, but time doesn’t have a place here. It could have been ten seconds; it could have been ten minutes. You don’t know, you don’t care.

You just…let it.

And you don’t realize the way you’ve slumped into his embrace as he holds you up, keeps you steady.

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you, murmuring words of encouragement with just a hint of teasing. 

You don’t realize he’s refusing to let go.

But once you do, you realize something else, too:

You don’t want him to let go.

"Think we might have a problem," he whispers after a moment, lips following the curve of your shoulder as he offers a few parting kisses.

Your head falls back against the wall and you take a few deep breaths. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Well...you kind of fucked up," he begins as he moves to the other side of your neck, sucking on the vein just below your ear. "You gave me a taste, showed me what I've been missing."

You can feel yourself smile through the haze as his hands continue to grope at your waist.

"I mean, just knowing..." he continues, nosing under your jaw, "...you've been keeping so much knowledge from me...this whole time."

Your laugh is airy as you reach up to comb through his curls. "Is that right?"

He hums as he nods, the palm of his hand slowly smoothing up your stomach, pushing the hem of your dress along with it. "And now I don't know if I can go without. Feel so fucking insatiable...just thinking about what else you might be hiding from me."

With this, his fingers delicately ghost under the curve of your tit, forcing you to arch into his touch as he smirks.

"And what is it...you want to know?" you manage to reply, voice soft and nearly inaudible.

He pulls back and meets your eye.

"Everything."

Shit.

"Everything?" you murmur, subtly tugging him closer.

"Everything," he repeats. "Anything. All of it. You. Me. Us. Every fucking second, every fucking way."

You know what he's proposing. Know exactly what this means, but you don't know if a friendship would survive.

And you don't know which is more important.

"So...what do you expect me to do?" you ask breathlessly, still squirming beneath his hold.

He smiles. "I expect you...to show me."

"Show you," you repeat, as if in a trance.

"Show me," he whispers, moving back in to lick at your bottom lip. "Teach me. How to be better. How to be right. How take care of you. Wanna give you everything you need."

"Everything," you breathe.

"Everything." His other hand gently comes up to cradle the back of your neck. "Whatever you want, whatever you need. Tell me and I'll give it to you. Promise."

But what do you need?

"Are you sure?" you ask, softly pushing on his chest to garner his attention. "It's not like teaching you to play pool, Har. Exploring kinks is...delicate. Sacred. It's not a game."

"I know," he replies, sobering ever-so-slightly. "That's why it can't be anybody else. It has to be you."

It has to be you.

"Why?" you challenge.

He simply offers you a knowing look. "Why wouldn't it be?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking for a reason to say no. Looking for the strength to know better.

But maybe you don't know better.

Maybe you just know him.

"Teach me," he says again, thumb stroking your jaw as those familiar eyes bleed right through to your heart. "Make me better."

Better.

Everything.

Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else feels right.

Just him.

"Okay," you agree quietly, and his entire face lights up. "For science."

"For science," he repeats, dipping down to press his lips to your cheek in thanks. "But only if you're sure. I'd never want you to agree just because of me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He leans back. Frowns. He's unconvinced. "I mean it, Bee. I'm not asking just because I can. I’m asking because…it feels like something we both want. But if it's not—"

You kiss him again, stealing the rest of his argument. "I know how to say no to you, Harry. Think you should know that by now."

He smiles against your mouth. "Guess so."

For the next minute or so, you don't speak. He simply takes hold of your face with both hands and paints his gratitude across your tongue.

"So...where do you wanna start?" you ask when he finally allows you a second of reprieve.

"You tell me," he reminds you, and you feel yourself smirk.

"All right," you agree before slipping your fingers through the loops on his pants.

His eyes go wide.

Then, you tug.

"Let's start...with everything."

You bet your ass there’s gonna be a part 3, because now that they’ve opened the door…there’s no closing it 😗 and Harry’s got a long list of new kinks to discover! And I’m strangely excited about it?? This is concerning?? Pray for me???

Next Part:

~ Hurt Me* (Pt. 3)

Previous Part:

~ Teach Me* (Pt. 1)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags:

@tiaamberxx @harrystylesfan2686

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles request #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #smut #harry styles angst #harry styles best friend #best friend #angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles short story #request #harry and bee

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

#I still don’t really like this but SKSKSK ILL TRY AGAIN #rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel smut #rafayel imagine #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace rafayel

[cherry-leclerc]

million dollar man ☆ toto wolff

genre: age gap, porn with plot, angst, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, mentions of homicide, bits of humor, child neglection, divorced!toto

word count: 16.5k

Toto Wolff, self-made billionaire, is on cloud nine; he has all he’s ever wanted. A beautiful wife, family, a great team. But when that starts slipping from his fingers, he desperately tries to keep hold of what is not his anymore. As a possible solution to cure his blues, Lewis kindly invites him to a place he runs off to when times get tough; to relieve some stress. But he just never expected a cosplaying angel, dancing around a metal pole, to be his salvation. And also, his cruelest life lesson. 

nsfw warning under the cut! 

18+…dry humping/ thigh riding, sexual tension, penetrative sex, oral sex (m!receiving f!receiving), size kink, breeding kink, praise, foreplay, riding

inspired by this and this !

STOP AND READ:

Typically, we keep it light here: occasional minor angst fics, but light, nonetheless. That will not be the case this time around. Because of that, I firmly believe that it is necessary to give a few warnings. There will be mentions of drug-use and homicide and if that is not something you are comfortable with then that is totally okay! I have more options for you to read over at my masterlist! This is purely fictional. With that, this story is based and inspired by Million Dollar Man and Yayo by Lana Del Rey (*run*)—what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. 

cherry here!…toto is like—a special appearance, here in this blog. probably won’t write for him all the time, but hey! we love him!originally this was going to be named yayo but have since changed my mind to million dollar man. IT WILL MAKE SENSE AND I’M SORRY, ANONS. please don’t hate the villain in me. consider yourself warned. 

There was no room for love when it came to the world of motorsport. Toto’s first marriage was a transparent reminder, given its falling out. The Austrian didn’t seem to care, almost; Mercedes was at their prime, but by then, when Susie came along, he felt a gist of hope. She must’ve known the sacrifices that would be made—the expectations. 

And yet, he sat there, signing the divorce papers once again. What had he done wrong this time? He had given her everything she could have ever wanted—spent time he didn’t even have—with her. 

Neither of us were happy anymore, she would whisper apologetically, eyes trained downwards. But I’ll always love you, Toto. You must remember that. 

Suddenly, he was fifty-two and with no true purpose in life other than to stabilize his broken team. If it wasn’t false accusations from other team principals, then it was trouble with the hydraulics, and if it wasn’t that, then it was losing his World Champion. Mercedes was already dwindling down to a mess, but with Lewis leaving—it felt like he was losing his mind. 

“You understand where I’m coming from, right, Toto?” 

Looking up at Lewis and Penni, his manager, the Austrian sighs, forcing a tired smile. No. He didn’t understand—did not want to understand. But he had no right to prevent the Brit from expanding one final time before retirement. I just feel like I need to do this for myself, but thank you for the infinite support. Mercedes will always be home to me. 

Promises. Fuck them, they meant nothing at the end of the day, so why bother? 

“Do what you need to do. I’ll always be here for you; no matter what.”

It was a bittersweet feeling to have. On one hand, the brunette felt optimistic. Maybe this was a chance to start over, perhaps offer up the golden seat to Carlos or Kimi. They had proven themselves in their own way and maybe that could bring better opportunities towards the team.

On the other, he felt like this was it. Maybe it was time to move on, retire with a sorrowful smile and live out the rest of his years. He could try fixing things with Susie. The thing was, he just re-signed as team principal, so none of that would work out even if he wanted to. 

Running a large hand through his brown hair, he groans and takes a sip of whiskey. Wincing at the taste, he jumps up in alert from his seat when there’s a knock on the glass door. May I? He nods.

Entering with an easy smile, Lewis raises his dark brows in a teasing manner. “Drinking ain’t gonna help, I promise you that.”

The brown eyed man grins. “You have something else in mind, cause if so, I’d like to hear it.”

The Brit hums, tilts his head to the side. Lewis had been with Toto for as long as he can remember; he was there when Toto and Susie met, and long after when they tied the knot. He swore they were happy, and that may have been once true, but he also knows sometimes even that can’t be enough. So, when news came out to their inner circle that the two were getting divorced, he felt sorry for him. He knows what it feels like to have it all, to suddenly go to sleep alone every night. But there was always one place that always helped— even people like him.

“You up for Vegas?”

-

He should have said no. He was too old for any of this nonsense. Too mature. Only, one thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was entering one of the top-tier stripclubs in all of Las Vegas. He knows that while there is nothing wrong with the profession, he can’t help but feel sinisterly dirty. He blames it on the fact that Lewis was beaming right besides him. Maybe if he hadn’t once been his boss, then the feeling would be different.

“Oh, c’mon. Ease up. No one will even know that you were in here.”

It’s true. While the club was a part of the infamous Vegas strip, it was also exclusively exclusive. No one could get in if there was no form of proving to be millionaires, and even that was ridiculously low. NDA’s would be signed as if it were something normal. Made him wonder what kind of things occurred between these four walls. 

Toto chuckles deeply, dark eyes roaming the entire room, loud music blaring. “How did you even know this place exists?”

Lewis winks, lousy arm waving at the bouncers. “You know how everyone thinks Formula One drivers are players and are up to no good?”

“Yeah?”

He smirks. “Well…they’re fucking right.”

After a couple of drinks, a few new friends—who would make great potential business partners—and a bit of gambling, the fifty-two year old found himself having a decent time. The atmosphere was a tad bit suffocating, but one time won’t kill him. He deserved it. 

“Oh, oh, you might want to take a seat,” Lewis chants excitedly. “People get pissed if you block their view.”

Abruptly, the stage lights up. It was a bit alarming, the sudden speed these men took to claim their seats, trampling over each other to get front row. Carefully, he crouches down onto the couch of giddy men. This wasn’t a normal setting; girls were caged behind glass as if to protect them from these males and their slithering actions. A red head professionally swings around the steel pole, black skirt flowing, adding to the illusion men love to taste. 

Whoops and hollers echo the red room as the Brit nudges Toto’s broad shoulder with a wicked grin. “Good, no? She’s my favorite.”

The Austrian scrunches his nose, half joking, half not. “Is this why you were always dozing off during our meetings?”

“Exactly why.”

It was an impressive art, he’ll give credit where credits due, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, but that’s about it. When he stood up to go and order a new drink, a string of boos were thrown at him. Even Lewis shook his head with disapproval. Man, you’re missing the show! He sends a sly grin. “I’m tough to win over, but they’re great, don’t get me wrong.”

The bartender shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what they all say. Until they lay eyes… on her.”

“On who?” He’s quickly hushed as soon as the room changes gears. The once red club enhances into a soft yellow glow, the fast paced music slows down to an angelic piano intro. 

A round of applause for everyone’s favorite girl—Peaches!

If the fifty-two year old ever thought he’s heard it all; loud cheers from fans, loud cheers for the other dancers; then he must have been mistaken, and awfully foolish. His ears ring with the sudden howls from everyone in the room. Turning around, he’s found with a girl, standing with golden angel wings. A shiny reflection colors her hair as she delicately bows, shy smile sewn onto her pouty lips. White dress wrapped around her figure as if it was tailored for her, and only her. 

Yayo.

The way she pranced inside the glass box like a butterfly makes the men grow wild as they pant feverishly. She’s barely doing anything—hasn't even done half as much as what the other girls had done—and somehow, all eyes are drawn on her like a sticky potion. Toto’s heartbeat gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best to swallow it down. Sad eyes flicker throughout the club as she spins, dress fluttering like a flower in the summer breeze. 

You’re someone desirable in all senses, and it appears as if you know it as well. 

Let me put on a show for you, daddy. 

Dropping down to your knees, you crawl towards the glass as you draw your soft brows together, as if pleading to be let out. Hot breath paints the glass before you press a kiss. 

Then, you’re looking at him, and it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he’s ever done. His heart speeds up as you tie your shiny legs along the pole, sensually spinning as you throw your head back. Like a signal, water sprinkles inside the box as it lubricates you down, dark mascara trickling your features. 

Arms toss your hair back before sharing a quick wave as you step out, red lights turning back on. And just like that, Toto is left empty and alone once again.

“That shit was insane,” the Brits voice shakes him away from your spell as he flops down on the stool right next to him. “She must be new because I for sure wouldn’t have forgotten a pretty face like hers. What’d you think?”

Toto blinks. “She might be my favorite.”

-

Thank you, Ro, you say as you sign on the bottom x, waving him off as he tilts his head in agreement. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside, like always. 

Even after all this time, you still got trepidatious. There came times where the connection was completely off, that you just wanted to bolt away, screaming like a baby. But you needed this job to survive, plus, it paid a pretty penny. 

“Where do you want me?”

Once you spot the massive businessman, manspreading on the couch that he made out to look like a toy, you gulp. You had caught a glimpse of him already, basically performed for him, but you didn’t think he was the one who called for you.

He’s strikingly handsome in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend. Dark, untamed hair covers his face. Long nose catches your attention as you squirm. His hands are practically the size of your face and you could only imagine what his thick fingers must feel like. Curiously, your eyes dwindle down to his lap as you picture what rests between his legs.

“Oh, right. Um…”

You grin. “First time?”

He winces. “It was a friend's idea.”

“Hmph. Heard that one before.” Inching closer, you pour a glass of water. “Here. It’ll help.”

His hand swallows you whole as you gape down at the difference. Electricity zaps you as you flinch and he catches on. Bringing the cup towards his pink lips, he closes his eyes, lashes fanning his tan skin. Being taken care of by a beautiful, young lady, made him cringe in all kinds of ways. He felt like a child, then like an old man. To be fair, he sort of was.

“I’m not here for…you know.” You quirk a neat brow. You don’t want to fuck me? Your question has him choking on the ice as he raises his hand up. “N-no, I just th—”

“I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time, and time is money. Have a good day, Mr. Wolff.”

Gaining his composure, Toto storms over to you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll still pay you. Triple what you make, but please don’t go.”

Your cheeks are dusted light pink when you turn around, wings brushing against him. If you’re lucky, you reach his toned chest, but the height difference was scary. Enticing. You almost wish he would fuck you like a pornstar. 

“You know what a girl wants to hear. I’m in.”

Turns out, he just wanted a companion. Someone who wouldn’t pity him. Didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, either. Narrowing your eyes, you click your tongue. “She said that?”

He sighs. “Maybe I was changing.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what a marriage is for. You change, sure, but you change together. Things can’t possibly stay that same, that’s just stupid.” Tucking your legs beneath your butt, you continue. “And what? Your number one driver decides to leave out of the blue? Even after it was mutually decided that he would stick around at least until 2026?”

That was something no one knew, but who were you going to tell? Toto grimaces. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking sucks.”

The Austrian chuckles deeply at your outburst. You blush at the cunning sound. “You’re a terrific listener. I’m glad you stuck around to talk.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” You play with the hem of your dress. “You’re a kind man, Toto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

-

He slips away that night with a tranquility he hasn’t felt in quite a while. On the way back to Monaco, he wonders if you were some kind of guardian that he had to meet in order to move on from his bittersweet feelings. Because it sure did feel like it since he felt he now knew what it is that he had to do in the upcoming season. All thanks to you. 

“…Toto….Hello?” Bono smacks his hand against the table and the Austrian flinches. They were in the talks of what position he would stay in now that Lewis was departing from his life-long engineer. “Do you want me to continue or?”

The brunette clears his throat, awkwardly. “We have a few weeks of break before the new season begins, correct?”

“Correct.”

He stands up to his full height. “Then let’s talk later. Enjoy your break, Bono. See you soon.” Then he’s walking out the sliding doors, with a dumbfounded engineer piercing his eyes at his large back.

Elizabeth, Toto’s rough voice speaks to his personal assistant. Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. Oh, and also; get me the first flight out to Las Vegas. 

-

Cursing at the dusty wind, you huddle your way into your beat up car, fingers sliding your Dior glasses down the bridge of your nose. They were a gift from a recent client, and you never shamed them away. Taking a sip of your sparkling water, you sigh in relief at the refreshing taste. Screw Nevada for being annoyingly hot. 

Tap tap. 

Squinting your eyes at your window, you only catch a glimpse of a man’s clothed crotch as you yelp. Swinging the door open, you take out your pepper spray. “Go away creep, I will use this if necessary!”

"Warten! Warten!"

“Huh?”

“I said wait,” a thick accent clarifies. You bite back a smile. “Hello.”

Bringing your hands up to your hips, you giggle. “Hello, Mr. Wolff. Back for more?”

He can try and pretend that he was better than crawling back to you, even if all you both did was have a meaningful conversation, but he doesn’t have time for lies. 

“I just wanted to thank you.” Your lips separate, slowly. “For everything. You helped me figure out lots of things.”

“Oh, wow… I, umm… You’re welcome?”

Intaking your soft aura, he closes his right eye due to the bright sun. “Can I take you out for coffee?”

-

You didn’t go out for coffee at a local cafe, but rather at his mansion he just blew his money on without batting an eye. Inhaling the yummy scent, you swoon. “This smells amazing.” 

He smiles. “It’s from Germany.”

“Authentic. How’d you get it?”

“Don’t underestimate power.” Your eyes grow wide at his cold tone and the Austrian laughs. “Relax. I’m from Germany. It’s my favorite, so I always carry one with me. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Let’s just leave it at old.”

He flashes a devious grin, lines tracing his face. “Ha-ha. But seriously, thank you for helping me out of my little…crisis.” Midlife crisis, you correct him as he glares. You snicker. 

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sure, you cheer as you sip on the hot drink. He fixes his glasses. “How did you end up working at Machiavellian Nights?” Your stomach drops. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No.” He nods. “I’ll tell you, because oddly enough, I trust you.” Okay, he whispers. “Are you close to your parents?” 

“What?” Are you? He nods again. You smile sadly. 

“That’s lovely, Toto. Appreciate that.” You release a shaky breath. “My father passed away when I was fifteen and my mother pretends to not know me.”

He gulps and you continue. “It was not always like that, though. We had a close relationship. She would braid my hair every night before bed. I would curl hers before every date. She was an amazing woman. One I could admire.”

“What happened?”

You lower your head, lips wobbling. Letting out a wet laugh, you brush a hand up against your nose. “Men are deceiving. Men are shit. Men are a complete waste of time and— I miss who my mom used to be.”

Handing you a napkin, you silently thank him. “She met him when I was only seventeen. It was fine at first; I was so happy for her. I would be moving out for college eventually, so I felt relieved that she had someone to rely on. Connor was great.”

The fifty-two year old is momentarily lost. Nothing sounds as bad as it seems, but he refrains from telling you so. “Then she got pregnant. Oh, Toto, I was so excited. A baby sister. Could you imagine? I bought everything my first job could afford. Onesies, blankies, pampers, I bought it all. And I never once expected anything in return.”

“That’s where things began to change. Connor swore I was trying to win my mom over and leave Rosie with nothing. Kicked me out before I even had a chance to defend myself. I thought —okay, I’ll just talk to her and explain that it was never my intention to do any of that. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave birth six months ago.”

“And you ended up...” You hum, bringing the mug up to your lips. 

“It was either that or fast food. Salary is shit in that industry. And the customers aren’t bad. I could say yes or no at any given time.”

The brunette fiddled with his watch. “So, you could have turned me away?” Laughing, you nod. He fakes a smug look. “And why didn’t you?”

Tapping a lazy finger onto your chin, you close your eyes before fluttering them open. “I had a feeling you had shit locked away. Just like me.”

-

He bids you farewell, claiming he was glad to have met you, even with such circumstances. The way he hugs you goodbye makes the pit of your stomach fuel with fire as you brush away the urge to climb onto him and kiss his pain away, even if he promises to not feel any. 

Take care of yourself, you beg, head resting beneath his heart. His breath hitches. You need to look after yourself, above all. Oh. And good luck with the new season. 

He wonders why such a pretty plea makes his heart break. Perhaps it was because even though your life was at rock bottom, you still looked out for others. Or maybe it was him, but he couldn’t pinpoint it at all. He wouldn’t try either because as stated before, he was leaving for good. He could make room to visit you the next time he was here for the Las Vegas GP. Even then, he wouldn’t risk you like that.

But like a kid at a candy shop, he finds himself signing the NDA once again. Welcome back, Mr. Wolff. The usual? “That sounds great, thank you.” Taking a seat, he watches the vivid room, hoping to spot you. Set after set, he’s torn when you don’t show up. Others seem to notice you missing as they violently spit slurs of; Bring out the pretty one! 

“Would you be kind enough to treat me to a sweet drink? Paloma’s are my favorite.”

Your sultry voice salutes him like a perfect hug as he looks down to where you bite down onto the inside of your cheek. Your eyes crinkle as you beam up at him. “You’re here…”

“I always am.”

He cringes, desperation humbling him as you take a seat. “Your act…you didn’t go on and I just thought you were out sick or something?” Leaning over to take a sip of his dark drink, loopy eyes train on him before sighing.

“Ugh, I wish. I’m on my period. I asked for the night off, but I’m still up to no good. Make a little bit of money, eh.” He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here anyways, Toto? Oh shit—Mr. Wolff.” Smiling warmly at the bartender, you hug your red lips around the glass.

“I wanted to see you.”

Choking on the fruity drink, you clutch onto his thigh. He stiffens, but still pats your exposed back. You wore a silky red dress, just like the rest of the girls strutting through the busy club, but somehow, it looked better on you. Enhancing your soft features, tugging against your curves like an envelope. Perky tits begging to be licked— sucked on. 

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” You frown. “I have no idea, but you’ve lingered on my mind from the moment I saw you, dancing sadly. Why was that?” 

You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs. “Think a little bit harder, then.” His firm tone makes you sit up straight, drawing circles on his lap, as a tactic to not pull your strong gaze away. You don’t even notice his hard cock pushing up against the denim. 

“I had just received a restraining order against Rosie.” He deflates. “I’ve never even met my newborn sister and they got a fucking restraining order.” You scoff. “Unbelievable.”

Toto was lucky enough to be a part of his kids' lives, but simply picturing the idea of Stephanie or Susie getting a restraining order against him, crushed him. Seeing you so upset about it makes him want to track down your mother and Connor and yell at them for how they’ve treated you. But then he would probably find himself with a similar piece of paper.

“Just when I think they’ve done it all, there always seems to be more.” You laugh, taking another sip of your cold drink. “They’re getting clever.”

“How are you so okay with any of this?”

You narrow your eyes, offended by his question. “You think I am? Toto, I feel like the odd one out. My own mother makes me feel like a culprit for simply wanting to give my baby sister a pair of shoes.” The brunette furrows his brows. You giggle. “I got Rosie a pair of ballet shoes. They’re the cutest thing you’ll ever see.” 

His lips quirk upwards. “So, you’ve tried to meet her?” You shake your head, hair whiplashing. I called my mom, brought up the idea. I guess she didn’t like it because next thing I knew, hello, restraining order. It’s sick. “They don’t deserve you.”

Your mouth stays agape as you blink back at him, doe eyes ringing him in. “I’m done trying. I get tired too, y’know?” Edging closer to your seat, you cup your hands against his ear, getting a whiff of his musky, expensive scent. You almost let out a moan. “You have kids, right? Were they cute when they were babies?” 

He nods, enthusiastically. “They’re heaven sent.” Your eyes twinkle, and he feels bad for a split second. “Want to see?” He dangles his phone towards you as you beam. Do you mind? “Not at all. As a father, you must know, I like to brag about them.” Rolling your eyes, you swipe through his gallery as you coo.

“Oh my goodness! She looks just like you,” you point out when you spot a blond girl. He grins. That’s Rosa. Flickering your eyes up to him, you gasp. “Rosie.” 

“Huh? Similar…that’s funny.”

Your grin widens. “Oh, handsome. Just like his father.” Benedict, he informs you as he blushes at the comment. Swiping once more, you tilt your head. “Very cute—like insanely adorable—but he doesn’t resemble you at all.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

“That’s my youngest, Jack. He looks just like his mother.” He retrieves the phone from you before handing it back. Squinting, you analyze the older blond. “Identical. It’s almost as if you didn’t partake in the game, Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Burning up, you rip your gaze away from the device, trying to erase your filthy thoughts. Especially of him and his ex-wife. “She seems nice. Beautiful, too.” He hums, slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

“I can tell you have a soft spot for kids.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s an obsession. I can’t wait to be a mommy.” He swallows a groan at your innocent wish. “I would try to be the best; I just know I would.” 

The Austrian rubs his arm. “It’s getting late. Are you still going to be around?” 

You yawn. “I think I’m out of here, too.” 

“Can I take you home?”

The sexual tension is as thick as thieves. It suffocates you whole as you stare out the window of his Mercedes Benz. His digits taps against the leather wheel, legs barely fitting from how massive he is. Head almost touching the roof of his car. I swear I’ll go back to school, God, but please help me keep the last bits of my dignity. 

“How tall are you?” Come again? You gulp. ���What’s your height? Curious, that’s all.”

His head rolls back, Adam’s Apple jumping up and down. “Meters or in feet?” You bite down on your tongue. Smart-ass. 

“Feet, if it’s okay with you,” you reply sarcastically. He clicks his tongue in amusement.

“6’5.” 

“Oh my God.” You smile sheepishly when he frowns. “You’re huge.”

“They normally say that after I have sex with them, but thank you.”

Heat rushes to your cheekbones and the tip of your ears. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Pulling into your small driveway, he blinks slowly. “You live here?”

“Yes, don’t drool over it, please,” you growl at his rude tone. His brown eyes spin towards you when you hurriedly grab your things. He grabs the back of your dress quickly and you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s lovely, but I just thought…you said you made good money?”

High heels crunch against small pebbles as you scowl at the fifty-two year old. “I want to go back to Uni and I’m saving up, is that so wrong?” He’s embarrassed now, fixated on the empty passenger seat. You scoff. “Glad we agree. Good night, dickhead.”

Toto lets out a quiet laugh. Your eye twitches at the sound. Marching over to his window, you click your fingers as he rolls it down. This is funny to you? “Not at all. You acting like a child is.” 

“I am not acting like a child—”

“Oh, you’re not? Fuck. Again, my mistake.” Grinding your molars, you glare at the brunette. He aims for a soft smile. “I wasn’t making fun of your living arrangements, please, do you really think that low of me?” You look away, wiggling your neat brows. “Come and live with me.”

“Excuse me?”

He climbs out of the car, making you stumble back. “In the meantime, while I’m here, which is not for long. When I leave, you can keep the house.”

You grow light headed from his delirious offer. “Are you asking me to have sex with you in return for a new home?” His jaw drops.

“No, I’m being a good friend. You’re a sweet girl who has dealt with some shitty people and I want to help. Please, accept.” His voice is soft but somehow demanding. As if he already knows you’re going to agree. 

Inching closer, you poke his chest. He raises his arms. “Are you real?” Super real, he states, rolling his chocolate eyes. What do you say? 

“But my things—”

“I’ll send for them.”

“My downpayment—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cool!” you cheer. “Let me just go grab my boyfriend.” His smile falls. Letting out an evil laugh, you clutch onto your stomach. “Ha! You should have seen your face.”

He pinches your forearm and you yelp in surprise. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late,” you yodel as you skip around, back into the black Mercedes. “You’re going to regret it anyways.”

-

We still have to talk about the preparations required for the unveiling of the W15. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten? 

Massaging his temples, Toto grimaces. “I haven't, but also, we don’t have to. It’s all ready to go; George and Lewis just need to show up.”

Elizabeth gasps. “And you.”

“Elizabeth, that was implied.” The assistant hums sheepishly as she continues talking his ear off. He groans. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You’re doing a great job, keep it up. And please, enjoy your break. You’re going to wish you had when the season starts.”

“Of course. Take care, Toto.”

Once they hang up, he picks up on reading through articles about everything and anything people have been saying about Lewis’ new contract with Ferrari. He was happy for his driver, but it still stung. 

“You look tired.”

Chocolate eyes direct over to you where you stand with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. At least he hopes. “Oh, y’know. Catching up on work. Can’t be gone for too long, if not things get out of control.”

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you slide your way closer to him. “Can I see?”

“See what?”

Squinting at the screen, your eyes glimmer brightly. “I love all things gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure.” Taking a seat on his thick lap, your delicate fingers start playing with the keypad. He grunts, placing both hands behind his head as his jaw ticks. “Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton: The Unstoppable Duo.” You giggle. “He’s cute. Take it back, they both are.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “You’re evil.” 

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you shrug. It looks so soft, he’s itching to run his fingers through it. “I see why you’re upset about this whole—‘I want Lewis! No, I want Lewis!—thing.” His smile falters. “It’s brutal.”

Hauling you off of his lap, he places you on the chair next to him, hoping you wouldn’t notice his hard print. “Is it?”

“Mhmm,” you chirp, chin propped onto your knees. “You must not mind people talking about you.”

“I do mind. I mind a lot.”

Perplexed, you take in his exhausted state. You never wanted to be famous, and seeing him live like this made you realize you had made the right choice. With slight hesitance, you brush his hair back; he sighs in relief. “It’s good to take breaks in between. That way you don’t have a stroke, old man.” His eyes fly open.

“Just because you’re younger, that doesn't mean I’m about to drop dead, sweetheart.” You squirm, forcing his orbs back closed as he squirms at the clumsy action. 

“Wanna feel something nice?”

Toto’s mind wanders to a steamy place once you leap off your chair. His chest heaves up and down from nervousness, hearing your soft steps. Straddling him, you press a soft kiss onto his cheek. Relax, Toto. He nods, grips onto the sides of the wooden chair, knuckles turning ghost white. Digging your hands into his broad shoulder, you begin to massage him at a steady pace. He moans. “How are you so good at this?” Your lips curl.

“I like to think I was a masseuse in my past life, now shhh.” 

The brunette’s main focus was between two things; actually letting loose and enjoying the much needed massage and the urge to slide your panties to the side and fuck you senselessly. Both were pretty good ideas in his book.

“Stop grunting,” you whisper in the nook of his ear as he shudders. You bite down on your pouty lip, leaning all the way back, and his hands instinctively reach out to catch you. His brown eyes flutter open as he admires the way you tower over him, even as you lay back, but also the way your fingers push adamantly against the knots in his shoulders. He growls animalistically. “What did I say, Mr. Wolff?”

Cold stare. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Grabbing his large hands, you place them over your hips, an inviting smile dancing across your pink lips. Squeeze if you have to. He almost comes inside his pants as you lick your lips once more before continuing your actions. And it almost seems like you want to get a rise out of him. To make him groan, moan, grunt, cry out— for you. 

Purposefully, you dig your knuckles extra hard before pinching down with your nails. He hisses, grasping your sides hard as he throws his head back, floppy hair hitting the chair. You force a whimper away as you feverishly grind against his crotch. That kind of hurt, Toto.

“Fuck…I’m sorry,” he spills out as he starts a massage of his own. You smirk, repeating the same painful actions, pushing him to do the same as before. This was no longer a peaceful massage, you both knew that. It really hurts, you whine as you place a small hand against his chest, hips moving feverishly against his rough pants. The burning sensation makes you let out a pathetic wail as you rest your head against his shoulder. “A-are you okay?”

Then, you press your forehead against his; lustful gaze challenging him while tears cover up your pretty eyes, making them shimmer even more than before. “Never been better.” With one last rub against his slacks, you’re climaxing as you plow your red nails onto him.

Gasping for air, you return to tracing soft circles against his wide shoulders as he’s left dazed and confused. His cock still hurts from how hard he is, but you don’t seem to notice. Or you ignore it. It doesn't matter, because you’re already jumping off him, lips bruised from how hard you had bit down.

“I thought your hands would hurt a lot less, Toto. You ought to be nice to me.” 

Then, you’re skipping away, back into your room like a shy rabbit.

-

After the encounter in the dining room, you pranced around as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. Toto’s mind was probably playing tricks on him because there was no way you could act so nonchalant, hallowing your lips around the cherry popsicle. Is it red? You stick your salivating tongue towards him.

“That’s a dumb question.”

You frown. “Grump.” A beat. “Can I take the Mercedes on a spin?”

“No.”

The frown grows deeper. “Why not? I swear I won’t scratch it. In fact, I won’t let anything happen.”

“Tempting, but still no.”

“Fine,” you grumble, munching down on the icy treat. He smiles, fingers typing against his computer. Can I ride you? His digits freeze midair as he flickers his brown eyes over at you. Holding the car keys directly to your face, you hum playfully. Yeah. Why not, Peaches? Just take care of me! “Of course, my sweet Benz. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You are worse than my four year old.” He inhales sharply, rolling up his sleeves as he tries to ease his crazy heartbeat with water. You giggle.

“He said yes.”

“The car talks now?”

You blush. “That’s what I’m sayinggg…”

Analyzing the strand of hair that hits your chin, he folds his hands. “How did you choose Peaches as your stage name?”

You swallow the last piece of your popsicle. “It’s not an interesting story. I have a co-worker who goes by Foxy because she once fucked a fucking grandpa in the woods and he died of a heart attack once he saw a fox. Pretty cool, huh?”

His jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” Shrugging, you kick your legs up on the armrest. He swallows. “But I still want to know. No matter how boring it may seem. I can guarantee you I won’t think the same, pessimist.” 

Gingerly squinting your round eyes, your lips for a thin line. “When I was younger, my mom would bring me a peach everyday after work. That way, when she would pick me up from school, she would have it ready. The sweetest ones were during summer, of course, but the ones out of season were still pretty good. Up to this day, I still don’t know how she got her hands on those.” He nods. “Simple as that.”

“I think it’s sweet.” His long legs stretch out to kick your chair away. You squeal. “Makes you seem a tiny bit human.”

“Hey!”

He smirks. “Way better than Foxy. That story is just a murder case waiting to be taken to trial.”

“She did receive a handsome inheritance,” you whistle and his eyes grow wide. You snicker. “I’m kidding.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you enjoy your job? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” You shake your head.

“Wait, let me rephrase. I do enjoy pole dancing. So many outsiders assume we’re sluts, but it’s not like that. It’s an art, whether you believe it or not.” I agree. You grin. “I have fun, but no, I don’t want to do this forever. I want to be an elementary school teacher.”

“Really?”

You wince. “Seems inappropriate, I know, but I think I could be really good at it. I would cut them slices of sweet peaches any chance I get. I’ll even figure out where to buy some more once the season ends.” Scooting closer to the table, you flick your wooden stick onto his lap. He aims for a deadpan expression. “And I just want to make it clear that I do not sleep around. But when I do, it’s because I want to. I have needs too, Toto.”

The fifty-two year old grinds his teeth together. “I’m sure you do.”

-

Wobbling against the shiny tiles, you gasp before a warm hand saves you. You let out a breath of relief, turning to see Toto shaking his head in disapproval. 

“This is why you should leave to work on time. Now you’re just a mess.” Glaring at him, you fix your rollers as you walk out onto the private driveway. You were excluded from the rest of society, but part of you liked that. “How are you even going to get there?”

Spinning around, you almost crash into his chest before you regain your composure, close proximity making you struggle to find the words. “Toto, I never told you this, but…I can fly.”

“I’m being serious.”

You shrug. “I’m going to take the bus. Go back to your precious emails.” As soon as you twiddle your finger, he scoffs. 

“I would take you—”

“But you’re busy— it’s fine.”

“Can you stop talking?” Beady eyes narrow up at him as he continues. “But I can’t because I’m drowning with work…You can take the Mercedes.” Your eyes light up. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He wishes he was fucking you, but no. “You better treat it like your own.” You click your tongue. See, you shouldn’t have said that because now my alter ego just grew. He points accusingly and you scrunch your nose. I promise. Handing you his keys, he watches carefully as you pull away, blowing him a kiss. 

A few hours pass by before he feels the need to check up on you. He tries texting first. Busy night? Nothing. He tries calling. Nothing. He starts thinking you might've crashed on your way there, so he hurries out the door. 

Paying the taxi driver, he marches past the doors as he is handed a piece of paper. He smiles back politely. “Don’t you guys think we’re past this?” The men take a quick glance at each other before nodding. Have a lovely night, Mr. Wolff. 

Loud music makes the brunette wince, face twisting uncomfortably. Brown eyes study the club as he tries to decipher where you could possibly be. Maybe you didn’t make it and he was right after all. Jogging over to the bartender, Toto pants. “Peaches? Have you seen her?” 

The young man points to the glass box, where you start your set. He sighs in relief as he takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he admires. Everyone cheers as you smile erotically. The Austrian can’t help but be one of them too. 

Spotting him, you freeze. You narrow your eyes for a split second before you snap out of it, continuing your desirable movements. The music ends and just like that, you’re done. Hollering echoes the room when you brush past by. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A cheesy grin plays out. “I came to see you.” Weren’t you busy with work? He shakes his head. “Well, yes actually, but I thought you were dead in a ditch when you didn’t reply to my message or answer any of my calls.”

“Why could that be? Oh. Maybe because I’m working,” you hiss. “Listen, if you’re here as a client— fine. But if you’re here as Toto— leave.”

He narrows his eyes sharply and your breath hitches. “It’s Mr. Wolff, darling.”

You purse your lips. “Very well, Mr. Wolff.” Strutting away, you make sure you sway your hips. The brunette groans, falling back against his chair. 

The night flies by as usual, until they book you. “Mr. Straforx, sitting in the back booth,” Ro informs you as you suck on your bottom lip, listening attentively. “Interested?” 

“Very.”

“Actually, I am too.”

The rich accent makes your stomach flip as you muster up a stern glare. Toto’s lips form a firm line as he stands as tall as a sequoia. Fuming, you shake your head, perfectly done hair slapping your face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolff, but I already agreed to somebody else. But rest assured, if I have time left, then I will get to you.”

“Is money the issue here?”

Your jaw ticks, temples grinding together harshly. “You think that’s all I care about?”

He shrugs. “I could lie and say no, but who am I kidding? We all care about money.”

Flustered, you scoot closer to Ro, who stands amused with the entire interaction. “Ro, tell Mr. Straforx that I’ll be there in a minute, and make sure to apologize on my behalf.” The older man nods, tipping his head towards the Austrian as he strolls away. “What are you trying to do, Toto?”

His lips flip to a teasing smile. “Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, don’t you dare pull that card on me.” Your face pinches up. “This is an important client, I can’t say no.”

“How much do you want in order for you to come with me instead of him?” Your berry lips separate. “Name a price. I’m a self-made billionaire, sweetheart—a couple of millions are nothing to me.”

“I could never ask for you to do that,” you whisper, timidly fiddling with your necklace. “Deal with it. You’re not my boyfriend.”

His nose flares at the cruel reminder. “I never claimed to be. I’m a client.” Pause. “Two million.”

You gasp. “Are you insane?”

“You’re right, that’s childsplay. How about five?” When you still don’t say anything, he grins devilishly as he places a large hand on the lower part of your back. “Ro! Yeah, tell Me. Straforx that she’s coming with me. I’ll give you a bonus, don’t worry.” Your friend nodded happily. Press the button if you need anything. 

You roll your eyes, sourly. “Thank you, Ro. Thank you so much.” Pushing you into the private room, you yelp. “Let go of me!”

The brunette scoffs. “Calm down, I was barely even touching you.”

Shivering, you focus your attention on the luxurious drinking options. Half of these were probably worth what you make in a year, but the rich fed off of that. The brown eyed man hums. “Is that something you’re interested in?” You quirk a brow. A drink? He shakes his head. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You blink up at him swiftly, rubbing your thighs together. “You’re reading into it. I don’t.” Digging his large hands into his pockets, he clicks his tongue. Okay. Then ask me to leave. We can pretend none of this ever happened. A sad whine bubbles up your throat as you fear that he might actually walk out if you even dared to imply. “Just don’t be a jerk.”

A threatening chuckles booms past his lips as he serves himself a drink you can’t even pronounce. He takes a slow sip before he raises his glass up towards you. “You’re getting to me a  bit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, you must know that, right?” Demented, you play with your dress. 

Tonight, you were cosplaying a wide-eyed devil. There was nothing threatening about your appearance, not if you didn’t count your crimson red lips. Plump, round, tempting. Your black gartner drives him to complete insanity as you bite down on your bottom lip, nervously. Your red dress is too short for his liking, but only because others get to enjoy the sight of your heavenly legs. The ones he was drooling over to nuzzle his face in between. Then your horns tussle your hair messily as you pant. He hasn’t even touched you and you were already dripping.

“That’s not true, Mr. Wolff.” The grin widens.. 

“You can call me Toto when we’re alone, sweetheart.” You shiver, lowering your gaze. No, you were right. It has to stay professional in this setting. The brunette rolls his tongue before squinting his eyes at you, fine lines forming. The sight alone makes you melt. “You should have thought about that before you came all over my thigh.”

Shocked at his vulgar words, you bat your eyes, flustered by the reminder. You had done that. But you had the upper hand that day and that was long gone as he towered over you. Inching closer, he drops down to his knees, him still appearing taller even with the action. You squirm. 

“You were not playing fair that day. How come you only got to finish, and I didn’t?” You were hurting me, you cry out like a child as he scoffs at your weak attempt. Tugging you closer to him by your smooth legs, he droops them over his wide shoulders. Oh God. Turning his head to the side, he presses warm kisses. Your skin burns with every single one. “You know that’s not true.” Then, he’s hiking your tiny dress up.

Toto is hit with instant lust as he spots the wet patch of arousal. You whine, legs shutting around him. Do something—anything—but please, touch me. The corner of his lips lift up as he bites onto your red undergarment, pulling it down. Oh, you sigh at the intimate vision. Once you’re on full display, he groans. Your pussy glistens back at him, begging to be stretched out. “You’re…”

Humming, you place your soft palm against his cheek. “Toto…”

Like a starved man, he dives in, lips sucking on your clit as you fly forward, eyes screwed shut. He eats you out as if this was his true calling in life, the way he pinches your hips when you rock yourself against his face. He’s enjoying every second, every drop, as you find pleasure with the way his tongue swirls inside of you, finding new places you didn't know existed. The brunette nips quickly as you gasp, then he strikes his tongue. Warm sensation settles inside of your stomach. T-toto, holy fuck, oh my God. 

You can feel the way he grins against your pussy as he continues his handy work. Slurping your juices, his dark eyes find yours as you pant, light sweat fanning your face. His large hand presses your dress down, further adding to the friction as your tummy is pushed down as well. Wailing, you writher an embarrassing amount that would normally have you pouring out apologies if it weren’t for his strong gaze. 

“Taste so sweet,” he chants, kitten licks taking place. Your head rolls back against the couch, hand clutching onto his hair as he grunts. “Open your eyes for me, schatzi.” But you’re too busy trying to make this moment last, ignoring his command. Pressing his nose against your small hole, you squeal and look down. A coy expression takes over as he pulls away and rubs his fingers against your puffy clit. 

“You s-so fucking good at this,” you pant, chest rises up and down, horns sliding down a bit before he extends his long arm, pushing it back. Your chest tightens. “I know what you’re going to do…Go easy, please.”

Taunting circles edge you further as he bites the squishy part of his cheek. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to try and make your fingers fit.”

Your words come out menacing as you scrunch your eyebrows together, a worried look clear to the Austrian. Kissing the inside of your thigh, he nods. “You’re an extremely smart girl.” Another kiss. “I’ll go slow. You won’t even feel any discomfort, just pleasure.”

“Wait!”

Panic strikes his face as you disconnect his left hand from your breast. Bringing his hand up, you inspect the wedding band. Why are you still wearing this? He groans. “Publicity. No one knows yet. They won’t know for a while, so I can’t take it off until then.” You hum, then slide his ring finger into your mouth. You can taste yourself, long digits immediately hitting the back of your throat as you gag. “What are you—”

Then he feels it. Your soft tongue and the way it lubricated the steel before you gently bit down and started pulling his hand back. His cock grows more pained from how hard he’s become. With a pop you smile, eyes crinkling as you show off the metal. “Better.”

“You’re…” I know, you seductively whisper as you return his hand to where it laid. Is that not what you like about me? The man practically growls as he slams two thick fingers inside of you. Your body jolts as you cry out. So good, Toto. His cock twitches at you ragged praises. His fingers barely even fit inside your tiny hole, but it sure as hell reaches your g-spot. White splotches burn your eyes as you dig your nails onto the side of his thick neck. 

“Just like that. Oh, Toto.” He adds a third finger, and you hiss at the burning sensation. “That’s too much! Fuck.” He makes up for it, drawing figure 8’s between your velvety walls as you open up to him. Your legs start to slip down his shoulders as he spits. Keep them in place. You whimper, but obey, nonetheless.

The pad of his fingers continue assaulting your sweet spot, curling at a perfect angle. Your moans grow louder. Chocolate eyes flicker up to face your fucked up state. “Close?” You nod, vigorously. A warm strip teases your slippery lips. “Good. You’re doing so good, Peaches.”

Your hips buck suddenly as you suffocate him with your body, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Picking up on your candy nectar, he groans like a madman, greedy tongue swiping to lick every last drop. Shuddering at the feeling, you push his head away from in between your legs and grab him by the collar. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him, but when you don’t he realizes he’s disappointed. Instead, you plant a kiss on his cheek, hot breaths wrapping around his skin.

“Guess that makes us even, Mr. Wolff.”

-

“And then I rode a pony! I begged mama to let me get on a horse instead, but I just got a good scolding. But you would’ve let me, right papa?” Toto theatrically grins at Jack. 

“Don’t tell her, but yes. I would have let you because you're a big boy now, aren't you?” The four year old nods, blond hair covering his eyes as he brushes it away with powdered hands from his donut. I miss you. When are you coming back?

Pressure tugs at the Austrians chest as he sighs. Jack was too young—he wouldn’t understand that he and Susie would no longer be living together. It was a mutual decision to tell him when the time was right, but it still killed him to lie to his son. Especially when he beams back with bright eyes. Toto winces. “Soon.” A pin drops. “Have you eaten your vegetables for the day?” Jack sprints away.

A soft laugh is heard from the other side of the screen as Susie comes to view. “He has not, by the way. Hi, Toto.” The brunette waves. “Are you actually busy with work or are you trying to forget about all your fatherly duties?” 

“Is it that obvious?”

The blond chuckles. “Whatever it is, it’s great that you’ve taken time to yourself. Just don’t take too long.” Signing off, the fifty-two year old is left staring at his own reflection. 

“He’s cuter than the pictures.” Toto flinches with surprise. Standing in a summer dress, you lick your lollipop. “His voice is super squeaky; it’s adorable.”

“Do you need something?”

His question may seem rude, but it’s not meant to come off as so. His voice is filled with genuine concern as he furrows his brows. You shake your head. “I’m bored, that's all.”

The brunette scoffs. “And by all means, you came to bother me.” A giggle dances out of you as you brush your hair back. Your sweet scent reaches him, even though you stand far enough away to make a run for the hills. “But I do have time. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to talk to my mom.” Your words shock him but he listens attentively, watching you as you sit on top of the table, legs swinging with rigidness. “I want to try and fix things.” He frowns. But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shift in an uncomfortable manner. “Well…”

“What did you do?”

“Remember how I got a restraining order, but I’ve never stepped close to Rosie?” He nods. You nibble on your thumb. “I s-sort of lied.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve met her, kind of…” You pout, hazed expression carving out through your doll features. “But I can explain.”

He sighs. “Please do.”

Your cheeks flush. “A few weeks before I met you, Connor called me. And I picked up. He told me he was willing to let me meet my sister, but only if I let him borrow fifty grand. To be honest, I don’t care if I never get my money back— I just wanted to be able to recognize Rosie’s face. Of course I said yes.” The Austrian listens carefully, loopy eyes dedicated to you. “I bought her ballet shoes, the one’s I told you about.”

“She was perfect. She giggled like the most angelic thing and her eyes crinkled in a way that made me love her instantly. I asked why Connor needed the money and if they were in trouble, but he only ignored me. Then he tried to kiss me.”

“He what?”

A timid smile plays out. “It’s okay, he does that sometimes, but I’m always able to push him off because most of the time he’s drunk out of his mind. I don’t normally care, but he had Rosie… What if because of some stupid mistake he put her in danger? I gave Rosie her gift and paid an Uber to take them back home.”

“My mom found out about the meet-up and marched right to my work. Don’t ask me how she got in. She yelled at me with such anger that I almost wanted to cry. She said I wanted to steal both Rosie and Connor from her. I promised that wasn’t true, but she didn’t care. Then I got my restraining order.”

The brunette’s words get stuck as he gapes at you. Clearing his throat, he drums his fingers against the table. “You should have told me the truth,” he begins. Hurt slashes your face—you thought he would understand. He offers a friendly smile. “But still…you’ve done nothing wrong.” A beat. “I can help you. Well, my lawyers can.”

Tears form inside your jello eyes. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “Your sister can’t grow up in a household that doesn’t want her, but keeps her just to twist the knife. Connor will pay for what he’s done to you.” Leaping off the table, you cross your arms. No. You can’t bring that up. He sends a sharp glare. “What he did was wrong, can’t you see?” Your bottom lip wobbles. She’s going to hate me even more. Tenderly, he sighs as he strolls over, cupping your face. “She shouldn’t, but if she does, at least you’ll be free from him. Has he only tried to kiss you?”

Closing your eyes, you release a wet breath. “He’s touched me a couple of times.” The Austrains eyes darken. Pushing his hands down, you quickly take a step back. “But by then I was due to move out, so it doesn’t really matter!”

“It matters a little,” he growls. “None of this is normal.” You flinch at his strong tone. “Sweetheart, tell me one thing; what would you do if God forbid, he did the same thing to Rosie?” 

You gasp. “I would murder him.”

“So, you agree that we have to do something about this?” Hesitantly, you nod. “I’ll reach out to my attorney as soon as possible. I promise you that all of this will get taken care of.” Muscular arms drape over your shoulders as he hugs you. Bewildered, you blink as you stiffen. “You don’t hug much?”

“Nope.” 

He booms with laughter, chest vibrating as you smile at the feeling. Everything about this feels right, so then why does that scare you?

-

He vows to be back as soon as he’s done with the car reveal. I don’t care, you reply as you pop a mint into your mouth, getting ready for work. 

You’re going to miss me, watch.

And damn him, the fucker was right—you did. A part of you wishes he would rush past the doors, yapping about he thought you were dead and didn’t ask for permission to take the Benz. But he was across the world, smiling wide at media duties as you watched behind a tiny screen. It’s good that he’s taking time to see Jack, too.

“Why are you sighing so sad?” Roxy asks, fixing her combat boots. “Not getting any clients? Though I doubt it. They love you.”

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m not sad—tired.”

The red head furrows her brows suspiciously before hugging you. Your arms dangle lazily as you scrunch your nose. She giggles. “Does this have to do with Mr. Toto Wolff? He’s hot—crazy hot.” She untangles herself from you. “He must be the devil himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” she cheers happily. “But also, you’re totally in love.” Your stomach drops. No, I am not. Roxy rolls her eyes. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. I’ve noticed the way you look at him. Like you want to eat him alive as you kiss him until your lips snap.”

You wince at the image. “You have a way with words…”

She beams, thin brows raising up. “I’ve also noticed that you haven’t gone into the private room since he walked in through those doors. So what, you’re just going to keep pretending?”

“You’re such a creep!” you squeal, delicate hand slapping her thigh. She squeals lightheartedly. You’re missing out on a shit ton of money. We’re talking dough. And yet you don't bat an eye because you don’t want anyone but him. Did I nail it?

You pinch your fingers together as you huff. “You’re crazy. Crazy. There is no way I could be in lo—” Hey! The ringing sound makes your blood run cold as you fear to turn around. Look at me. Foxy stares back at you with anxious eyes. Do you know her? Looking down onto your lap, you nod. “That’s my mother.”

“Oh shit.”

A dry hand yanks you by the arm as she spins you around. “I’m talking to you. Why won’t you look at me?” 

You flinch. “I’m working, you can’t be doing this—”

“I don’t give two shits if you’re working or not, if I say we need to talk, then we need to talk.” Ro shakes his head, distressed as he apologizes. I’m so sorry, Peaches. She said she was your mom and I…I didn't know what to do. You smile back softly. 

“Don’t worry. Can you get me a room?”

As soon as your mother enters the dark area, she whistles. “Fancy, but really? Bending over for any man willing to pay you a couple cents? That’s disgusting.”

Your cheeks burn up as you fight back tears. “What do you want? Is Rosie okay?” Panic rushes through your veins as you grab her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. She’s so thin, you think you might break her. “Is she okay, I said?”

“She’s fine,” she yawns. “So…this is what you’re up to? It always…catches me by surprise. Not really.”

“I had no choice,” you whisper meekly. “You gave me no choice.”

The older woman smirks. “Don’t you dare blame me. No one makes you do anything— this was your decision.” 

You let out a tired sigh. “Just tell me what you want…”

Her eye twitches, as if she remembers why she was so angry to begin with. “I got your complaint; you’re suing me for being a bad mother and Connor for…assaulting you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

“I’m not lying—”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” you yell back, acid sliding down your cheeks. “I would never make up such a thing. He assaulted me countless times as you never did a single thing.”

“I never saw anything.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You walked in on it! You called me a slut! I was seventeen for fuck sakes. But no—you blamed me for sleeping with your husband instead.” You take a good look at her; dark undereyes, frail figure, needles imprints everywhere. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to think about Rosie—”

“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie—I could not care any less about her! She just bugs with all her crying. It’s exhausting.”

“She’s just a baby.” Grabbing her hands, you soften your gaze. “If you don’t want her, fine, let me raise her…I swear I can do it.”

Your mother perks up. “You would do that?” Yes. Of course I would, you respond instantly. You’ll never hear about us ever again. Her thin hand cradles your cheek warmly, and for a moment, you let yourself lean against it. Then she pulls away and strikes you harshly, causing you to stumble back. “Why would I ever please you like that?”

Bring your hand up to your stinging flesh, you sob. “I-I…what?”

“Here’s what you’re going to do; you're going to drop the charges against me and Connor.”

“No.” 

She clicks her tongue. “Are you sure?”

Rising up with shaky legs, you keep a firm face even though it begs to howl in pain. “I said no. You’re not going to hand her over willingly, okay…Then I’m taking you to court.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” Tugging your arm, she presses her face insanely close to yours. You wince at the smell of intoxication; you can’t even tell what kind. “I will fucking kill you, do you hear me?”

You let out a wet laugh, ripping your arm away from her tight grip. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, but I am saving my sister from you two—no matter what.” Her nostrils flare as she heaves. You let out a sad whimper. “When did you become so inhuman? You used to be kind, beautiful, ha—”

“Heartbreak does that to a person,” she simply states before walking out, leaving you to yourself as you finally come crashing down.

-

He didn’t expect for there to be a racket, but the house felt awfully quiet. He knows you weren't at work—he had checked. He thought maybe you could have been out with friends, so he sighs before resting on the couch. He sits there for an hour or so before heading upstairs to take a shower. 

As soon as he enters the bedroom, he finds you covered with thick blankets as you cry. Alarmed, he rushed to your side of the bed. Oh my God, you shriek at the anonymous person before squirting. “When did you get here?”

“That doesn’t matter—what’s wrong?”

You hope brushing your tears away would stop him from asking questions. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

A pinched up expression maps out. Your chin forms a peach seed as you let out a weak sob and stand on the bed, making you the same height as him, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s stunned, but snaps out of it as he hugs you back, calloused fingers playing with your soft hair. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom visited me at work. She said some nasty things, but that doesn’t matter to me, what does is that she won’t let me adopt Rosie,” you muffle against his neck, salty tears wetting his collared shirt. “She’d rather raise her out of spite. She’s not made for this, she's malicious.��

“What else did she say?”

You pause, sniffling before pulling back with a reindeer nose. “That’s it.”

The Austrian lowered his gaze with subtle threat. “No, tell me everything she told you.”

“I swear that’s all.”

His brown eyes scan your face, but you remain still, only shaky breaths being released. He clenches his jaw. “Where does she live?” Your face drops. Why do you want to know? “Where does she live?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Stop being so stubborn and let yourself be helped—”

“I don’t need your help anymore, Toto!” You purse your lips, trembling hands brushing your hair back. Anger rushes over him as he inspects the purple bruise.

“Who did this to you?”

Sitting back down on the bed, your nose twitches. “I’m moving out.”

“Who fucking did this to you?” His voice is lethal. Thank you for trying to fix things, but I’m sure I can do it myself from now on. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you don’t have to. It was your mother, correct?” Forlorn, you agree with your silence. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, pain lacing his raw voice.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” you whisper, salty tears sliding down. “I’m going to kill your image—they’re going to hate you because of me.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” the brunette ricochets back. “All I care about is that you’re okay. That you find the happiness you deserve to have.”

Grimacing, you sniffle, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist. Or at least I’m so unlucky that I won’t get a piece,” you joke. “The closest thing I’ve felt to that is when I met you.” His heart melts as he stares back, adoringly. “You’ve helped me in so many ways, Toto. Thank you for that.”

“But—”

“I know.” Rising up on the fluffy bed, you tower over him a bit, pressing kisses on his temples, cheeks, nose, neck. “You’re the only man who's ever made me feel something real. I can’t explain it, but I hope it makes sense.” 

He gulps. “It does. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve made me feel the exact same way from the moment you stepped into my life.” He closes the gap between you two as you stumble back against the mattress, but his large hands prevent you from getting away. “You’re not perfect—you’re flawed. You don’t have your life together—but you’re trying to. You’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be—but that’s because you feel the need to build up walls to protect yourself from others.” Your stomach churns with every word he speaks. “And somehow…you have me wrapped around your finger.”

It happens so quickly, the way he presses his lips against yours. He can taste the saltiness but doesn’t dare to pull away. Like an animal, you move your mouth against his, whimpers flowing to his ears like symphonies. Toto knows why you never made the first move; you were scared to admit your feelings. But he was too.

Almost as if you read his mind, you run your fingers against his scalp as he breathes out, against your open mouth. “You won’t do the same, right Toto?” 

“What, sweetheart?”

Gloomy eyes reflect against his own. “Leave?”

“Unless you ask me to, then no.” He pecks your temple. “I can’t even imagine living without you anymore.”

That’s all it takes as you jump on him, silky legs wrapping around his torso like a piece of ribbon. He grunts loudly when you bite down on his bottom lip before letting go. “God, Toto, you’re—” As soon as he sucks on your throat, your sentence dies. Writhing against him, you try pushing him off as he chuckles, then he sets you down against the white sheets.

Immediately, you crawl back to the edge of the bed to where he still stands. Frisky hands tremble as you aim for his belt. Such a pretty girl, he thinks as you slip it off. You don’t have to do this. “I owe you, remember?” Then eager hands push his pants down, along with his boxers.

You knew he would be big, but that was an understatement. Toto was huge. Being 6’5 should have been a warning itself, but still. Drooling over his cock, you lick your lips, doe eyes fixating back to him. “I might not be able to take it all in my mouth,” you sheepishly state, red faced. The fifty-two year old has probably had a much better encounter; you were just making a fool out of yourself. Running his thumb against your cheekbone, the corners of his lips fly up. 

“I’ll walk you through it.”

Humming, you delicately wrap your hand around his length. Even just feeling it makes the heat in your belly grow. He clenches his jaw. Jerking him off, you wrap your lips around the pink tip. The Austrian releases a dirty groan, hips bucking as you smile around him. Pulling back, you stare up expecting the next step. Start off how you normally would. 

Pouty lips welcome him down your throat as you whine, the vibrations sending him into an orbit. When your palm slithers to what you can’t reach, he tsks. “You haven’t even tried.” Soft brows pinch together as if to say; Probably because I know I can’t either way. His nostrils flare. “Relax your jaw.”

Doing as you’re told, you gag as you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your toes. Your back arches, ass flying up as you struggle. A large hand reaches out to smack it. Yelping, you ease your mouth, thick member sliding down furthermore than you could have even imagined. There you go. 

Swallowing around him, you bob your head at a steady pace, reliving the steps, too scared to mess up. The Austrian throws his head back, sharp jaw in clear display as he pants. “Just like t-that, fuck. You’re doing so…shit.” While he’s enjoying himself, tears burst out as you clench your eyes, lashes becoming darker. The feeling is definitely getting him off, but he wanted to make things easier for you. 

Brushing your untamed hair back, he traces the bridge of your nose. Your orbs remain closed, and he finds himself missing them. “Breathe through your nose.” Ragged breaths fly out as your fingers dig against his thighs. He hisses. But gradually, it gets better. Glossy eyes stare up at him, lips stretch around his cock as you continue your filthy movements. 

As if to prove yourself to him, you deepthroat him even more as his head rolls back, floppy hair following along. Soft fingers brush against his legs as he shudders, face twisted with pleasure. Pulling away, you swirl your wet lips against his tip, feeding off of his precum before forcing yourself back down. 

Thick ropes of cum slide down your throat as you moan loudly. The brunette grunts, shaky breaths flying past his lips. With a teasing pop, you kneel up as you open wide. He moans at the sight of his release swimming inside your sinister mouth, then you swallow. Even though your throat is extremely sore, you still beam at him.

“Where have you been all my life?.” Climbing over you, he lays you flat, slipping your dress off. He’s stunned to find out you’re completely naked. Cherry red feathers on your cheeks. “Are you sure you didn’t know I was going to be back?”

Your lips curl. “No idea.”

He wraps his mouth against your bud as you whimper, hand massaging his head as he repeats his actions to the other. You could definitely fall asleep to this. When you open your eyes, you’re impressed to find out he’s completely stripped down, toned body exposed. The sight makes you grow excited, nervous.

“Are you on birth control?”

You curse softly. “I’m not. Crap.” Disappointed, you’re expecting him to climb off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he let out a raw chuckle. “I t-told you I don’t fuck men on the regular—”

“I don’t need the reminder,” he grunts. His brown eyes soften. “What’s your wish in life?”

Confusion paints your face. “To have you?”

“Cute.” Flustered, you focus on his contracting abs. Foaming at the mouth, you try to picture rubbing your core against them. “The other one,” he demands.

“Oh…” No. He can’t possibly mean… Your heart stops beating. “To be a mom.”

“There it is.” 

Briskly, he pushes into you as you wince in pain. I know, I know, he coos. But it’s better this way. It won’t feel so bad in a few minutes. Crying against his humid chest, your jaw hangs open. “It really hurts, Toto. Oh…it burns.” Hot tears reestablish themselves inside your orbs. “You’re too big.”

“Breath, sweetheart, breath.” His voice calms you down as your mewls lessen. “See?” You hum. “I’m going to move, alright?”

“O-okay,” you respond, dizzy. The feeling returns—less painful—but returns, nonetheless. Panic expands through your chest as you begin to think he might split you in half. His cock was just so thick and veiny. But it felt delicious between your velvety walls. “Fuck, baby,” you pant.

“I knew you could do it.” A warm peck lingers on your shoulder. “You feel so tight, schatz. So warm.” He sighs in relief as your tiny cunt compresses against his length, easing the pain from being as hard as a rock. Worse. Strong arms pick your legs up over his bare shoulders, making him travel deeper. 

“Toto, Toto, Toto—”

Eyes entertained against your slippery hole, he raises his brows. Yeah, baby? Getting a hold of his hand, you bring it over your stomach. His jaw clenches. “I can feel you.” Writhing in ecstasy, you toss your head to the side, small whines echoing between the vaporized walls. Pouding into you at a faster pace, he growls, bite marks being left behind on your legs. You hiss, clamping your eyes even harder, which makes you clench around his cock even more.

“Do that again,” he begs. “Do it—” You oblige, attention set on how he moans feverishly, hands adding pressure to your legs. For sure his imprints would be left behind. Taking advantage of the little power you have, you untangle yourself, greedily climbing onto his thick lap. 

“Looking good, Mr. Wolff.” 

He looked more than good—he looked eternal. The way his chest heaves, his soft pants, sweaty hair framing his handsome face, dark eyes praising you as if you were Athena herself. A confession finds into your brain as you halt. Beads of sweat cover his long nose as he appears concerned by the sudden break. Is everything okay? Rubbing your eyes as if you just had the worst nightmare, you blink hastily. 

Roxy couldn't have been right—she never was. Except, she is this time. It's as if a warm glow towers over him, your chest feels awfully vacant, but you’re not scared because you know your heart has found its home in the palm of his hand. You laugh in amusement as you touch his face all over. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “What’s so funny?”

“I love you, Toto Wolff.”

A lump forms inside his throat as he tilts his head. “You do?”

You shrug sheepishly. “I do.” Kissing his lips, you sigh with content. “I love you, I love you, I love you; I adore you.” He can hear the clock ticking as he stares back with his lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to feel the same, you dont have to say it back—I don’t care, but I can’t keep living a life of regret…”

“I love you, too.” Cartoon eyes blink back at him as he chuckles. “Do you believe me?”

“Uh…” Your lips stretch out. “Yes.”

Shifting on top of the Austrian, you make sure to slip him back inside as you moan in unison. Riding someone has never felt so addicting. Gasping at the raw feeling, you dig your nails onto his shoulders. When you look down at him, you are pleased to find him struggling to catch his breath. His fingers pinch your hips harshly as you bounce harder and faster, as if he would regret his words and leave you. “So big.” You drool, hair flourishing around you. “Stretching me out so good, Mr. Wolff.” He growls at you captivating words. “Making it so easy to ride you, huh? Cock brushing against the perfect sp—oh my God.”

Your face twists up with pleasure when the tip of his cock brushes against the mushy part that makes you almost black out. Movements slow down but it’s not long before he lifts you up and slamming you back down. “Toto!” you squeal, flimsy arms reaching out to balance yourself on his wide shoulders. Everytime he hauls you up and you look back at him, he represents like a giant. Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging wide open. “I-I’m close-e-e.”

“Me too,” he grunts. Like a devilicious man on a mission, he slaps your face carefully, forcing you to connect your glossy orbs with his loopy ones. “Gonna let me cum inside? Carry my baby, just like you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes,” you chant. “Yes—all of it—yes.” Cradling his cheek against your sweaty palm, you smile. “Cum inside of me, Wolff.”

With one final push, you both release loud moans, a strong wave of orgasms crashing violently against one another. Huffing, he makes a ponytail with your messy hair before letting go. “You think it worked?” You giggle.

“We’ll have to wait and see.” Leaning towards him, you kiss him gingerly. His mind grows blurry with how meaningful you make it seem. I’m yours—my heart is all yours—but please don’t break it, it seems to tell him as his enormous hands squish you closer to him, as if that were possible. 

“I know of a few ways we can make sure.”

-

Though you had mutually admitted your feelings to one another, there still didn’t appear to be a proper label to it all. Time was slipping, he would soon have no other choice but to leave and face all his responsibilities. 

But you can come back with me, he would desperately bring up as he fucked you against the wall. Tits would be bouncing at a hasty speed as you look back with your mouth in an O. I want you to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything, I promise. You can go back to Uni. You’ll get custody over Rosie, and Jack will be over the moon. We could have a family of our own, just you and I, Peaches. Huh? How does that sound, baby?

It sounded perfect; like a dream. You could taste it already. Early morning calls that you wouldn’t mind because he’d be laying down next to you. Quiet time as you jot down notes and he stresses over the next big decision for the team. And at the end, you would be glad you made the choice to choose him. Just like he chose you.

With shaky hands, you brush his messy hair back as he dotes on your bambi eyes. The way they glimmered extra bright that night; like starlight. The brunette’s face would soften up when you trace his nose, the curve of pink lips, his lines. Everything about him was breathtakingly dominant. 

You’d be a fool to deny. 

So, you accept. 

-

If Toto were to be told that he had died and ascended to heaven; he wouldn’t second guess the possibility. Because being with you felt exactly like that. Every passing second only adds to the amount of love he bottles up for you. It would overflow and he’d be okay; bring out the next. Oh, that one’s full, too? Okay, next. 

All of it made sense. You matched perfectly in sync with him like a cozy glove and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’d be whispers from others, but he doesn’t care. He’d deal with just about anything for you. 

“You’re leaving so soon.” A click. “Have you thought about quitting?”

He can see you grow as stiff as a tree. Your back faces him, but he can still spot your reflection. Of course you looked absolutely lovely, but there was something different about…God. He doesn’t even know what to call it. 

“I’m not quitting.”

The Austrians' lips form a thin line; shoes clicking against the floor even more. A boom of lighting fills the room as you flinch. He smiles slowly. “Right—not yet, at least. Not until you move to Monaco.”

More heavy silence. “Sure.”

Now he’s worried. Strolling closer to you, he brushes his warm hand against your shoulder, kissing your exposed skin. “What is it?”

His heart stops when he notices you blinking back tears; bloodshot eyes tracing his tall figure. His first assumption is the most obvious; your mother and Connor. They had probably done something, said something, and now they’ve got you—

“I’m taking the car. See you later.”

He blinks. The cold demeanor was something unusual on your behalf, but leaving without a goodbye kiss was alarming. Toto tries to suppress his feelings with a bottle of scotch, but nothing seems to work. He has to see you. 

Gathering his wallet and house keys, he strides out the door before he spots his laptop wide open. As soon as he returned, he would have to answer endless emails, but for now, that wasn’t his priority. Inching closer, he reaches down to slap it shut when his pulse runs cold.

We should think about Jack.

He’s too young to understand anything of what’s going on, Suse.

Let’s just try one last time. I swear I’ll change. 

I love you. 

He knew instantly; you had read the messages. He had sent them, there's no doubt, but that was so long ago. The date was right there; all before he met you. Before opening up to you. But he doubts you spared enough time to spot the tiny detail. You saw his texts and that’s all; the rest was blocked.

Toto’s palms get sweaty, ears burning red, and heart racing faster than a fucking F1 car. How must you feel? You had made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you and now this? The confusion was completely explainable, but he had to get to you fast.

It’s as if he owns the place, marching fiercely past the open doors that swing once they spot the Austrian. NDA’s were rather foolish when it comes to him now because he just held that much power. That much respect. But he can’t think of why something feels off.  You were hurt, and he felt awful, but no…there’s something else. As if there were an actual wolf lurking deep in the woods; ready to pounce. The hair in the back of his neck stands up, goosebumps forming, and eyes flickering all over the rich club, hoping to find you.

“Hey,” he pants when he spots the familiar redhead. Foxy lives up to her name because her laser glare has him scared for his life. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance before strutting away, a row of men following. The Austrian pushes past them all, pleading just like any other, but for a completely different reason. “Have you seen, Peaches?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Where is she?”

“Around.” 

The dancer beams at the group of businessmen who relax against their seat, hunting down without shame. They wore wedding bands, but who cared, right? Toto’s large hand grasps her wrist, tugging her away as she gasps, causing a commotion. He doesn’t care, he just has to find you.

Brown eyes glimmer threateningly but also soft because they’re both aware he needs her, for she only knows where to find you. “Listen, I know she told you what happened, but it was all some misunderstanding! The messages..they were sent to my ex-wife a long time ago. Before any of this, I swear…you have to believe me.”

Foxy narrows her thin brows, digging a sharp nail against his toned chest. “No, you listen—Peaches is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met; she's my other half, so when you hurt her…” A beat. “That’s it. She doesn’t forgive.”

His shoulders drop like an avalanche. “B-but it was a...you don’t mean that.”

The redhead struts away, long legs prancing like a vixen. “Believe me; don’t believe me—I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

But he can’t do that anymore, he's in too deep. No matter how many times Foxy cursed him to leave, he just wouldn't. He would explain. Even if it were that last thing he did. All's fair after that. 

“Mr. Wolff?” A red drink is extended out towards him kindly, to which he shakes his head with a forced smile. If you can even call it that. He’s sure he looks awful, dressed in all black, but it perfectly represented him for who he is and how he was feeling. It’s almost as if he were ready to show up to a funeral. 

As time ticks at a snail's pace, he grows more nauseous. There’d be a moment where you see him and he doesn’t know how you would react. Fuck—he doesn’t know how he would, either. To some it may be embarrassing to weep in front of a group of worldly men, but if you looked at him a certain way where he knew it was over? He’d be the first, and without hesitation or shame. 

He’s come to recognize your set as fast as a racing strategy. The stage would light up a soft yellow; swallow the room like the early sun. The piano keys would start off slow, taunting, and almost sinister—Yayo. And of course, you’d prance around like a broken angel, wings brushing your hair like his long fingers would.

But this is strange.

He’s too busy analyzing the colorful club when the lights burn black, only the glass box raining a bright red. He doesn’t even recognize it’s you. 

The intro isn’t the notorious piano lullabies, but rather scratchy violins. Million Dollar Man slithers across the crowded room like a venomous snake, waiting to strike anyone who doesn’t lay their attention on them. 

And this time, you’re no angel, you’re no devil. You’re both. It’s confusing and alarming, but also beautiful and breathtaking. While your dress is cotton white, your makeup is dark and tempting, lips dark red. Your knee socks are tied with a simple ribbon, making men drool like some type of fuckery. You look miserably broken. If anyone were to guess, then they’d say that you’re high off drugs, but that’s not the case. You're high off heartbreak. 

And the simple necklace you wear, with his marriage ring attached to it, is a pelluid indication. Even if it was new level petty.

Toto is in such a trance that he doesn’t even feel when a group of hands push him to sit down, eager to have a clear view of their own. They all secretly envy the Austrian when they notice that he had landed himself the best seat in the house without even trying. 

So, was it fate to be sitting here, in front of you? Was it fate to have met, then hurt you without the means? The music is almost terrifying, along with your black wings and white halo. All of this is utterly puzzling; was he supposed to be into this, or fear it? Was he supposed to feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach, drumming against his ribcage, or was he supposed to be at ease? But most important; would you spare him this time to apologize, or would you kick him out of your life? The last notion scared him the most as he sat like a tired soldier, brown eyes blinking to where you start to seductively twirl.

I don’t know how you convince them and get them. Shiny legs drag behind your delicate figure as your eyes roam the room, sighing with every lustful stare. This is purely pathetic, it didn’t make you feel the way you intended for it to do, but shit. All you wanted to do was flee the state and never look back. But there were too many things tying you back; Foxy, Ro, Rosie…A stinging sensation begins to form behind your orbs and you fiercely blink them away, refusing for the thought of Toto to be what brings you down. 

But in a moment like this, what were you supposed to think about? Toto was many things; devilishly, cunningly handsome, tempting, brilliant, intoxicating; but he was also a fucking no-good, professional heartbreaker, a screwed up man who roamed earth without a sense of direction, who truly never deserved to fall in love again, especially with someone was tainted and loyal as you—

But the eyes don't lie. He’s become known by you; someone in your favorite book whom you look for in every page, despite it all. His orbs remind you of your favorite kind of dark chocolate, swirly and dreamy; enough to make you swoon, but they’re filled with more than just that. They’re desperate, as if ready to run endless miles if that's what it took for you to speak to him. They’re loopy, blazing nervously when you spot him, brows knitted with concern.

And he deserves it…you think.

Still, that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning, causing you to panic at the thought of spilling your lunch in front of everyone eyeing the glass box you're hidden behind; it could only ever do so much. Everyone can see your usually tantalizing persona fly out the window, a frail—shattered—girl taking your place. 

He’s tricked you. He made you let your guard down, let him in, and then ramshackled you whole; and he hadn’t been nice about it either. How could you have ever thought he would choose you over someone who actually held his kid for nine months? You had seen the messages that sunny morning; birds chirped, flowers bloomed. He had been busy doing God knows what, and when his bright laptop dinged, you couldn’t help but peek. As you once told him; you loved gossip.

Jack is asking if you remember where he last left his stuffed bear? You know, the one with the white spots? 

Susie. You had heard a lot about her—you’ve read, a lot, too— she was someone to admire. Helped create a path of perseverance for young girls; it was astonishing. The thought of Jack made you smile, then the bear, then her. Which is why you aimlessly scrolled once, playfully, and then you came to a rude halt. 

If someone were to grovel that way for you, you would helplessly fall for it. Fuck, he pratically begged for a second chance. Heat weaved through your body, anger rising, and then falling cruelly with a sense of undeniable ache. You had cried; sobbed. Then you got ready for work.

When he had asked what was wrong, you wanted to stab him with the nearby knife, and the thought scared you half to death. You could tell he was deeply wounded by the cold shoulder, but why the fuck should you care? 

Here—in Machiavellian Nights—trapped behind a transparent case, with disgusting men eyefucking you, you realize; there’s no place to run. An attraction is what you are; tourists are what they all represent. Toto’s massive figure swallowed his seat whole, long legs spread open naturally. And you hate it how handsome he looks, dark clouds painting his usually happy eyes. His chest dances up and down, wrestling to catch a breath. The hollers make him flinch in the slightest, grimacing.

The Austrian is apologizing, cryptically. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry. His lips aren't moving, but you can hear his pleads as the music continues. 

C’mon! Dance, someone demands from afar, rough hand smacking the glass. Gasping, you purse your lips, continuing. Ignorance is horrible; especially coming from you. The idea of going on without you feel like a nightmare—torture. He tries standing up, and he doesn’t really know what his game plan is exactly in order to get to you, but heads turn and harsh arms force him back down. 

It isn’t that hard, boy. To like you, or love you. It was as if you got yanked back into what is truly your reality. You can’t have good things in life. Your father hadn’t died—he had abandoned you. Your mother did too. And Toto…

Toto Wolff was just the same.

You’re glad no one can hear you choking back on tears, you wouldn't dare to fall. But emotions were running high, your throat felt raw, your eyes stung, knees felt wobbly, and it was too much. But aside from your hurt, an eerie feeling hugged your chest, forcing your rib cage to poke you as a warning. You allow yourself to look back up, rapidly scanning the unlit room. Everything was blurry—which didn’t help—but what was it?

You’re no longer focused; your legs sway, your gartner slides down, your nose is starting to get runny, and it was all a mess. Connecting your gaze back to his, you narrow them down like deathly blades. This is all your fault, they scream at him, enraged. If you hadn’t walked into my life, then I wouldn’t be this way. 

You’re screwed up and brilliant. 

“You fucking ruined me!” Running towards the glass, you violently slap and punch, over and over until you no longer feel any pain. Red bruises form rather quickly and everyone begins to murmur.

Look like a million dollar man.

“I hate you, Toto Wolff!” Muffled whimpers flow like a waterfall as everyone turns to face the fifty-two year old who sits with a hurt expression. 

“I can explain,” he pleads, instantly rising up to his scary height and rushing over to where you’re caged. His large hand pathetically grasps it, fingerprints painting the shiny protection between you and him. “Sweetheart…”

So why is my heart broke?

“I’ll regret you for the rest of my—”

Chaos ensues; the volcano erupts. It’s suffocating, the way everyone tramples over one another, scattering like lab rats. The yells of terror make his blood run ice cold, swiftly turning around to face the open room. Foxy lets out a scream filled with agony as she crawls over to the stage. Acid slides down her face, makeup running. The other dancers run to hide where the bartender stands with his mouth wide open, orbs flickering with urgency. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to get you out of here.

“Open it!” Foxy cries, hands hitting the clear box so forcefully that her nails begin to chip, light gore beginning to slide down. “Open the fucking stage right now!” She lets out a string of pleas, but no one is listening—they can’t even try to with all the loud noise. The alarms go off and that’s what snaps him out of his spot of confusion and what makes her cry and fall back against her arms.

The glass isn’t shattered like in the movies, all over the floor, no. There’s just a singular hole, scratches circling around it—and spikes of blood coloring the crystal clear mirror. 

Even with eyes closed, face sticky with tears, and blood spurting out of your mouth and chest, pooling around your angelic body, you were still beautiful. The ring lays flat atop your unbeating heart, shining one last time against the cherry lights. You were gone as soon as the bullet hit, but Toto was the last person you had seen. And you wish you had time to tell him you never meant any of it. You could never hate him; you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“I…no. No. No.” Fists punch urgently, cuts finding a place in his pale skin. “Open it!” More pounds. “Let her out! Why is no one letting her out?” Trepidation sleeks over him as he stops his actions, taking a second to look at you. Your dark wings had somehow turned darker, your white dress is now drowned in crimson red, your halo is no longer on your head, and your lively skin is now ghostly pale, almost gray. “Peaches…” His voice quivers so much, he almost doesn't realize it's coming from him. “Get up, sweetheart—come on, just stand.”

His chest tightens when you go unresponding. “T-think about Rosie! She loves you; she needs you. I need you,” he declares, voice cracking. “The text messages are a mishap! I only love you, Peaches, that’s all! I swear I do, I swear it’s you…”

He dreads to turn around and face what was now his life. The music cuts, but the frightful screams continue. Toto blinks back the stingy feeling as he flickers up to make eye contact with who’s responsible for ripping you away from him.

You share the same eyes, but hers are sullen now. Her hair looks as if it could have once been glossy, but is now as dry as the desert. Her lips are nastily chapped, but an uncanny curl slips through as she ticks anxiously when Ro and the rest of the guards hold her without an ounce of remorse, cuffing skinny, needled wrists.

Your mother looks down at the gun, at her daughter, then at Toto. An unhinged stare strikes her impentent face.

“I brought her into this world…I can also take her out.”

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[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 2

summary ;; Your burning determination to prove your father wrong and Jake's wish to teach you a lesson both end up in a pyrrhic victory. PART 1 | PART 3 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; im speechlessly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of love you guys showed me these past couple of days. like. literally never had something like this happen to me before. i got too excited to finish this chapter to give back to yall, there was an attempt to proofread but... i hope it's not too bad, please enjoy! as always, if you see any mistakes, im sorry!

The path further into the floating mountains was all the worse to navigate thanks to the lack of light, the only useful guides you had were the faintly flickering bioluminescent lights from the forest deep below. The branches twisting around each other to create a naturally built bridge from mountain to mountain benefited from this, contrasting as a clear obscured line to your eyes against the glow underneath. 

The easiest part of your journey, in hindsight, was just skipping along this line. 

You weren’t exactly happy about this.  

The more you left behind, the more you were freaked out that Neteyam or anyone else was onto your intentions already and hot on your trail right this moment. Imagining father making a beeline to you in the air with Bob, a cruel, merciless whistling arrow, made you all jittery and almost puking kind of nervous, pulling at the depths of your stomach. 

Your rationality told you that it was a half an hour walk to your spot from the tent, and Neteyam would be hurrying the more he thought he wasn’t able to catch up with you along the way, so you had around twenty minutes until the whole family was panicking and raising the clan to look for you. 

Tuk had gone missing once thanks to some hide and seek game with Lo’ak (she’d hidden so well and was waiting for her siblings to find her already, blindly sticking to the game for an entire day, not out of stubbornness but childish purity), and this was exactly what had gone down —

the resentful part of you questioned if father thinks of you highly enough to resort to that. 

If something happened to you, he would maybe urge your brothers to search for you for a while, and drop it then — leaving you to your own devices happily. 

Maybe. 

Were you even worth it in his eyes for a search party? You wondered if he cared enough that you disappeared. 

But that was a stupid, childish thought you knew you fantasized about a lot — perhaps this was why he’d called you immature. This was no mindset for a strong, independent, confident hunter. The thought father was right, even a miniscule bit was bitter on your tongue, worse than what he called black coffee. 

Disappearing so you’d find out just how much he cared was unfair to mom, for one. 

She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, the stories she sang poignantly about were hard to listen to without tearing up. Her home. The trees of voices, all the lost ancestors. Her father. Uncle Tsu’tey. Her first ikran, Seze. Loss upon loss you think there’d be nothing left to give anymore, but sky people’s fire was always hungry, always willing to waste more to grow bigger. 

You wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her cry in your pursuit to punish father. Never. 

You weren’t a child.

Just wanted to be one, sometimes.

Wanted father to babytalk you, pet your head longer than a passing touch as he walked away hurriedly to attend to other matters, make beads for your braids the way he always did from pretty stones he found on ponds, carve you little trinkets when you graciously had to give up your toys to Lo’ak and Kiri’s greed. 

Your neck piece was all them in fact, he’d see it if he ever paid enough attention, or perhaps it was all insignificant to him, five kids meant countless belongings for each individual child had been passed down from his hands, it would be a miracle for father to recognize you still wore his clumsy creations. But again, it had been too long since he’d even looked at you affectionately, he wouldn’t See. 

He’d transferred those habits entirely to Neteyam at one point in time. 

Your older brother would always ruffle Lo’ak’s hair and tease him the way father used to, comfort him in his own playful way, and even though the younger looked discontent at being babied, you knew he was happy Neteyam was quite literally his shadow to look after him through tough times — including shielding from father’s line of fire. In return, he was suffering from being a foil to the older son, you understood the struggle because you were going through the same comparison, you just weren’t obsessed with catching and living up to father as much as Lo’ak did. 

Win some, lose some, I guess.

Plus, Neteyam was trembling under the massive planet-weight pressure, he had to set the standard, he had to live up to the older brother title. He was becoming more of a father figure to Tuk as days passed and the Olo’eyktan became more transparent from his family’s life as a dad to five. 

Besides, Lo’ak made trouble enough for two people to go around that you felt bad for your big brother, Kiri was thankfully more mellow (despite frequently hanging out together with him and Spider) compared to him that Neteyam could breathe, not having to divide his attention. 

You were in awe of her about how disconnected she was from all the changing dynamics. She had her own problems you could never understand, more spiritual than your grandmother, and ever the ethereal soul who you thought would disappear into Eywa if flesh wasn’t holding her down to Eywa’eveng.

You were the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous of her (and Tuk) holding the softer sides of father, the boys thought he was deliberately softer because they were girls — but you were also a girl, so why weren’t you allowed in?   

Well, thanks to that, you’d gotten closer with Neteyam and known him better after the whole clan had settled on High Camp, so it wasn’t all that bad. You could badmouth father all day long sitting on some rock and make him laugh abashedly, guilty that he was smiling along with the trashing of the father’s name he respected so much — it was therapy, as Norm had taught humans frequently sought back on earth. It got you trying some things with Neteyam, becoming more of a companion and ranting buddy for him who he could be honest and open with, so that he didn’t have to worry about taking up a larger role in your life to fill father’s missing presence. You were concerned about him more than he could be concerned about you. 

That got you contemplating if father had noticed how comfortable his two oldest children were with each other that it was always Neteyam who he sent after you. A girl could dream, no? For one moment, it wasn’t because it was Neteyam’s responsibility, but because father was paying attention to how his kids got along.

The image of him pushed you to be frantically fast to reach your destination as the fear returned with might. If he caught you right now when you had no ikran to prove him wrong, the punishment he was sure to give would be way more humiliating, you at least wanted something in your name to taunt him with if you were going down anyways. 

A smile crept up your face at imagining him discombobulated and speechless, unable to pick out one thing that you did wrong. 

The carelessness that came with your speed combined with how dark it was to see where to clutch and put your feet on caused you to slip up countless times when climbing, the sharp rocks scraping the insides of your palms and insides of your forearms, lifting your skin up. What you cared about more than the pain was that the blood was now tracking material for your family to sniff you out — you couldn’t exactly wipe the rocks clean, so you carried on with a hammering heart, more afraid of father ruining your perfect moment than whatever ikran that would soon be going straight for your throat. 

At least you were able to wash the blood off your hands in the waterfall. 

Downside? You couldn’t see shit. With your bare back flushed straight to the wall of rock and your feet feeling out the thin edge, the shrill cry of ikrans and the roaring of water was about to overwhelm your senses too much to pay attention — 

and you slipped. 

The shriek that ripped out of you at the sensation of falling and the drop of your stomach alone almost made you pass out, and for a split second it was a good thing that you wouldn’t feel the moment you died, but your body, once again, was one step ahead of you, it twisted in the air the last second and your hands gripped the ledge. 

The wet rock and your blood made all that your life was hanging on slippery as you dangled into the abyss, swaying with the strong winds at this height. 

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or the nervousness, but something made you laugh out loud, and the bubbling laughter continued until you were able to pull yourself up safely at the ikran rookery, finally. 

Looking around like a fish out of water, how you hadn’t cracked your skull open shooting down to the forest below was a total miracle. 

You’d made it?  

No one was there to witness what you just pulled off in total darkness. Your whole body was shaking, and you weren’t even chosen by an ikran yet. This was happening. Shit. This was totally happening! 

Your excited and terrified, “Hell yeah!” went unheard apart from your aerial crowd. 

But. 

One among them answered your holler with its own that cut into the night like a battle horn. It was the closest one to you that was apparently watching you the whole time, starting to roar at you and twitching on its feet, shadow in the night informing you of its movements.

You’d seen from Neteyam and Lo’ak’s iknimayas that you only had a few seconds to pull your shit together until it attacked, this was meant to be dangerous, serious, you could end up as a late night snack to them if things went wrong, but you couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear that it had chosen you.

You were chosen. 

It wanted you as its rider. 

If only father could see you now. The sensation of being the one — being special was unmatched. Now you could somehow get the fraction of the high he must have felt as Toruk Makto.  

The, “Let’s fucking go!” that left you kept echoing into the night as you lunged at it, dodging to the left when it snapped at your head, hooking one arm around the ikran’s slender neck and clamping your legs around it the moment it started thrashing around wildly. 

You didn’t know why father had made a big deal out of it. You formed tsaheylu in no time, breaking Neteyam’s record — and you didn’t even have the rope to hoop around its neck and jaw. 

Firstborn daughter excellence. 

Confidence restored and triumphing wildly to the pulse of your heart, the flickering smile on your face in wonder turned into a full-fledged smirk. At that moment, nothing mattered. It was just you and your victory. Proving father wrong. 

Feeling the ikran’s lifeforce through the bond, a shiver went down your back as his beady eye looked up at you, pupil shrinking and expanding rapidly while you both took a minute to catch your breaths after the fierce wrestling. 

“Gotcha,” you panted. “You’re mine now.”

The adrenaline made everything sparkle and shine, your spirits soaring high and unbothered about literally anything else in the world, and for one glorious moment, lost in the memories of your brothers’ iknimayas boasting with cheers from the clan and sometimes encouraging, sometimes fearful screams of your parents, your spirit sought them out to be soaked in the same pride — forgetting that it was night and nobody was there to celebrate you. 

You were all alone. 

The smile dropped from your face and crashed down like paper thin porcelain upon the slightest movement. 

Right. 

You’d forgotten you were doing this out of spite. It snuffed every twinkle of magic away from the previously shimmering milestone of your life. 

Your ikran felt the crushing disappointment through your connection and chirped at you, almost like an excited sibling pulling on your arm to show you something, weirdly comforting. Mom’s ikran was a spitfire, but also nurturing — this one felt different somehow, you felt him bouncing from wall to wall in your head, hyperactive and cheerful.

Flying! He wanted to fly! 

The first flight sealed the bond, after all. 

You weren’t alone even if none of your family members were here to share the joy — you had your new buddy. And the drop of gravity was thrilling this time, not the terrifying chaos that had your asshole shriveling up as it was when you’d missed your step. 

The flights with mom were something you looked forward to, drying up in frequency as you aged, you’d missed the wind on your body and the greenery dancing below as you maneuvered in the air — but mom reserved nighttime rides for father only, and after the move to High Camp, the skimpering chance you could get your way if you begged cutely enough was gone too. You’d never flown at night. 

The sight was out of this world. The stars leaving a glowing trail above you, the forest pulsing with faint purple, green and blue lights underneath, everything was elevated in beauty because darkness let them shine. 

You made loops in the air with your ikran, got as high in the air as you could before your breath thinned, and scraped at the tips of trees before shooting up again, all the while laughter you’ve never screamed before bubbled out of you. 

And you were all alone. There was no mom to gleefully taunt your ikran with hers to get both of you dancing in the air. There was no father to watch on with a small smile he was fighting. There was no Neteyam to stop you from dipping too close to the ground, and no Lo’ak to challenge you to get closer to race with him — no Kiri to complain how all of you were being so childish, how stupid this was all the while she was the worst of you all, instigating all the chaos. 

No Tuk in your mom’s lap whining about you guys leaving her off the fun. 

Instead, there was the scent of a bogey in the air, snapping you out of the haze of sorrow.

When had you ventured out further into unprotected territory? 

Linked with your thought process, the ikran stopped advancing forward and started beating his wings downward to stay unmoving, you observed the surroundings to get a better feeling of where you were, and noticed this was around the old shack, artificial lights were gliding between the leaves and branches that obscured your view of just who was roaming the grounds at night, definitely not a natural part of the forest’s flora.    

Father’s voice materialized in your head, drilled into you and your siblings’ heads over and over again. If you come across any threat at all, do not engage, fall back and inform me. Got it? You call for me first.

And that split second of being afraid was your death sentence — that father would be so angry at you for your ignorance, amateurism, carelessness and idiocy that he could throw you out of the family for almost leading the demons to base simply by being there that they could figure out what direction you’d come from. That moment of weakness was enough for someone to snipe you out, and get you falling down from your ikran straight into the forest below, the cries of your new friend falling silent on your ears as you did your best to hug giant leaves to cushion your fall to the best of your ability. . 

 Barely any time was left for you to shake the disorienting motion sickness off, you couldn’t even attempt to run into the accepting, protective hands of the forest before whoever just shot at you was onto you, harshly gripping your arms and raising you up. 

Father’s gonna be so mad if he finds out. Shit, I gotta get out of this. 

But… Avatars? In full camo, armored, even. You hadn’t heard of this from anybody in camp!

“Damn! Didn’t actually think you’d be able to land the shot from all of that tree, man! Up-top!”

Two of them high-fived, you were actually going to be sick. 

Thumb between his belt and stomach, another Avatar strutted towards you. The saunter and confidence meant that he was their leader. “Now, now… What do we have here?”

“A native.” You were being pushed down on your knees, one hand being grabbed and shown like a trophy. Just how many were there? You couldn't calm yourself enough to focus! “Four fingers.”

The speaker this time was a woman. “How unusual. Those monkeys don’t leave their coven at night.” 

“Where were you flying, little bird?” The leader, a sleazy smirk on his face, leaned down to take a good look at you. “Leading away from the nest, perhaps?”

“She don’t understand, Colonel, don’t bother. Ya think Sully could ever manage teaching one word of English to those?”

“Watch how she learns in three seconds.” He yanked on your queue so hard you saw white light in this hour of darkness — and when your vision came back, a screen with your father’s face was being shoved to your face. “Jake Sully. Toruc Mactoe. Where is he?”

You screamed when he pulled with increasing strength, keeping up with the act you didn’t understand. And the state of pain and terror massively helped, contributing to you looking frantic and lost, only knowing that you were being zapped to your core. 

“Seems like I don’t need to ask you.” His fingers snapped your head back to get a good look at your earpiece, late to notice you had it on at all because of the dark. “Can directly ask the man himself.” 

All you could form to think was, ‘Father’s gonna kill me for this. He’s actually gonna kill me this time.’

You weren't terrified of what the Avatars would do to you. You were afraid of him.

One empty shell from the reloaded machine gun flew away, tinkling hollow when it fell down, and rolled until it stopped in a small pool of water that had formed on the jagged ground of the cave systems. In the scarlet and orange glow of the campfire he’d haphazardly put together right outside of their home out of impatience after Neytiri had basically thrown him out, Jake almost mistook the liquid for blood. 

An ominous cloud of dread settled on his shoulders, a paranoia every father tended to go through.

“Big Brother, this is Devil Dog. State your status, over.”

Neteyam didn’t miss a beat to answer, thankfully. “Devil Dog, this is Big Brother. I’m still en route to Foxcove, over.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes at best, sir. Over.”

What he wanted to say was how come he hadn’t met you halfway, but it was empty talk. No need to stress the boy out. “Devil Dog signing out.”

This girl was half the reason for the wrinkles on his forehead, Jesus Christ. He was basically waiting you out like a father sitting in the dark to ambush his daughter who had snuck out at night, for that single glorious moment of yeah that’s right, you got caught, after the light would come on to ruin that moment of relief of successfully making it back in. 

His mate had scolded him to be nice and understanding, a Marine was anything but, the closest he could compromise was not being as mean to you than he had to be. Sassing, “So how was your Iknimaya?” like he planned was out the window — Neytiri was spot-on to say the girl would simply give the same mean energy right back at him, and that could only mean another erupting volcano of a fight and a good night’s sleep ruined for him, overthinking where he went wrong and how else he could have salvaged the situation. 

He’d just make you tend to the ikrans for a week for some patience practice, cleaning shit for hours on a daily basis would certainly throw the temporary whim of the rite of passage hyperfixation out of your system. The possibility of you shouting you hated him was unavoidable, but Jake had to get his point across, no matter how terribly it nauseated him to hear something like that from his child. 

It was strange to remember he couldn’t care less for what people thought of him in the past. Some shithead he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hated Jake’s guts? Good. He was living in their head rent free, it was fun even — Neytiri too, Jake absolutely enjoyed her hating game at first. 

Being legitimately resented by his very own child, though, was a heartbreak he didn’t expect to hurt him the way it did, knocking air off his lungs the first time he heard it. A burning stab right in his heart that wouldn’t go away until he had to hear it for himself you hadn’t meant any of what you said.

Because that said hate actually stemmed from hurt Jake must have inflicted. Because you could actually despise him, and never allow him to reconnect with you again if he could ever manage to garner the courage to reach out to you — a mightier challenge than hunting Toruk in the sense it actually scared him.   

His teenage daughter. Scared him. 

Jake didn’t know what to do about it, he couldn’t even show what exactly this made him feel, too ashamed and proud for it in the first place. 

The growing distance between you and him was an uneasy, frightened bird he tried to shush and calm in his heart in favor of other pressing matters that drilled small holes in the depths of his stomach, and over time, those little holes had fused together to create one big pit with greater gravitational pull than the sun — until Jake didn’t know how to stitch them back together anymore. 

He told himself he would talk to you later, for sure. The morning after every argument, every fight, every jab from you he snapped at he would try to make amends for, definitely. 

And then he didn’t. 

“What is this, are you palulukan ambushing prey? I told you to make up with her, not prepare for hunting.”

Jake shook his head, dropping the machine gun back inside the crate. The warmed metal was some sort of consolation to his nerves. Marine habit. Always felt safer with a gun near. (Or was it the American in him?) “Neytiri,” he acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I’m just passing time.”

“What do you think will happen when she comes back and sees you waiting for her like this?”

Ah, like the old times when Jake couldn’t do one thing right in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully, but with no mirth behind it, closing the crate with a muffled thunk. With nothing to do with them, one elbow went to his knee and the other hand’s fingers started a rhythm on the lid he’d just shut. 

His mate’s hand gingerly came down on his shoulder, kneading the nerves. “Just talk to her, Ma’Jake.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted, he covered her fingers on her shoulder with his, and she immediately held his hand back. “Don’t know what to even tell her.” He gave an exhale from the deeper, tired parts of his soul, gazing at the path leading away from their tent. “With Neteyam and Lo’ak, it’s easy. I tell ‘em what to do and they—”

Neytiri took a seat next to him, gathering their hands together. “Suffer just the same.” Jake was about to brush her off, but she didn’t relent. “What you’re doing is hurting them.”

This now was about all of their children rather than you, specifically. Neytiri was trying to get him to see the bigger picture first before moving to cover what he did wrong with each child of his, they had had this conversation countless times before. 

Here we go again, Jake thought.

“Doesn’t matter if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Does it?” Neytiri leaned in, and calmness washed over him despite the disturbing nature of what she was saying. “Does it keep them safe? Or push them to act out more, get in worse situations?”

He grimaced. “I have to—”

“You feel like you have to.” His mate shook their clasped hands, rattling his bones. “I keep my children safe with trust and honesty. Transparence, Ma’Jake. So that they listen to me when I mean it because they See me. You shut them out.” Her lips bared to show her pearly teeth as she was practically beseeching him. “You don’t get your children’s trust by treating them like a squad.”

“They trust me plenty.”

“They trust Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. What about their father?”

“I make sure they’re safe.” Neytiri dropped his hands with an agitated snarl, she thought they were back at the beginning again, he couldn’t make her truly understand no matter what he did. He poured his heart out through their tsaheylu everytime, but her values and beliefs were wired so differently from his at the end of the day. “I make sure they stay where I want them to stay for their own good.” Jake shook his head, his voice soft, hushed. No force behind it when Neytiri was heated in return. “One day they’ll understand.”

“They won’t if you never tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Jake asked. “That I’m being harsh on them to prepare them for war? You think they’ll take it seriously after this?”

“Na’vi were in war long before you. There will be wars after you. No parent sullied his child’s happiness for the price of becoming a warrior. You still don’t get our ways even after all these years.” 

“The sky people’s way,” Jake emphasized with his arms. “I have to teach them how they think, what they go through, so they know what they’ll be facing, okay? I can’t simply teach them by telling them.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Jake. Contradicting.” Neytiri was gentle in her cruelty, the flickering flames burned less than her amber eyes. “Tuk and Kiri are getting none of this. I know your heart isn’t allowing you. Why can’t you do the same for your other children?”

Because he had gone too far already with the older three. 

Trial and error. 

He couldn’t take back the things he did and say back — and quite honestly? Jake was being pulled from all sides to sit down and rethink his parenting. All he thought anymore was how to protect his family, frequent nightmares of losing his children in gruesome ways were haunting his every step. 

A father protects his children, that’s what gives him meaning. 

Jake had his own desperate ways to do so.  

He opened his mouth to say something back, anything, but was interrupted by the communication line coming on. “Dad.” 

Jake immediately knew something was wrong, body sitting ramrod straight. If the frantic breathing and barely controlled voice wasn’t any indication of it, his eldest’s behavior was. Neteyam didn’t slip up in the codenames like Lo’ak did, dropped all formalities only when he was borderline panicking.  

“Dad. I’m sorry, dad, sir, I can’t find her, dad, I’ve looked everywhere around here, I thought maybe she was hiding underwater, behind rocks—but I can’t, I can’t—.”

“Slow down.” Jake could barely contain his own panic rising from the state his son was in. The boy wasn’t able to see it, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as if Neteyam was right in front of him, and started gesturing with his hand. “Slow down, son.”

“Dad—”

Jake tsk-ed. “Neteyam, slow. Slow.”

Neytiri took his elbow. “What is it?”

He told her to wait with his gaze, and turned his attention back to Neteyam. This could only mean one thing, he was praying to be wrong — needed clarification. “Now tell me calmer. What’s going on?”

“She’s never been here. She never came here in the first place. There’s no sign of her. No trace. I’ve tracked.”

Jake’s instant response was fear. Domineering, ice-cold, cutting fear. Bodily and emotionally both. You were clockwork, similar to him in having unchanging routines and patterns. Angry? Went for a walk. Depressed? No talking to anyone until it passed. Happy? Wanted to go to the forest to spend time with your siblings and always craved sweet fruit. Didn’t want to be around anyone? Hid in the little bioluminescent cove with a pond two little mountains away, always. Always.  

Neytiri sensed this, observing the change of demeanor in him.“Ma’Jake?”

“Okay, son.” He seized back control. One missing child was enough. “Stay right there and don’t move. I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jake,” Neytiri hissed finally, at the end of her ropes.

“She didn’t go to the cove,” he said, face icy neutral as always, but his eyes showed dizzying concern. Neytiri put a hand on her mouth as Jake wasted no time in changing channels. “Night Owl, this is Devil Dog. Come in.” He couldn’t even wait two seconds before trying again. “Night Owl, what is your status? Where are you?” 

Silence.

The more fear dug deeper into his skin, the more his anger and annoyance soared up, his tail was whipping the air erratically, the finger on the earpiece could send the metal right into his brain with how hard he was pressing on it. “I know you can hear me. This is no time for playing games. You know what you did to your brother? Do you know how panicked he was, not being able to find you—” 

Then Jake remembered what Neytiri advised, he didn’t change strategies because she was right next to him to dig his eyes out, but because his heart was picking up its pace by the second. “Tell me where you are, I’ll leave you alone, I promise, alright? If you’re somewhere open, get to safety, I’m only asking this from you. Or else—”

“Don’t.” Neytiri raised a warning finger at him, voice just above a whisper so they could hear their daughter if she decided to cut in. “Threaten her.”

He couldn’t stop her from snatching the communication device off of him. “Ma’ite, it’s mom. Can you talk to me at least?”

His ears twitched at picking up on you responding, not quite making out the words.  

Jake’s eyes shut close for a long time as his whole eyebrow line migrated upwards, he physically had to get a few steps between him and the earpiece so the obliviating worry that’d almost blinded him wouldn’t cause him to say something he’d greatly regret later. He could feel himself deflating. A migraine could be coming anytime soon.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence but the moment your mother interrupted, you did? Fine. Fine. He didn’t care. Jake could live with it. At least you were alive.

A rippling shudder shook him the moment that thought hit him, an image of you lying dead in a ditch, pale blue, flashing in his mind, he had to run a hand down his face. 

When Jake looked back, irked by the silence, he found Neytiri standing completely stock-still. And all of a sudden, her petrifying glare was on him, ears pinned all the way back, hands gradually starting to tremble. 

“Neytiri?” 

She wordlessly handed him the device, and with a deep frown, Jake put it back in his ear. 

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

And the ground disappeared right under Jake’s feet, plunging him into hell itself.

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝 #📖: light

[bradshawsbaby]

Love in the Air

Pairing: Rooster x Female Reader

Summary: You weren't expecting anything interesting or exciting to happen on your flight from Virginia to San Diego. But what happens when you decide to shoot your shot with the handsome stranger sitting in front of you on the plane?

Word Count: 12.5k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to my dear friend, @ryebecca for giving me the idea for this one! I've been mulling it over in my brain for a while now, and the super adorable Netflix movie Love at First Sight gave me some much-needed inspiration to finally see it through to completion. This story exists outside of the Mr. & Mrs. Bradshaw Universe, which is sort of a first for me, so I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Travel anxiety, some very mild angst, discussions of parental death, brief language, lots of fluff.

If you had to rank your preferred modes of transportation, flying would probably be at the bottom of the list, beat only perhaps by public bus or bicycle. It seemed that no matter how hard you tried to make it as smooth and easy a journey as possible, your experiences at the airport always turned into one catastrophe after another.

Your flight this morning was supposed to take off at 9:30am, which meant that you had scheduled the start of your day to ensure that you would be at the airport no later than 7:15, accounting for traffic and long lines at check-in and security. That, of course, meant that you had to leave your best friend, Katie’s house in Fredericksburg at 5:45 on the dot in order to make the sixty-one mile trip to Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, and that was being generous. If the two of you stopped for coffee—which Katie insisted was a must—that alone had the potential to derail your plans, which had you nervously fiddling with the bracelet you never took off, the one your dad had given you as a gift for your high school graduation.

“Relax,” Katie laughed, taking her eyes off the road for only a moment to reach out and squeeze your hands reassuringly, halting your anxious movements. “You’re going to get there with plenty of time to spare. There’s literally no one on earth who’s a more responsible flier than you. Have you ever even come close to missing a flight?”

“No,” you admitted sheepishly, taking a small sip of your hazelnut iced coffee. It did little to calm your nerves, but it was one of the best iced coffees you’d ever tasted.

“Of course you haven’t,” Katie smiled, her eyes back in front of her as she signaled to merge into another lane. “So just take a deep breath and enjoy all this gorgeous fall foliage. I’m going to get you there without incident, I promise.”

Katie knew better than pretty much anyone how much flying tended to stress you out. The two of you had been attached at the hip since the first day of kindergarten. Your friendship had survived all the ups and down of adolescence, boy drama, the separation of going to colleges hundreds of miles apart, heartache, loss, and so much more. She was truly the sister you never had, and you couldn’t be more grateful to have her in your life. Even now that you were living in San Diego, and Katie and her husband had moved to Fredericksburg, Virginia for Josh’s job, nothing could keep the two of you apart.

Using a little bit of the vacation time you’d accumulated at work, you’d taken a long weekend to fly out and surprise Katie for her and Josh’s housewarming party. It had been months since you had seen your best friend in person, and the two of you had spent the past few days acting like a couple of high schoolers, staying up all night eating junk food and keeping poor Josh awake with your loud and hysterical fits of laughter.

You hadn’t realized just how lonely you’d been, all by yourself in San Diego, until you’d witnessed up close how cozy and happy Katie’s life in Virginia was.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of Katie, not by any means. She and Josh had met in college, and you were thrilled that your best friend in the whole world had found her person, the one who was going to be there to hold her hand through life and love her through every up and every down. You had even shed a few happy tears when Katie had confided in you this past weekend that she and Josh were finally trying for a baby.

You weren’t jealous, but you desperately longed for what she had. While Katie and Josh had been happily in love since sophomore year, your love life had been decidedly marked by one failed relationship after another. The most painful of which had been your last boyfriend, Andrew. That breakup had been what had propelled you to accept the job offer that had taken you to San Diego almost a year ago.

“Screw Andrew!” Katie had told you as she’d helped you pack up your entire life into a few suitcases and boxes. “You’re headed to the Hottie Capital of America!”

“I must have missed that moniker on the travel brochures,” you responded dryly, although it was the first time you’d felt the urge to laugh in weeks.

“Um, hello, missy. It’s literally called ‘Fightertown USA,’” Katie said, stopping what she was doing to turn and face you, hands on her hips. “You’re going to end up with some sexy fighter pilot, and I am literally going to wither away with envy,” she giggled, winking at you.

“Yeah, right,” you smiled despite yourself, nudging her playfully.

“It’s true,” Katie sighed, feigning dramatics as she draped a hand across her forehead and swooned onto your bed. “I can see it now. You’re going to make the cutest little Marine or Navy wife.”

And yet, for all of Katie’s confidence, there you were, a whole year later, just as single as you had been when you’d first arrived in Fightertown.

It wasn’t to say you were completely on your own. You’d made some really good friends at work, and you got along with all of your neighbors. You’d even gone on a few dates with some guys from North Island. But none that ever went anywhere.

Spending the weekend with Katie and Josh, being reminded of just how in love the two of them were, made you wonder if it was ever going to be your turn.

“You okay?” Katie asked, breaking your silent reverie as she took the exit leading towards the airport in Charlottesville. It wasn’t necessarily the closest airport, but it was the only one for today that offered the flight you needed to get back home. “You seem so quiet.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you nodded distractedly, smiling as you took another sip of your iced coffee. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

How could you possibly tell your best friend that seeing her happiness caused an ache inside your chest that hurt like nothing else you’d ever known? You couldn’t. It made you feel guilty enough just to admit it to yourself.

“Feeling a little nervous about your flight?” she pressed, reaching for her own iced coffee as the car came to a halt at a red light. “I know it’s long, and you hate connecting flights, but I stuck some Benadryl packets in your bag, if that helps at all. It sucks that you have such a hard time sleeping on planes.”

Smiling, you leaned over and pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek. What had you ever done to deserve such a good friend? And there you were, lamenting about all the things she had that you didn’t.

“You’re the best,” you told her sincerely, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m so glad I was able to get down here this weekend.”

Katie beamed brightly, reaching up to squeeze your hand before placing hers back on the steering wheel. “You’re telling me. It was the best surprise ever. I’m just sad I can’t keep you here longer.”

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised, trying to mentally calculate when you might be able to get time off from work again.

“Maybe you can come down for Christmas this year?” Katie suggested hopefully, glancing over at you with her big green eyes.

“Maybe,” you nodded, twisting your bracelet once more as you saw the signs for the airport approaching. “Or maybe I can fly you and Josh out to San Diego.”

“Oh, yes! Christmas on the beach? Sounds perfect,” Katie grinned, looking out for the sign for departing flights.

All too soon, Katie was pulling up in front of the Delta terminal where your flight would be taking off in just a few hours.

“See? Only 7:11! I got you here ahead of your insane schedule, even with the stop for coffee,” your best friend teased, a twinkle in her eye as she indicated the time on the dashboard.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, laughing out loud as she swatted your hand jokingly.

The two of you climbed out of the car to grab your luggage from the trunk. You’d done your best to pack lightly, which was never an easy task for you, even just for a weekend trip. But somehow, you’d managed to squeeze everything you needed into a carry-on bag. Well, that and a giant duffel that you were claiming was a purse.

“Ugh, goodbyes make me crazy,” Katie shook her head, clearly trying to hide the tears that were brimming in her eyes, which caused tears to spring to your eyes as the two of you reached for each other.

“I love you so much,” you told her, squeezing her tightly as she rocked you back and forth in her arms. “I’ll call you when I land.”

“Text me when you get to your gate,” she said, pulling back and taking your hands in hers. “And let me know if there are any cuties on your flight,” she added with a grin, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“I doubt I’m going to bag any cuties looking like this,” you countered sarcastically, indicating the yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt you’d donned that morning, as well as the messy bun you’d thrown your hair into.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous no matter what,” Katie scolded you, swatting you on the butt. “Now get going. We wouldn’t want you being late or anything like that,” she joked.

You laughed as well, though your heart ached a bit as you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and began turning towards the doors of the terminal.

“Love you! Talk to you soon!” Katie called out, waving and blowing kisses.

You threw one more wave your best friend’s way, then disappeared inside the terminal, which was already fairly crowded despite the early hour.

As expected, despite the fact that you’d taken pains to get there early and make sure you were on top of everything, the unlucky cloud that seemed to follow you whenever you flew made its appearance once again.

You of course ended up on the slowest moving line at security, only to be heavily questioned by the TSA agent who seemed to be under the impression that you looked nothing like the photo on your driver’s license. Then, when you finally got to the security scanners, you set off the metal detector and had to be publicly groped by another sour-faced TSA agent. As if that wasn’t bad enough, your suitcase was “randomly selected” for extra testing and security checks.

Katie may have loved to tease you about it, but this was precisely the reason why you always left as early as you did to get to the airport.

By the time you were finally rolling your suitcase towards your gate, you were feeling more frazzled than ever. Naturally, the gate had changed since your boarding pass had been printed, and now you had to trek halfway across the airport to find the new one.

You wondered what it felt like to be one of those lucky travelers whose gate was right at the center of the terminal, right near all the restaurants and shops. It had never been you. Without fail, no matter where or when you were flying, your gate always ended up being at the farthest corner of the terminal.

When you finally arrived, triple checking that the gate number matched your flight information, you let out a heavy sigh as you grabbed an open seat at the end of the row. To your surprise, you found that you were seated right next to an open outlet. You never got that lucky.

Turns out, you really did never get that lucky. When you plugged your phone in, you found that it wasn’t charging. Evidently, the outlet was open because it didn’t actually work.

Muttering under your breath, you unplugged your charger and threw it back into your duffel bag. At least your phone was still on 74%. You’d much prefer to have it fully charged, but this would do until you could charge it on the plane.

Glancing down, you realized that you had missed a text from Katie.

At the gate yet???

Rolling your shoulders back and getting more comfortable in your seat, you opened up the message so that you could send a quick response.

Just got here. You’d think I was on the No Fly List with how long it took me to get here.

Katie must have made good time getting home, because it wasn’t long before your phone was buzzing with another text.

😂😂😂 Get yourself a drink!

Katie, it’s not even 9am…

So? A mimosa then!

You laughed, shaking your head. A mimosa didn’t actually sound like such a bad idea right now. Neither did a large iced coffee. But now that you’d finally made it to your gate, you didn’t feel like dragging all your stuff with you across the terminal once again. And you didn’t feel comfortable leaving your things behind, unattended or even in the care of a stranger. Maybe you’d just order one on the plane.

When your phone buzzed again in your lap, you looked down and saw that it was another text from Katie.

Any cuties to share that mimosa with???

You were about to text her back that right now, the only cuties you could see were an adorable four-year-old and an elderly couple who must have been in their eighties when suddenly, the most gorgeous man you had ever seen in your life appeared, as if out of thin air. You were suddenly glad you didn’t have a mimosa or an iced coffee in hand, for you were certain that you would have spit it out in shock upon seeing this guy.

Jaw hanging open and eyes widening, your brain was too fuzzy from lack of sleep to remind you that it was wholly inappropriate and rude to stare.

He truly had to be the hottest man you had ever seen up close in real life. Tall, with broad, thick shoulders and a muscular build. His hair was a golden brown that looked like it was touched frequently by the sun—as did his skin, which was an amusing combination of both tan and pink, as though he should have applied just a pinch more sunscreen than he had. Most surprising of all was the mustache that made your stomach do a strange little flip. You usually weren’t all that attracted to facial hair of any sort, and most guys couldn’t pull off the mustaches they tried to sport, but this particular mustache was the sexiest thing you had ever seen. And somehow, despite not knowing this man from a hole in the wall, you couldn’t imagine him without it. It was like it was a part of his DNA.

Thankfully, he was still staring down at his boarding pass, so he hadn’t noticed your intense scrutiny. Coming to your senses, you closed your mouth and quickly averted your gaze, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. How mortifying. Imagine if he had looked over and caught you staring at him, gaping like a fish out of water?

Still, despite your self-consciousness at the thought of getting caught, you couldn’t help but steal another glance in his direction, this time out of the corner of your eye. He looked even taller this time around. It probably had something to do with the way he carried himself, an easy confidence pouring off him. This man knew he was hot stuff, of that you were sure. But there was also something unassuming about him, something quiet and almost humble. He was dressed in a pair of dark sweatpants and an old UVA T-shirt, nothing fancy or flashy. Somehow, however, he managed to pull it off even better than a three-piece suit.

You were startled out of your observations when your phone buzzed again. It was Katie, emphasizing her last message impatiently.

Do you have some kind of magic powers that I was unaware of to make hotties appear out of nowhere? Right when you texted me, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen walked up to my gate.

‼️‼️ GO TALK TO HIM!!! ‼️‼️

At the mere suggestion of going to talk to that guy, your stomach erupted into butterflies. Looking up once again, you saw that he had evidently confirmed he was at the right gate, and had settled down in a seat a couple rows over, facing away from you. God, even the back of his head was handsome.

Are you crazy? This guy is seriously the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I look like a homeless lady that wandered in off the street. I am NOT talking to him!

Your phone buzzed angrily a moment later.

Will you shut up before I drive back there to hit you upside the head?! YOU are gorgeous!!! Who cares if you have no make-up on and your hair’s in a messy bun? It’s called airplane chic! You’re still completely stunning. He would be LUCKY to have a girl as hot as you want to talk to him!

Chewing your bottom lip, you looked up again, trying not to be obvious as your eyes slowly wandered over the people at your gate, until they landed on him once more. He was on the phone this time, having an animated conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. Occasionally, he would turn slightly in your direction and you could catch a glimpse of his side profile.

Damn, this man was seriously perfect from every angle.

“Alright, Mav, I’ll see you when I land,” you heard him say—not that you were trying to eavesdrop—before he hung up the phone and dropped it back onto his lap.

It was then that you noticed his phone was plugged into the outlet next to his seat.

Maybe this could be your opportunity? You could casually walk over and see if there were any other open outlets near his. Perhaps you could even make a joke about how it was just your luck that the outlet near your seat wasn’t working. Maybe he’d laugh and tell you some horror story from his travel experiences and the two of you would end up talking until you exchanged numbers. Maybe there was some tiny, infinitesimal chance that this stunning man would actually be charmed by you and possibly even the teensiest bit interested.

Or maybe you would just remain rooted to your seat, terrified to move as you stared at the back of his head.

You were already anticipating the text from Katie when your phone buzzed once again.

The reason you’re not answering me better be because you’re in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Hottie from your gate!!!

Biting down on your lip, you turned your phone over, not knowing how to tell your best friend that you were too much of a chicken to get out of your seat and approach this guy.

At that moment, however, you were suddenly saved, at least somewhat, when a member of the flight crew announced that they were about to begin boarding. Forgetting about Katie’s texts and the hot guy sitting several feet away from you for a moment, you began gathering together all your belongings, making sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

When your boarding group was called, you did one final sweep around your seat, securing the strap of your duffel bag up on your shoulder and wrapping one hand around the handle of your carry-on before making your way to the line extending from the counter.

As you stepped up behind the elderly couple you’d noticed earlier, your boarding pass slipped out of your hand, floating through the air despite your best attempt to reach for it, and landing somewhere behind you.

Turning to find it, you nearly collided with the tall wall of man behind you, who was bending at the same time to grab it off the floor.

“Oh!” you gasped, startled to find that Mr. Hottie, as Katie had dubbed him, was not only standing behind you in line, but was also holding your boarding pass in his hand, glancing down at it.

“San Diego with a layover in Atlanta, huh?” he grinned, glancing from the boarding pass up to your face. Unsurprisingly, he had a beautiful set of whiskey-colored eyes that made your stomach do the same strange little flip that his mustache had induced. Oh, and up close, the mustache was even sexier.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded dumbly, your tongue suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds as your brain short-circuited and couldn’t come up with a single worthwhile thing to say.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one,” Mr. Hottie went on, holding your boarding pass out to you. “Looks like we’ve got a long day of flying ahead of us.”

Mouth hanging open, you slowly reached out and took the boarding pass from him, trying frantically to think of something—anything—to say. He was flying to San Diego, too? You were on the same exact flight? Including the same layover?

“I—I—”

“Hey, the line's moving!” someone from the back called out, sounding annoyed.

Turning back over your shoulder, you were mortified to see that the elderly couple in front of you had disappeared and you were, in fact, holding up the line.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, ducking your head as you clutched your boarding pass and reached out for your carry-on. “Thanks again for grabbing this for me,” you told Mr. Hottie, waving your boarding pass slightly before turning and practically running towards the counter.

With his long stride, he caught up to you in no time, his smile friendly and warm as the two of you joined the line of people waiting to board the airplane.

“You weren’t holding anyone up,” he whispered down to you, as if it was some special secret the two of you were sharing. “I don’t know what that guy was in such a rush for. To move from that line to this one? We’re all getting out of here at the same time.”

You smiled at his words, feeling comforted by his reassurance. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Some people are just always in a hurry.”

The two of you were quiet after that, and you wondered if that would be the end of the conversation. You were casting around for anything else you could talk about when he suddenly asked you, “So are you leaving home or heading home?”

Your heart fluttered at his question. If he didn’t want to keep talking, he wouldn’t have asked that, right?

“Heading home,” you told him, fiddling shyly with your bracelet. You laughed softly. “It’s still kind of weird saying that. I’ve only been in San Diego for about eleven months.”

He raised his eyebrow, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Yeah? Well, I know I’m a little late, but welcome to Fightertown. I hope it’s been treating you well.”

“Oh, it has been,” you nodded, making sure to pay attention to when the people in front of you began moving forward. “I take it you’re heading home then, too?”

“I am,” he grinned, shouldering the backpack he was carrying with him. “Well, actually, I’m kind of leaving home and heading home,” he amended. At your curious look, he explained, “I’m from Virginia originally, but I live in San Diego now. I guess you could say I’m a transplant, just like you,” he added with a chuckle. “Are you from Virginia, too?”

“New York, actually,” you told him, as the two of you followed the flow of people towards the plane. “But my best friend and her husband moved to Fredericksburg recently, so I was spending the weekend with them.”

“Ah, that’s a nice area,” he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced down at you with a smile. At your unspoken question, he said, “I was actually down for a reunion weekend at my school. I went to UVA.”

“I gathered,” you replied teasingly, indicating his T-shirt.

Glancing downward, he shook his head and laughed. “Almost forgot I threw this on when I woke up. Trying to get to the airport on time is a real pain, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” you agreed with a laugh, adjusting your hold on your duffel bag. “Flying is definitely one of my least favorite modes of transportation.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’d say that,” he said in reply, an amused look on his face.

Before you could ask him what was so funny, however, you were being welcomed aboard the plane by the stewardesses, who were all smiling and indicating that they expected you to keep moving down the aisle.

Your heart dropped slightly at the abrupt end to your conversation. Now the two of you were going to go to your separate seats, and he’d probably forget all about you. It was one thing to make idle conversation with a stranger while on line, but you doubted he had any real interest in continuing the conversation beyond that.

Sighing softly, you rolled your suitcase down the aisle, pausing every now and then as the people in front of you put their bags in the overhead bins and got themselves sorted. When you finally reached Row 22, you stopped and looked back at Mr. Hottie with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, this is me. I’ll just be a minute,” you told him, pushing down the handle of your carry-on.

“No worries, this is me,” he grinned, indicating Row 21. “I even snagged the window seat,” he added with a wink.

Your mouth went dry. He had the window seat of Row 21. You had the window seat of Row 22. He was sitting directly in front of you.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for your carry-on bag and easily hefting it above his head, sliding it into the overhead bin for you. “Do you need me to put this one up there, too?” he asked, pointing towards your duffel bag.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shook your head, holding onto the strap of your bag. “I’m going to keep this one with me. Thanks a lot,” you smiled, not even noticing the line of disgruntled people that was beginning to form behind the two of you.

“No problem,” he smiled, starting to slide into his row with his backpack still on his back. “Have a great flight.”

“You, too,” you replied, a little sadly, as you crawled into your row, doing your best to ignore the annoyed looks some people were throwing your way.

Needless to say, it was just your luck that the impatient man from the boarding line ended up sitting right beside you. You tried to smile at him, but he just grunted and put his headphones on, completely ignoring you.

Fine by you. Pulling your phone out, you found that you had a whole new series of texts from Katie, demanding to know exactly what was happening.

On the plane now. We should be taking off soon. I talked a little bit to Mr. Hottie. Are you happy?

It didn’t take long at all for her to respond. You could imagine that she had been sitting by her phone, waiting eagerly for your message.

Eeeee, yes, very! What did you guys talk about? Are you sitting near each other on the plane? Did you exchange numbers??? Send me a picture!!!

You laughed softly to yourself as you tried your best to answer all the questions your excited friend had asked you.

Just small talk. He’s actually flying home to San Diego, too. He went to UVA and was there for a reunion weekend. We did not exchange numbers and I’m not going to be a creepy stalker and take a picture of him, but he actually is sitting in the seat right in front of me.

OMG, IT’S FATE!!! So he has the same layover and everything??? And he’s FROM San Diego?! Babe, this is the guy for you!!! You’ve got to keep talking to him!

How would you suggest I do that? Just tap him on the shoulder and whisper into his ear the whole time?

It’s only a couple hours to Atlanta, and then you’ll have the layover, and then another four and half hours to San Diego. You could practically be engaged by the time you land! Just slip him a little note or something. Give him your number!

Your stomach was doing somersaults at the mere thought. Between the two of you, Katie had always been the more outgoing one. She would have no problem slipping a note with her phone number on it to a complete stranger, putting herself out there for the possibility of rejection and utter humiliation. You, on the other hand, preferred to play it safe. It was much more comfortable that way. And sure, maybe you’d never met your Josh the way Katie had, but at least you’d never been hurt too badly, right?

Unbidden, you thought of Andrew and felt bile rise in your throat.

Luckily, you were saved from having to answer Katie right away when the cabin crew made the announcement that it was time to shut down all electronics. Switching your phone onto airplane mode, you slipped it into the front pocket of your duffel bag and took a deep breath, buckling your seatbelt and closing your eyes.

Takeoff was your least favorite part of any flight. When you were a little girl, your parents used to make funny faces and sing silly songs to distract you from your terror. Even now as an adult who was flying all on her own, you still tried to remember the sound of their voices as the plane began its ascent.

It didn’t take too long before you were finally cruising at 18,000 feet and the captain turned off the seatbelt sign. Since you were a Delta SkyMiles member, you got free Wi-Fi on all your flights, so you immediately reached to turn your phone back on to let Katie know you had taken off safely.

As soon as your phone connected with the Wi-Fi, it was instantly flooded with a slew of text messages. A couple were from some of your friends back in San Diego, wishing you a safe and easy flight, but most were from your crazy best friend.

Don’t think you can use being on a plane as an excuse not to answer my texts!

I know you’re a SkyMiles member and you can see these messages!

You better answer me!!!

Shaking your head, you quickly tapped out a quick message in response.

Took off safely. Thinking of watching a movie before we land in Atlanta. You’re crazy and I am not slipping him a note.

Your phone was blessedly quiet for the next several minutes, and part of you hoped that Katie had given up this ridiculous notion. Knowing her as long as you had, however, you should have figured that wouldn’t be the case.

What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t answer you? The two of you never talk again? You’ve never seen this guy before in your life, and the chances are good that you’ll never see him again after this. So if you put yourself out there and it doesn’t work out, who cares? At least you tried. And sure, it might be a little embarrassing at first, but like I said, you’ll never have to see him again. But what if you thought about it the other way around? What if it DOES work out? What if this could be the start of something great? Would you really just want to walk away, wondering what could have been and regretting that you didn’t take a chance? You deserve to be loved so, so, SO much! And I know that you have so much love to give! This guy would be lucky if you chose him. Just give it a try, will you? For me? Please! You can’t see it, but I’m giving my best puppy dog face right now. And sending you all the best vibes! You can do this! I love you! ♥️

You groaned at your best friend’s heartfelt message. How could you possibly say no to that? You knew Katie just wanted the best for you, and she wanted you to be happy. You wanted to be happy, too. What if she was right? What if this was your chance? Would you be a fool to just walk away from it without even trying? Like Katie said, at least if you tried, you could say you’d done all you could. And if it didn’t work, then Mr. Hottie just wasn’t the one for you. No harm, no foul.

You were starting to feel like you might need to make use of the vomit bag tucked securely in the seat pocket in front of you when the stewardess stopped at your row to offer you all snacks and beverages. You gratefully accepted a can of ginger ale and a packet of pretzels, nibbling on them slowly in an attempt to settle your roiling stomach.

You were being an idiot. There was no reason to be so dramatic about all this. You could write a quick note and pass it up to him, then pretend it had never happened. Seriously, what was the worst that was going to happen? He was going to get up and make an announcement over the loudspeaker that the girl sitting in 22A was a pathetic, lonely loser? You doubted that very much.

Before you could lose your nerve, you reached into the front pocket of your duffel bag and pulled out the pen you always kept there. Turns out, it really did come in handy. Mercifully, the grumpy man beside you was already snoring, so you could write your note in peace without being worried about him seeing what you were doing.

Hand shaking slightly, you penned a quick letter to the handsome, charming man in 21A.

Hi there. I realized in all our talking that I never caught your name. But it might be good to know, seeing how we’re layover buddies and all. Hope you’re enjoying the flight so far.

You signed your name at the bottom, and then took a deep breath, reading over what you had written on the back of your Delta napkin. It sounded impossibly stupid, but you’d come this far and you weren’t going to turn back now. What was it that people on the internet were always saying? Something about shooting your shot?

Breathing through your nose to avoid getting sick, you reached out a trembling finger and lightly tapped the broad shoulder that you saw peeking out from the seat in front of you. You suddenly realized that he may have been asleep and panicked at the thought of waking him up, but he shifted immediately at your touch and you could tell that he was turning towards you.

Not wanting to meet his eye, you immediately thrust your napkin into the small open space between your seats and the windows, silently praying that he would take it from you instead of laughing in your face.

A second later, you felt his large fingers brush against yours as he took your little note, shifting in his seat once more so that he was facing front again.

What had you just done? Oh, God, there was still another hour left to go on this flight, then a layover, and another four and half hours to San Diego. True, you would never have to see him again after you landed in California, but that was still a lot of time left to have to be in proximity to him if all of this blew up in your face.

You were just about ready to launch yourself out of one of the emergency exits when you suddenly looked up and realized that there was a small white napkin hovering above your head.

Mr. Hottie in 21A was reaching back with your note in hand. Your stomach plummeted and your face and neck grew warm with shame at the thought of him returning the letter you’d written him, until you noticed the red ink on the back of it. 

You’d written your note in black ink.

Slowly reaching out, you took the napkin from his hand, your fingers brushing against each other once more. His were large and warm and calloused and made goosebumps rise on your arm.

Pulse beating rapidly, you turned over the napkin to see the response he had written on the back. His handwriting was a bit messy, more of a scrawl than anything, but it made you smile to look at it.

What was I thinking, not properly introducing myself to my layover buddy? Hope you can forgive me. My name is Bradley. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ve got some Wi-Fi on this flight, do you? If you do, feel free to text me. We seem to be dangerously low on napkins.

At the bottom, he’d written his cell phone number.

Pressing a hand over your mouth, it took everything in you to swallow back the squeal of delight that rose up your throat. It worked! Katie’s silly plan had actually worked! Oh, she was going to gloat about this forever when you told her.

Beaming brightly, you pulled out your cell phone. As much as you loved her, Katie could wait right now. You had an extremely gorgeous layover buddy to get in touch with.

Typing his number into your cell phone, you opened up a new message and contemplated what to say for a moment.

Layover buddies who both just so happen to have some inflight Wi-Fi? Clearly it’s meant to be.

You hoped the message came across as cute and flirty instead of desperate and weird as you hit send, anxiously waiting to see if he would reply.

It took only a moment before your phone buzzed, Bradley’s name lighting up your screen.

Layover buddies who both just so happen have some inflight Wi-Fi AND spring for the window seats? Obviously it’s meant to be!

You smiled and were about to think up a reply when another message suddenly came though.

Oh, and to answer your note—I’m enjoying the flight a lot more now.

The butterflies went crazy in your stomach as you wrote back to him.

Me, too. And that’s saying a lot, considering the four-year-old behind me hasn’t stopped kicking my seat since we boarded.

Bradley only took seconds to reply.

Oof, that’s rough. If I could switch seats with you, I would. But I have to admit that I’m very happy that you’re not kicking my seat.

Wouldn’t be too sure about that, you sent back teasingly before lightly nudging his seat with your foot.

Hey! I thought we were friends!

We’ll see 😉

You and Bradley went back and forth like that for the entire remainder of your flight to Atlanta, the banter light and easy as you teased and joked with each other. You even ended up playing a game of 20 Questions, in which you learned, among other things, that Bradley’s favorite color was red, he once broke his arm when he was seven years old, and he absolutely despised peas.

As the captain announced that you would soon begin preparing for your final descent, you shot off a quick message to Katie, who you had woefully neglected during your conversation with Bradley.

I owe you one. The pep talk and the plan actually worked—I’m texting Mr. Hottie as we speak! Update you soon. We’re about to land in Atlanta.

Just as you sent the message off to your friend, another text from Bradley arrived.

Looks like we’re going to have to turn off our phones, layover buddy. I’ll see you when we land. Food? I’m starving.

Grinning, you had to pinch yourself to check that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate dream.

Same. I’ll race you for some french fries.

You’re on.

When the plane finally landed and the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, everyone practically jumped out of their seats in a mad dash to see who could be the first to get their belongings out of the overhead bins. Since you and Bradley were in the window seats, you took your time, knowing you weren’t getting off the plane anytime soon.

You were surprised, however, when he suddenly popped his head over the back of his seat, grinning down at you. “Good thing our next flight doesn’t leave for a couple hours yet,” he said, indicating the crowd with a good-natured grin that made your heart melt.

You had almost been starting to think you’d exaggerated just how good-looking he was, but nope. He really was that hot.

“Plenty of time to grab those fries,” you laughed, smiling up at him.

When you and Bradley were finally able to step out into the aisle, he opened the bin above your head and reached for your suitcase.

“Let me take care of this for you,” he said, lowering it to the ground and lifting the handle so that he could wheel it up the aisle.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you insisted, not wanting him to think that you expected him to carry your things for you.

“Hey, what are layover buddies for?” he winked, leading the way off the plane.

Once the two of you were standing face to face in the middle of the airport terminal, you began to feel a little shy and self-conscious again. It had been easy to talk to Bradley via text, but now that you were gazing up at his handsome face again, you suddenly found yourself getting just as tongue-tied as before.

Bradley seemed to sense your nerves because he smiled warmly at you, his demeanor just as open and friendly as it had been the entire time you’d known him.

“How about we hunt down those fries?” he suggested, waiting until you smiled and nodded before turning and guiding you towards the main concourse.

The two of you ended up finding a quick and easy little fast food counter, where you ordered a couple burgers, a large order of fries, and some vanilla milkshakes with whipped cream and cherries. As soon as it became clear that Bradley was going to pay for both your meals, you tried to argue and insist on paying your share, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“My mom raised a gentleman, and she would kill me if she thought I was even thinking of letting my layover buddy pay for her lunch,” he told you, winking playfully as he handed his credit card to the employee behind the counter.

You took your suitcase from Bradley as he balanced the tray with your food in his hands, leading you to an empty table towards the end of the concourse.

“Your mom must be very proud of you, I’m sure,” you grinned, reaching eagerly for a fry and popping it into your mouth. “Did you get to see her while you were in Virginia?”

Bradley smiled, though his eyes suddenly looked a little sad. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

Deciding not to press the matter, you instead turned the attention to his college reunion. That led to the two of you happily swapping stories about your time in college, which landed you on the subject of what you do now.

“A naval aviator? Really? And a TOPGUN graduate? That’s very impressive,” you gushed, mentally picturing him in a flight suit. You’d gone on a couple dates with some naval aviators from North Island, but none as handsome or as charming as Bradley. You suddenly groaned and covered your face with your hand when you remembered what you’d said to him right before boarding the plane. “So that’s what you meant when I was saying that flying isn’t my favorite mode of transportation,” you murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

Bradley threw his head back and laughed at that, looking genuinely amused. “Hey, I get it. Flying isn’t for everybody. Trust me, some days I wish I had just opted for a desk job,” he grinned, his muscles flexing as he stretched in his seat. “But there’s nothing quite like it, when you’re the one doing the flying. Maybe one day I can take you up in the air and change your mind.”

He looked across the table at you and held your gaze, and you felt sure in that moment that you would have promised him anything he asked.

“So what’s your call sign then?” you asked with a smile, resting your cheek in your hand as you looked into his eyes.

“Oh, you know about that, huh?” he chuckled, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Well, uh, they call me Rooster.”

You had a feeling he expected you to laugh—maybe other girls in the past had—but you just grinned brightly in response. “I like it,” you said simply. “It suits you.”

He let out a small breath and smiled in return. “Thank you. My dad’s call sign was Goose. So I guess it runs in the family.”

“Your dad is in the Navy, too?” you asked curiously, lifting your milkshake and taking a sip.

Bradley cleared his throat slightly, looking down at his lap. “He was. He died in a training accident at TOPGUN when I was two.”

You sucked in a breath at your own carelessness and looked across at Bradley with empathy glowing in your eyes. “Oh, Bradley,” you murmured softly, reaching out and resting a hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replied gently, a small smile on his face as he placed his other hand over yours. “But thank you.” He was quiet for a moment before he went on. “It was just me and my mom for a while, back home in Virginia. But she got sick when I was in high school, and she passed away my senior year.”

“Bradley,” you breathed out sadly, your heart breaking for him. You winced when you thought of what he’d said before, about seeing his mom while he was in Virginia.

“She and my dad are buried in my hometown, where I grew up. I go to see them at the cemetery whenever I’m back in town,” he explained, as if reading your thoughts.

“I’m sure that means a lot to them, and that they’re smiling down on you always,” you told him sincerely, squeezing his hand lightly.

He smiled up at you, the sadness in his expression lifting slightly. “I like to think so. I think they’d like you a lot,” he added, then looked away. He suddenly seemed embarrassed.

The two of you sat back, disentangling your hands as you sat in mildly awkward silence for a moment or two.

“What about your parents?” Bradley asked, clearly looking for a way to change the subject. “Do they still live in New York?”

It was your turn to look sad now. “Well, we actually have a lot in common, Bradley. Only I guess my story is sort of in reverse. My mom passed away when I was six years old. She got in a car accident on her way home from work. And my dad passed when I was a freshman in college. Lung cancer.”

“Shit,” Bradley muttered, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have known. And it feels kind of nice talking about it with someone who I know understands. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Bradley nodded, his expression serious as his dark eyes rested on your face. “Yeah, I do.”

You and Bradley sat in companionable silence as you finished your meals, then checked to see how much time you had before your connecting flight.

“I guess we should start making our way over to the gate,” you suggested, glancing at the time on your phone. You had about ten text messages from Katie, but you were too embarrassed to open them anywhere near Bradley.

Bradley nodded in agreement, wordlessly taking the handle of your suitcase and leading you back across the concourse.

“Hey, we got so distracted talking about my job that I never even asked what you do,” he suddenly realized once the two of you were seated at your gate, both your phones charging in a nearby outlet.

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair that had escaped your bun behind your ear. “Funny enough, I actually work for the Midway Museum,” you told him, glancing up at him, only to find that he was already gazing down at you.

“No way! Guess we’re both stuck aboard aircraft carriers for work then,” he chuckled. “What do you do?”

“Well, my official title is digital content specialist,” you said, biting down on your lower lip. You felt like it always sounded a bit pretentious. “Basically, I help run the museum’s digital accounts—social media, their website, email blasts, things like that. My degree is in marketing and communications, so that’s basically what I do.”

“That’s amazing,” Bradley said, and you could tell that he genuinely meant it. Some guys just pretended to be interested in your job as a pretense for trying to get into your pants, but you could tell that Bradley actually cared about what you had to say. He was actually listening. “Is that what brought you out to San Diego?”

“It is, actually. I had been applying to a few different places, and when I got word from the Midway that they were interested in hiring me, I thought that maybe it was the fresh start I needed,” you confessed.

“Has it been?” Bradley asked quietly.

“I think so,” you nodded slowly, absent-mindedly twisting your bracelet around your wrist. “It’s hard sometimes, being so far away from my best friend, Katie—the one I was visiting. She’s pretty much the only family I’ve got left. But I like the life that I’m building in San Diego.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it,” Bradley smiled, his hand lightly brushing against yours as he shifted in his seat. He looked like he was about to say more when the flight crew called your boarding group.

“Looks like we’re going to be sitting near each other again, 21A,” you teased, glancing down at his boarding pass as the two of you rose and grabbed your phones.

“Glad to hear it, 22A,” he joked in return, holding up his phone and waving it back and forth. “And now my phone is fully charged for our trip back to San Diego, so let the texting commence.”

Giggling, you nodded as the two of you walked down the rampway side by side and made your way onto the plane and to your seats without incident. When you got there, however, you saw that there had been some confusion with a young family that looked to have four children under the age of eight. It seemed as though their tickets had gotten split up so that they weren’t all sitting next to each other, and the mother was frantic.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Bradley asked, quickly taking stock of the situation. When the woman looked up at him, clearly stressed out and worried he was going to yell at her, he smiled comfortingly. “I was just going to say that, if you’d like, you can have my seat. I’d be happy to take yours since it looks like it’s next to my friend here anyway. That way, we can all be comfortable and sit with the people we want to sit with.”

“Oh, thank you!” the young mother exclaimed, looking ready to hug Bradley. “Thank you!”

She and her husband quickly got their children settled, thanking Bradley a few more times for good measure, while he took your carry-on and set it in the overhead bin.

Once you had settled in your window seat, Bradley took the seat beside you, grinning impishly.

“Look at that. Now we don’t even need to waste the Wi-Fi,” he murmured, nudging you playfully.

“Things just have a way of working out for us today, don’t they?” you laughed, settling your duffel bag at your feet. “I’m just going to send a quick message to Katie, to let her know I made it onto my connecting flight,” you told him, reaching for your phone and quickly opening Katie’s messages so that Bradley wouldn’t see them.

“Good idea, I should text Mav,” Bradley said, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. At your confused look, he explained, “My godfather. He’s also in the Navy, and he also just so happens to be stationed out in San Diego. He’s going to pick me up at the airport.”

Nodding, you sent a brief text to your best friend, promising you would call her as soon as you got home, then settled in for the flight and tried to get as comfortable as possible.

As soon as you felt the plane jolt to life and begin taxing towards the runway, your chest grew tight and your grip on yours and Bradley’s shared armrest started to turn your knuckles white.

“Hey,” Bradley said softly, genuine concern in his voice as he glanced over and noticed how on edge you suddenly appeared. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead on the screen in front of you, which was currently playing some Delta commercial that your brain could scarcely register.

“I think your death grip on our armrest would suggest otherwise,” he pressed gently, his tone remaining light and good-humored. “You trying to take that thing with you?”

Startled, your nervous trance was broken and you glanced down to see what Bradley was talking about. Sure enough, your nails were digging into the armrest so intensely that you wouldn’t have been surprised if they left little crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

Letting out a shaky laugh, you looked up at the man beside you ruefully. “Okay, truth be told, I get a little anxious during takeoff,” you confessed, biting your lip in embarrassment. He would probably think that was silly. He was a fighter pilot, after all. His day job involved flying multi-million dollar aircrafts for the military. And here you were, acting like a scaredy cat over a commercial Delta flight.

Bradley’s eyes crinkled in a way that you found devastatingly charming as he smiled over at you. The look on his face was kind, without a single trace of mocking humor.

“Want to know a secret?” he whispered, leaning in closer to you so that his nose was nearly pressed against your cheek and you could feel his breath on your skin. “So do I.”

“You’re kidding,” you scoffed, shooting him a skeptical look. He was probably just trying to be nice. “But you’re a naval aviator!”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one flying this plane, am I?” he retorted with a lopsided grin. “It’s hard to put the reins in someone else’s hands. So I understand being nervous. Hell, I still get a little nervous sometimes when I’m flying an F-18. Just don’t tell anyone I said that,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Oh, of course not,” you giggled, smiling over at him. Glancing out the window, you realized that his conversation had distracted you so much, you hadn’t even noticed that the plane had finished its approach towards the runway and was officially waiting for takeoff.

Some of your nerves returned, and you gripped the armrest once more, but this time, you felt Bradley’s large, yet gentle fingers close over yours. Surprised, you turned your head sharply and instantly met his gaze. It was direct and disconcertingly open as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he assured you in a low voice, squeezing your fingers comfortingly. “We’re going to be okay.”

“My parents used to sing to me during takeoff,” you found yourself blurting out suddenly, your cheeks growing warm at the admission. “I can remember my mom doing it when I was a little girl, and my dad used to do it for me even when I was in high school,” you explained shyly, lowering your eyes to your lap.

At that moment, your stomach dropped as the plane suddenly began hurtling forward, seeking enough momentum to become airborne.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to recall the sound of your parents’ voices in order to calm your racing heart. But a new voice suddenly entered the mix as you felt your newfound flying buddy lean across the armrest, his warm body pressing against your side as he sang quietly in your ear.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain…”

Wait a second. You knew that song. Where did you know that song from?

“Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, but what a thrill…”

Yes, you definitely knew that song. It was on one of the records your parents used to play when you were a little girl. Was it Jerry Lee Lewis?

Gasping in recognition, you whisper-sang the next lyric in harmony with Bradley—“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

He laughed in delight when you began singing along, squeezing your hand with an affectionate grin. “And would you look at that,” he said, nodding towards the window. “We’re airborne. Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Shocked, you followed his line of vision and were taken aback to see that you were already ascending into the clouds, leaving the city of Atlanta far behind. That had been one of the smoothest takeoff experiences you’d had in—well, you couldn’t even remember how long.

“I barely even noticed!” you exclaimed, focusing your attention back on Bradley. You smiled gratefully, your heart melting at the adorable puppy dog look on his face. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You noticed at that moment that he still hadn’t let go of your hand, and your pulse began to quicken, but this time for entirely different reasons.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured in response, his voice low and suddenly husky. It did something to you, that deep, raspy voice of his. “Happy to do it.” He squeezed your hand gently once more, then slowly—almost hesitantly—let it go.

“I haven’t heard that song in the longest time,” you told him, resting back against your seat. “My parents used to listen to it.”

Bradley smiled slightly. “It’s the one song I can actually remember my dad singing. He loved to sing and play the piano. My mom had tons of home videos of him doing it. But that song—that song I can actually remember hearing him sing, you know? I was so young when he—well—I can remember that one. And that’s why it’s my favorite to sing and play.”

“You play the piano, too?” you asked, impressed. “Wow, a man of many talents.” You nudged him playfully, a big smile on your face.

“I’ll have to show you what I can do,” Bradley replied, winking.

Your stomach fluttered at the implication that he might actually want to see you again after today.

“I’d like that,” you admitted, ducking your head shyly. You suddenly felt much more aware of everything around you, particularly every inch of your muscular seatmate. Goodness, he really was huge, wasn’t he? Chewing nervously on your bottom lip, you began fidgeting with your bracelet, tugging at it absent-mindedly.

“That’s a pretty bracelet,” Bradley commented, pointing at it as he watched you twist it back and forth around your wrist. “A gift?” he asked lightly, his tone almost a little too casual.

“Mhm,” you nodded, smiling fondly as you gazed down at it. You could still remember the day you opened it. “My dad bought it for me as a present when I graduated high school. I never take it off.”

“Ah,” Bradley nodded, appearing surprisingly relieved. He was quiet for a moment or two, looking like he was mulling over something. Then he turned towards you and asked, “So, um, is there anybody waiting for you in San Diego? Anyone, uh, special, I mean?” he asked, his cheeks and his ears turning red as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You felt your own skin grow warm in response. Was Bradley asking if you had a boyfriend? And was he embarrassed about it? Just when you thought this man couldn’t possibly charm you any more than he already had.

“Not unless you count my neighbor, Mrs. Flores. She really appreciates it when I walk her dog on the weekends,” you told him, your lips twitching as you tried to maintain a straight face.

Caught off guard by your response, Bradley let out a loud laugh, covering his mouth with one hand as he glanced down at you, eyes twinkling.

“I’m sure Mrs. Flores will be very happy to see you back again,” he nodded, tapping his fingers on his tray table.

The two of you sat in silence for a couple minutes until you finally glanced up and said, “I had actually just gotten out of a long-term relationship right before I moved to San Diego. It was kind of the catalyst for why I decided to take the job at the Midway Museum.”

“Oh, really?” Bradley asked, eyebrows shooting up. Then he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s too personal, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sighed, twirling your bracelet a few times as you thought back on your last failed relationship. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as it normally did. Maybe time really did heal all wounds. You took a deep breath before you elaborated. “Andrew and I were together for four years. For a long time, I really thought he was the one. Katie was convinced that he was going to propose on our trip to Greece. It was a dream vacation for me. I had the whole thing planned out for months and months. And I really started to let myself believe that it was going to happen.”

Bradley sat quietly, watching you carefully as he attentively took in every word you uttered.

“We were in Athens, and I had the whole day planned—all these tours and museums. But Andrew insisted that he was too tired since we had just traveled from Rhodes, and he begged me to let him stay behind at the hotel. Being the idiot that I am, I thought that maybe he wanted to put the finishing touches on his big proposal. So I went on the tours by myself. But the last tour ended early, so I came back to our hotel room a little sooner than expected.”

Your throat began to tighten as the story continued, the pain of what had happened next eclipsed only by your embarrassment that Bradley would soon know how pitifully your last relationship had ended. Why had you brought all this up?

“I’ll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say, I found Andrew in bed with one of the cocktail waitresses from the hotel bar. And to no one’s surprise, there was no ring and he never had any intention of proposing. So I flew home from Greece minus a boyfriend and with very little remaining of my dignity. Leaving everything behind and starting fresh in San Diego seemed like a really good idea, so when the Midway contacted me, I jumped at the offer. And here I am,” you finished with a self-conscious laugh, shrugging your shoulders awkwardly.

Bradley didn’t say anything at first, just continued to stare at you in a way that had you feeling distinctly exposed. Your fingers immediately went to your bracelet once again, nervously fidgeting and waiting for him to say something.

Reaching out, he placed his hand over yours and stilled your movements gently. “First of all,” he began slowly, looking directly into your eyes. It seemed as though he was peering directly into your soul. “Andrew is a complete and total loser. If he didn’t know what he had in you, then he never deserved you to begin with. It’s his loss, and trust me, he’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life if he has even an ounce of sense.” His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, making your legs suddenly feel like Jell-O. “Second of all, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and I hope you know that the way that idiot treated you in no way says anything about you. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I can see that that guy never deserved you to begin with.”

Feeling bashful, you lowered your head, trying to escape the intensity of Bradley’s dark eyes. It didn’t matter though—you could still feel his gaze.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, not wanting him to think you had just unloaded all of this on him for sympathy points.

“I’m not just saying it,” he insisted, his voice serious. “You’re a special girl, and you deserve to be with someone who treats you that way.”

Someone like you?

The thought sprang unbidden to your mind, causing you to grow flustered. “Th–thank you,” you stammered, worried for half a second that Bradley could actually read your mind.

You were saved from having to make any further comment in that moment when the stewardess suddenly appeared with the food cart, asking you if you wanted any snacks or beverages.

You opted for a Diet Coke and popcorn, while Bradley took a Sprite and a bag of potato chips.

“What do you say? A little toast to my new flight buddy?” Bradley suggested teasingly, holding his can of soda out towards you.

You couldn’t help but smile, lightly tapping your can against his. “Cheers to us,” you laughed, taking a small sip.

“To us,” Bradley grinned. “You know,” he went on, after taking a gulp of his Sprite, “if you ever want to think about getting your pilot’s license, I’d be happy to have you as my wingman—er, woman.”

You laughed aloud at the notion, shaking your head. “Um, did you already forget about how well I handled takeoff? I’m not so sure anyone would trust me behind the controls of a plane.”

“I could teach you,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows until you laughed again. “Or at the very least, take you up for a little joyride. I’d make sure to keep you safe.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to walk through life with this man, to have him be the one you came home to every day.

To have him be the one to make you feel like the most special girl in the world.

“I would like that,” you confessed, pushing your self-consciousness to the side as you looked into his eyes. “I would like that a lot.”

“So would I,” Bradley replied, his expression earnest.

For the next hour or two, you and Bradley shared some of the snacks you’d packed in your duffel bag and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. You had never felt so instantly at ease with someone who had been a complete and total stranger just a few hours earlier. The fact that he had been in San Diego all this time, right under your nose, and that it had taken a flight home all the way from Virginia for you two to actually meet felt like more than just a coincidence. It felt like this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

At some point, you must have finally succumbed to your exhaustion and fallen asleep because when the captain announced that you were making your final descent into San Diego International Airport, you were lifting your head off Bradley’s shoulder and blinking in confusion.

“Hello there, sleepyhead,” Bradley grinned, wiping a hand down his face and rubbing the sleep out of his own eyes.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head. “I never sleep on planes.”

“Well you definitely slept on this one. I’d say you were probably out for at least an hour and a half,” he told you, running a hand through his hair, which made his sunkissed curls stand on end. “I nodded out, too. Guess we both needed it, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so,” you nodded, smiling at him.

By the time you finally deplaned—after Bradley, of course, had insisted on taking down your carry-on suitcase from the overhead bin and rolling it through the airport for you—you were growing both eager and anxious with anticipation of what the end of your journey would look like.

You and Bradley technically already had each other’s phone numbers, so should you say something about getting together? Would that seem too brazen? Should you just text him tomorrow and hope that whatever spark had been ignited during your travels today wouldn’t be extinguished by the time you both got home?

All of those thoughts and more were running through your head as you and Bradley took the escalator down to baggage claim and the terminal exit.

“Do you, um, do you have somebody picking you up?” Bradley asked as the two of you stepped off the escalator. He stepped to the side to avoid the flow of the crowd, and you stepped with him. “Mrs. Flores perhaps?” he added with a teasing spark in his eye.

“No,” you giggled, shaking your head. “I was just planning to call an Uber.”

“No need,” he said, his chest puffing out ever so slightly. “Mav and I will give you a ride home. He should actually be here already,” he mumbled, almost to himself, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his messages.

“Oh, you guys don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want you going out of your way,” you hurried to tell him, noticing that Bradley still had his hand on the handle of your suitcase.

“Who says it would be going out of our way?” Bradley retorted with that impossibly charming smile of his. “Unless, of course, you’re more comfortable taking an Uber. I don’t want to make you feel like—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you interrupted, wanting to make it clear to him that you appreciated the offer.

Seemingly at an impasse, the two of you just looked at each other and started laughing.

“I would love a ride, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,” you told him.

“Never,” Bradley insisted. “Besides, you put up with me all day. I owe you.”

“I could say the same thing,” you grinned, reaching into the front pocket of your duffel bag and pulling out your cell phone. “In the meantime, I should text Katie and let her know I landed safely and that you haven’t abducted me or anything,” you teased jokingly.

Too late, you realized your mistake.

“Ah, so you told Katie about me, huh?” Bradley smirked, looking just a tad too pleased with himself. “What did you say?”

“Oh, um, nothing, just that I made a friend while traveling,” you stammered in humiliation, your cheeks feeling like they were on fire. “I’m just, um, I’m going to step over there while you get your bag.”

“Sure, sure,” he laughed, winking at you as he hurried over to the baggage carousel to search for his suitcase.

“Oh my God, how stupid are you?” you muttered to yourself, mentally kicking yourself for your careless words as you sent off a quick message to your best friend to let her know you were alive.

A moment later, she texted you back.

YOU BETTER CALL ME THE MINUTE YOU GET HOME!!! I WANT EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL!!!

Smiling, you dropped your phone back into your bag and looked up to see Bradley walking towards you, his suitcase in hand.

“Ready to head out?” he asked with a smile, watching as you grabbed the handle of your carry-on and did one quick scan to make sure you hadn’t dropped anything.

“Ready,” you nodded, following him outside to where a slew of Ubers and other cars were waiting to pick up their passengers.

“There’s Mav,” Bradley told you, pointing with his free hand towards the end of the pick-up line, where a handsome older man with dark hair and an easy smile was waving at you.

“Your godfather drives a Porsche?” you asked, your eyes nearly bugging out of your head at the sight of the vintage car. It was in pristine condition and you were certain it must have cost a small fortune.

“Technically, it’s his fiancée, Penny’s car, but she lets him drive it when he’s been good,” Bradley joked, resting a gentle hand on your back as he guided you through the crowd.

Bradley was quick to embrace his godfather when the two of you finally reached the Porsche, slapping him on the back before stepping back and holding out a hand to you. “Mav, I’d like you to meet my new travel buddy,” he grinned, introducing you by name.

Mav, as Bradley kept calling him, offered you one of those easy smiles as he held out his hand, which you took with a smile of your own.

“Ah, so this is the girl from the plane I’ve been hearing so much about,” Mav smirked, shooting a pointed look in his godson’s direction.

“Mav!” Bradley hissed through gritted teeth, his complexion instantly turning pink, even in the shade.

“Ah,” you smirked, feeling vindicated from your earlier blunder. “So you told Mav about me, huh?” you asked, nudging his side. “What did you say?” you teased, tossing back his question from before.

“Oh, he said plenty,” Mav jumped in, clearly enjoying watching Bradley squirm as he opened the passenger side door for you.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy. All those Gs he’s always pulling have finally gone to his head,” Bradley protested, although he was smiling as he said it.

“Oh, I think I’m going to enjoy this car ride very much,” you giggled, winking at Bradley as you slid into your seat.

“Promise you’ll still like me by the time we get home?” Bradley whispered, leaning in close as he climbed in beside you.

You grinned up at him, thinking about how, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so alone. San Diego suddenly felt much more like home than it ever had.

“Promise.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller

[ptersparkers]

reckless (aaron hotchner)

summary: After two years with the BAU, you get the feeling that Aaron Hotchner isn’t your biggest fan. That’s too bad, because you really like him.

notes: hello. this is singlehandedly the longest fic i’ve ever written (like 21.7K words). i didn’t intend for it to be this long and i tried to see where i could break it up, but i think it flows better if it’s in one piece. happy reading! x 

(edit: adding in that the reader is fem)

a huge thank you to @hotchsdoormat​ for being the best person alive and for listening to me rant about this piece. love u forever.

warnings: typical criminal minds speak, kidnapping and mentions of broken arms and ribs and typos, probably. 

***

Years of dreaming of becoming a federal agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit led to the beginning of an illustrious career solving crimes and traveling across the country. It had only taken guest lectures by none other than the BAU themselves for the idea of catching killers and outsmarting them to do so to seep its way to the back of your mind.

You just wish you liked your job.

You like your work. You like walking into the office with a sense of purpose and you like profiling bad people and saving the good ones. You even like the shitty coffee that never seems to run out and you don’t mind the early call times and the sudden departures. 

What you don’t like, however, is your boss. But you know that’s just because he doesn’t like you. 

In your two years with the BAU, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Aaron throw a smile in your direction if it wasn’t meant for someone standing next to you. Two years of Aaron being dismissive and choosing to sit farthest from you in the conference room and on the jet. Two years of watching him foster friendships with your coworkers without sparing you a second glance. But work is work.

You’re an outsider. It’s almost what you expected. 

Emily’s the first one to tell you that you don’t need to take it personally. Her rocky start with the BAU and stories of learning that trust takes time eased your worries for a while, but Aaron never seemed to give you the time of day aside collaborating with the rest of the team. Everyone says he’s notorious for being stoic and intimidating, but you don’t see it that way. In your mind, he loathes you. 

Which is unfortunate, because you liked Aaron the most.

The guest lecture had sent you into a spiral of researching recently closed BAU cases and watching hours of press conferences led by Aaron. You appreciated the way he spoke about his work. He spoke about it like it was his due diligence and you liked that he treated each victim and their loved ones with grace and kindness. 

It kills you to know that he doesn’t trust you despite doing your best in the field. Your six month review approached and you passed with flying colors, earning a short-lived celebration from Erin Strauss before she exited Aaron’s office. But he kept quiet the entire examination, aside from putting his own input with how you acted in the field. He said you were diligent, followed orders well enough, and could listen to directions. It was the most you’d ever heard Aaron speak about you, but the swell of pride didn’t last long.

Sometimes people compare the two of you when it comes to your worth ethic. Last ones to leave, can’t be bothered when focused, and the need to excel in your career field while downplaying your contribution. Perhaps the need to do good in the world catapulted you into considering a role where you’d be actively helping others instead of a career where it would be too late. 

But every time you sit at your desk, opposite of Aaron’s office, you find yourself frowning. The blinds are always closed and you always wondered if Aaron could feel you staring at the emblem on his door when you wondered how you managed to keep your job. 

“I can hear your brain all the way from here,” Derek says, leaning against the stall of your desk. You avert your eyes from the door to his voice. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say.

Derek gives you a look. “I know it’s not nothing, sweetness.”

“Just tired,” you lie, “I slept poorly last night.”

Your gaze focuses on the files in front of you and Derek looks between you and Aaron’s office. He does his best not to let you know it’s been affecting him too; everyone’s noticed how Aaron’s been giving you the short end of the stick and that his wavering trust hasn’t disappeared like it had for the rest of them. It doesn’t do any good for team morale. 

For a moment in the beginning of your time with the BAU, you think he’s asking you to prove yourself. You’re new, you need to get used to team dynamics, and you need to prove yourself capable before he can trust that you’d have everyone’s back. You understand that. 

What you don’t understand, however, is why he treats you like a first-day agent after your contributions. 

“Alright,” Derek says, knowing better than to pry you out of your work. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He leaves you momentarily when Aaron steps out of his office. You try not to look up, but it’s hard to ignore him when your desk is pointed in front of his door. He’s wearing a classic black suit with a red tie, belt and shoes to match. You know what the look on his face means–there’s a case. 

“Everyone in the conference room,” Aaron pointedly says.

Derek finishes pouring two cups of coffee and brings it over to the room where he sees you sitting in front of the screen. You thank him for the cup as he sits beside you and Reid gives you a small ‘good morning’ before everyone files into the conference room and their attentions are focused on the faces on the screen. 

“Two children have gone missing in Los Angeles, California,” Penelope begins. “Gracie and Olivia McCormack, four and six respectively, were last seen in their shared bedroom last night and LAPD has contacted us to help find them.”

“Looks like the mother reported going into their bedroom to wake them up, only to find them missing,” you say, frowning. 

“Is the father in the picture?” JJ asks. 

“Jaqueline, the mother, divorced Scott McCormack before her youngest was born,” Penelope informs.

“New flame?” Emily wonders. 

“Yes ma’am. Logan James.” Penelope presses a few buttons and Jaqueline and Logan appear on the screen. “This is where it gets tricky.”

“It looks like both Scott and Logan were abusive towards Jaqueline during their marriages,” David reads from the file. 

“Jaqueline’s pretty familiar with the local hospital,” you mutter. 

“We can talk about the file and start to strategize on our way to LA,” Aaron says, packing his file in his go-bag, which is already in hand. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

***

The six hour plane ride doesn’t feel as nauseating as you had predicted. Your second cup of coffee sits on the table in front of you as your file is displayed on the surface, along with everyone else. Departure wasn’t terrible, mild turbulence followed but nothing you couldn’t handle. The armrest becomes your best friend on these flights. 

“Did Scott kidnap Gracie and Olivia because he wants his kids?” Derek says aloud. 

“Most likely,” Reid adds. “Scott’s a migrant construction worker. I can’t imagine anyone letting him raise two children without a steady home or income, though.”

“So he’s angry at the loss of his children and wants them back,” Aaron says. “Garcia, does Scott have any background of domestic abuse prior to his marriage with Jaqueline?”  

“One count of domestic battery with a former girlfriend, but his childhood tells us a whole different story.”

“What is it, babygirl?” Derek beckons. 

“Scott was born to heroin addicts and they’d leave him in hotel rooms for days while they tried to rob local convenience stores for money, presumably for their next high. Poor kid, he never stood a chance.”

“Damn,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine growing up like that.”

“He was put into the care of his grandparents on his mother’s side until he was six and–oh, ouch–he apparently caused too much trouble for himself that his grandparents gave him to the foster care system.”

“I can imagine that abandonment took a toll on Scott,” JJ says.

“Take the kids away from Jacqueline as punishment,” adds Rossi. “Makes sense, especially when Jacqueline was the one to file for divorce.”

“What about Jaqueline’s marriage with Logan? Haven’t we established that Logan was abusive during their marriage?” you ask. 

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “What about it?” 

“I think it’s important to consider him in all of this, Sir. If Logan was abusive to Jaqueline throughout their marriage, maybe Scott sees this kidnapping as some sort of effort to save them from harm.”

All eyes are on you now. It makes your skin crawl and you hope you don’t say the wrong thing.

“Go on.”

“If Scott really did take his kids, I don’t know if he did it to get back at her by kidnapping them. It makes more sense that Scott would want to save his children from an abuser. I mean, he knows what it’s like to live with abusive and absent parents. What if Scott wants to protect his children from suffering what he went through?” 

“Interesting,” Dave hums. “You’re theorizing that Scott considers this kidnapping as rescuing?”

You nod. “It makes sense. Maybe he has some animosity towards Jaqueline for letting Logan into their lives and retaliates by taking his children away from her because he thinks he’s saving them.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Aaron says pointedly. 

“I’m just spitballing,” you say. “I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Well, let’s keep it that way.”

You shut your mouth and revert your eyes back to the file that’s in your lap, desperate for any minute distraction it can give you. The rest of the team is stunned in silence and Spencer tries his best to fill in the awkward silence by reviewing all of the facts that have been listed in the report. 

At this moment, you feel small. Aaron’s dismissive attitude makes you feel somewhat inadequate at your job and you find it difficult to remind yourself of all the cases you’ve helped close when your boss has just undermined your work in front of your colleagues. 

His coldness towards you is what you don’t get. Aaron has a reputation for maintaining professionalism, which you can appreciate, but it seems like his stoic tendencies extend far beyond keeping it civil in the workplace. It feels like you’ve been isolated and boxed out from day one and despite having gotten to know the rest of the team on a deeper level, you still walk on eggshells around Aaron. It makes you wonder why he hired you at all.

From the other side of the plane, Aaron takes a seat in an empty chair and looks out the window pensively. He knows he’s being hard on you and he knows it’s unfair that he’s treating you much harsher than the others, but Aaron knows that it’s for the best. 

When you walked into his office for your initial interview, there was no doubt that you were the perfect candidate to fill in the role as a new profiler. Your past experiences had clued you into profiling and he promised Strauss that your addition to the team would benefit the BAU as a whole. 

And Aaron was right. Cases were closing at a higher rate than previously, your quick thinking and problem solving skills aided the capture of many prolific criminals, and it almost felt like you’d been with the team since the beginning. 

What Aaron didn’t account for, however, was developing feelings for you. 

All it took was a simple undercover operation to see you in a completely different light. The unsub had targeted women who looked like you and you were more than ready to step up to the plate to catch him. It took seeing you in a sleek black dress to make Aaron’s heart lurch out of his chest and make him feel like he was a teenager in love all over again, and he hated it. 

He hated feeling this way towards his coworker. For weeks, his mind bounced around the idea of what it might cost the team; your respective positions might cause an interference because of the dating policy set in place and how it would look from the outside. Aaron didn’t want to jeopardize your career by making it seem like you were providing unprofessional favors if news were to come out that you were romantically linked with him. He didn’t want your career to be damaged just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

Moreover, Aaron hadn’t felt like this towards anyone since marrying Haley.

He had dated casually but never thought about the possibility of anything serious coming out of it. Aaron thought he might’ve come close to it when he had dated Beth for a while, but her career taking her across the country made him realize how unstable his life already was. Dating became a question of who gets along with Jack and the rest of his family and who is able to handle his frequent absences. His marriage to Haley showed Aaron the downside of traveling all the time and he’d be damned if he made that mistake again.

The idea of liking you in any capacity that wasn’t professional scared Aaron to death. He hates that he’s willing to find any excuse to walk by your desk or strike up a conversation with you if time permitted. He hates that his mind often wanders to a life of domesticity with you. The only logical possibility for him to combat his feelings for you is to keep you at arms length and treat you like he would any of his coworkers, which means keeping your personal lives separate and maintaining professionalism at all times.

It works a little too well and Aaron doesn’t realize it. He misplaces his anger—the frustration of knowing he can’t have you the way he wants you—and you’re at the receiving end. Aaron thinks he’s doing his best by delegating and separating you from him in the field, but he doesn’t realize that it’s causing professional tension because you constantly think you aren’t doing enough to help the team solve cases and catch criminals. 

Aaron spends the rest of the flight looking over reports the precinct sent over before the plane lands in Los Angeles. You elect to keep your nose buried in your reports for the fear of looking like you aren’t working hard enough.

***

The Los Angeles weather has cooled down when you land and Aaron has ordered everyone to head to the precinct first thing after touching down. The detectives are kind enough to reserve a room for all of you to work out of and you waste no time setting up the white board with the missing girls and timeline of the abduction. 

The stakes are high and you can feel the tension in the room. You aren’t a stranger to cases like these and you know that everyone is trying their best to keep themselves together for the sake of the department and the family of the victims. You try not to read into Aaron’s coldness to you too much. You’ve convinced yourself enough times that it’s the stress of the job and being away from his home that keeps him running on pure stress and adrenaline to prevent you from overthinking your position on his team. 

Aaron has you and Spencer stay behind in the precinct to work on the profile and piece together a timeline of the abduction, and you’re more than grateful you don’t have to spend time in the field with him. The relaxation enters your body the section you see him step out of the precinct and Spencer can’t help but pry. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You turn around from the white board and your sleeve smudges the freshly written text. The annoyance bubbles up in your chest and you hastily erase the mess you created and rewrite it before turning your attention back to Spencer.

“Stressed out, but otherwise I’m good.”

He pauses. “You’ve seemed that lately, though.”

“Can you blame me?” you ask defensively. “Our job isn’t exactly low-stress.”

“It’s just that every time Hotch enters the room, you stiffen up and you seem to lose your voice, and you play with your nails. It’s your biggest tell, actually.”

You give Spencer a pointed look. “Reid, I did not ask to be profiled.”

“Sorry,” he relents. “I just…look, I care about you and I hate seeing that you feel like you can’t share your ideas with us. Is something bothering you?”

You know Spencer knows. You’re sure the team knows why you’re apprehensive about your work and second guess yourself every time you bring forth a new theory or concept. But it’s hard to admit it out loud when all you’ve done is complain about him in your head and push your feelings aside for the sake of solving cases. 

But you know Spencer has always looked out for you after the first time you took a bullet for him a week into the job after barely getting to know each other. It’s the same way that he looks out for you in the field, protecting your cover and being the first to volunteer partnering with you when Aaron asks. He’s keen and perceptive, and you know you can’t hide your feelings from him unless you want to jeopardize another relationship with your coworker.

“I feel like Hotch doesn’t like me,” you say earnestly. “And I mean it in a way that seems almost personal.”

“He’s been pretty distant,” Spencer adds.

You shake your head. “It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgment or values what I have to say unless one of you backs me up. I can’t really tell you when I started to feel this way, but I’ve always felt like I have to walk on eggshells around him or else he’ll fire me.”

“No one’s going to fire you,” Spencer reassures. “You have an exceptional skill at finding unsubs and getting into their heads. It’s quite impressive how you’re able to put yourself in their shoes.”

“Thanks, I think,” you say with a laugh. “But you saw what happened on the plane. Hotch shot down my theory and told me not to jump to any conclusions even though I was just theorizing. I feel like he doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say because he doesn’t think there’s any value in it.” 

Spencer pauses. He sees your grip on the dry erase pen and knows how frustrated you feel. He knows you, the way you think, your work ethic, and just how badly you want to save these girls. He also knows how to distract you from your own feelings.

“Then tell me about your theory,” Spencer chides. 

“Scott might’ve taken his children as a form of punishment against Jaqueline. Sure, I think that’s a plausible theory to go off of, considering she was the one who filed for divorce. But he was never abusive towards the girls, whereas Logan was abusive to all three of them.”

He smiles when he knows it’s working.

“So you’re thinking that Scott is trying to rescue Gracie and Olivia from further abuse?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “As a parent, I can’t imagine tolerating a stranger abusing your kids. Maybe in Scott’s mind, Jaqueline was allowing Logan to abuse them without realizing he was doing the same to her.”

“The wife had full custody of the kids too,” Spencer adds, opening a case file. “He was only allowed supervised visits with a social worker present if she allowed it to happen and in the time they’ve been divorced, she hadn’t let Scott see them since she and Logan got together.”

“Okay, so Scott had enough and wanted to take matters into his own hands. If his ex-wife won’t take care of the kids and neither will her new husband, it’s up to him to take care of the girls.” 

“It looks like Scott’s had a problem with authoritative figures his entire life,” he says, frowning. Spencer turns the case file towards you. “His grandparents were physically and emotionally abusive and social workers did nothing about it. Looks like he was also a truant during his time in foster care.” 

“Get this. He’s been fired from multiple construction sites because he couldn’t follow orders,” you read. 

“Jacqueline was also the breadwinner of their relationship. I think Scott resents people who hold authority.”

“Scott wants to raise his kids,” you say, snapping your fingers. “It’s a rescue mission because he thinks he can raise them better than she can.”

Spencer grabs his phone and dials Aaron.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Y/N and I talked more about her theory on the abduction. I think she’s right.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. You’re almost sure he’s going to tell you to change the profile.

“We’ll meet you at the precinct in fifteen.”

***

You consider yourself lucky that Spencer backs your theory with claims and evidence. Your voice wavers multiple times when Aaron asks you to make your case, and the way he’s looking at you makes you doubt yourself. 

But everyone comes to the realization that you’re right. A few conversations with Jacqueline and an interrogation with Logan convinces Aaron that your theory had been the correct one all along. You should feel happy, but you don’t. 

You feel like you have to piggyback off of your coworkers and get them to support you before you can make your case heard. You feel like the smallest person in the room when you stand next to seasoned profilers who you’re sure Aaron values more than you. The weight of the world is on your shoulders and you carry it with you every time you formulate new ideas you want to share with the team. 

But you don’t dwell on this too long. 

Aaron has Spencer comb through security footage of local gas stations while Emily and David talk to Scott’s most recent employer. Derek and JJ are searching his last known whereabouts and searching for the girls, which leaves you and Aaron.

You’re barely able to hear his command. He wants you to talk to Jacqueline and try to coax more information out of her while he connects with Penelope about financial records and possible places he’s hiding the girls. She’s your age and he figures you might connect with her better than JJ did.

Jaqueline is understandably crying when you walk into the room. You hand her a box of tissues upon entering and she doesn’t say anything. She starts to open up after you tell her about yourself, your nieces and nephews, and you show her photos of them to prove yourself. You let her know you’re not a mother and can’t imagine the immense pain she’s going through, but you know what it’s like to care for people and how much it hurts when something bad happens to them.

Slowly, Jaqueline begins to talk. You ask her about her relationship with Scott and Logan, and all the important places that hold significance between the two marriages. She lists off a few and you make a note of it for later. Aaron calls you from the interview when Jaqueline has started to close herself in. He lets her go and gives her his business card in case she wants to talk, but tells her they’ll be in contact soon.

He doesn’t say a word about the interrogation. He just tells you to see if Derek and JJ need help canvassing more area. 

Two days later and the team is nowhere near finding Jaqueline’s children. Scott’s previous employer had less than stellar things to say about him and you’re beginning to panic at the thought of your ability to catch him and save the girls. Penelope calls with a development and thinks one of two locations is where Scott might be hiding the children. His trailer in East LA or a small house a friend of his owns. 

Aaron dispatches Dave, Emily, and JJ to the trailer while he commands you, Derek, and Spencer to follow him to the house. It’s located off of the freeway off the beaten path and you have a bad feeling about what’s about to happen.

Aaron’s driving like he knows something you don’t. You’ve taken a seat in the back with Spencer and listen as Derek points Aaron in the direction of the house. It’s getting dark outside, the sun is just barely above the horizon, and you know everyone has to be quick in order to save the girls if they’re in the house. 

LAPD officers drive behind the SUV. Aaron pulls over and you can hear the gravel underneath the tire. You swing the door open with all your might and draw your gun out as the rest of the team does, following Aaron’s orders to follow behind him as they explore the house. 

It’s quiet. Too quiet. 

The floorboards creak underneath you and Aaron tells you he’s going to clear the back of the house while you take the front. Everyone calls a distinctive ‘clear’ and you’re about to breathe out of frustration and ask Aaron if they’ve found the girls at Scott’s trailer when you hear the faint sound of someone crying from behind you. 

You’re careful not to step too loudly despite the hardwood floors. Derek finds you and calls out your name but you put your finger to your lips and he silences himself. The sound of feet shuffling sounds incredibly quiet, but you swear you can hear footsteps somewhere behind you. 

Spencer and Aaron join the two of you after hearing silence despite calling your names. Derek tells both men to silence themselves as you walk about the room, unsure of what you’re looking for. For the most part, nothing looks out of place. That is, until your hand falls on a set of books that feels much too hollow to contain any pages. 

“What is it?” Derek asks from behind you.

“I don’t know…I think this is a false backing.” 

And you’re right. You pull the books to reveal a small hidden entryway that’s dark, and it looks like it doesn’t lead to anything. Aaron’s halfway through telling you to let another police officer look through the crawl space because you have to take off your vest and gun to fit, but you’re not hearing it. 

“Hotch, I’m the only one who’s small enough to fit through here,” you say. “I’m shorter than the rest of you and all of you are men. I don’t think Gracie or Olivia want to see someone who looks like their dad.”

“She’s right,” Spencer mumbles. You don’t wait for Aaron’s approval, venturing into the crawlspace. 

Gracie and Olivia are understandably scared until you tell them their mother’s waiting for them at the police station. You help them out of the small room they’ve been kept in and notice how relatively furnished it is–a mattress, blankets, pillows, and coloring material–and make note of how your profile was right. 

You don’t spare a glance at Aaron, too invested in making sure the children are safe with EMTs while they’re being checked for harm. Olivia asks you to stay with them and holds your hand, and you don’t bring yourself to leave them. When the EMTs let you know they aren’t injured and can visit the police station without going to the hospital, Aaron reluctantly lets you accompany both of them back to the precinct. 

It’s well after dark by the time both children leave with Jaqueline. JJ and Emily have worked out a deal with local police to keep them under surveillance and protection until Scott has been captured and are instructed not to let Logan near the three of them for the time being. 

You aren’t able to say goodbye to the three of them, instead recounting your story to the local detective who needs your statement for the paperwork while it’s fresh in your memory. You’re on a high after seeing the two girls reunite with their mother and the entire team congratulates you on a job well done when Aaron storms into the office, angry.

“Y/N, go back to the hotel.” 

Aaron stands tall, his hands on his hips and his mouth etched in an angry frown. His voice is low and you can’t believe the words you’re hearing. 

“To the hotel? Hotch, you can’t be serious.”

“You made a reckless decision to abandon your gun and vest. That could have gotten you killed,” Aaron says. “You are not capable of working under pressure.”

“You told the entire team to use our instincts and that’s exactly what I did. I saved two little girls, for God’s sake.”

“You are hot headed and have this overwhelming urge to prove yourself when nobody cares how well you perform,” Aaron says angrily. “The entire time you’ve been with the BAU, you’ve barely contributed aside from piggybacking off of someone else to reach a conclusion.”

That, you know, is a lie. Aaron just wants to hurt you.

“At this very moment, you are incompetent and can’t hold yourself together for the sake of the victims and their families.”

“We have to catch Scott.”

“You can’t do your job, go back to the hotel.” 

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have to be.”

“Hotch.”

“I want you gone, Y/N,” Aaron says firmly. “Go back to the hotel or hand in your badge.” 

Unbelievable. 

You don’t spare Aaron another glance. Your feet carry you out to the lobby and your breath is so uneven that you need to step aside into an empty interrogation room to calm yourself down. Your jaw clenches and you ball your fists to gather some sort of relief, but you don’t find it. Instead, your nails dig into your palm until it turns white and you let go, exiting the room without another word.

The keys to the SUV are still in your pocket. You don’t necessarily care that the team will have to squeeze into the remaining vehicles and you don’t care enough to let one of them know you’ve made it outside. 

Your hands shake when you reach into your pocket. The warmth of the metal is familiar and your hand pulls it out when a stray tear falls from your face and splashes onto your cheek. Hastily, you enter the car and slam the door shut and lock it when you feel yourself overcome with sadness and anxiety. 

The tears fall freely at this point and you bow your head to the steering wheel, your breaths hot and mouth wet from crying. The back of your sleeves are soaked as you try to wipe away your tears to no avail and your vision becomes too blurry to drive. 

You allow yourself a few minutes to cry. The sound of your gasps echo throughout the care and your shoulders feel heavy with every sob. The weight of the world is truly on your shoulders now and you aren’t sure if you have a job when you go back to Quantico. 

But you pull yourself together and drive back to the hotel. It feels much longer than it needs to be and you sit in the driver’s seat for a moment when you park the car. You hate that you feel incapable of being a member of the team without Aaron breathing down your neck. You hate that you can’t live up to his expectations and that you try to in the first place. Working at the BAU wasn’t supposed to be a nightmare. 

You exit the car and lock it behind you, another stray tear escaping. You feverishly rid yourself of the tear and walk to the entrance of the hotel when you feel someone grabbing you from behind and an acute sense of pain at the base of your neck. 

It’s black after that. 

Back in the station, the local police have distracted themselves with their case files and other happenings while the rest of the team looks at Aaron in shock. Spencer's looking at the empty space where you stood and Emily is looking at Aaron like he’s grown a second head. 

“Are you serious?” she begins. “Hotch, we need everyone on this. We need Y/N.”

“She’s too hot headed,” Aaron replies. 

“Oh yeah?” Derek chimes in. “And how about you?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You know damn well that Y/N adds as much value to this team as the rest of her. Two years with the BAU and stellar reviews from the board has proven that. Why are you still treating her like a first-day agent?”

“Y/N needs to learn to let go of her ego,” Aaron retaliates. “I don’t need to explain myself to any of you.”

“You’re wrong about her not contributing anything,” Spencer says. It surprises Aaron to hear Reid defy him on your behalf. “For the cases that we’ve worked on with her, she’s been the one to take lead on the preliminary profiles for most of them. Some of our biggest leads have come from her.” 

Aaron breathes and doesn’t say a thing. He looks at his team and knows they don’t approve of his choice to send you back to the hotel, but he stands by it. David looks at him like he’s almost disappointed in him and JJ holds his stare. 

He knows why he’s being extra hard on you. He knows he’s pushing you to your limit by keeping you at arm’s length. Aaron doesn’t want to admit that he sees you as anything other than his subordinate and coworker, but he does. He doesn’t want to be the reason why you don’t advance within the bureau and why there might be a future workplace ban on relationships. Even if he disagrees with how you handled things tonight.

Aaron doesn’t communicate any of this with the team while he stares them down. Instead, he fixes his posture and clears his throat. 

“Get back to work.”

***

When you come to, you’re acutely aware of the handcuffs around your wrist. 

The air is cold and you realize you’re bound to a pole in a barn, and you’re not sure where you are. Everything is suddenly hazy and your vision blurs until you blink rapidly with the hope that you’ll regain full consciousness.

The first thing you can feel is a headache. Your head’s pounding viciously and you wince at the pain, inadvertently tugging in your wrist and against the handcuffs. The metal is cold and it sends a chill up your spine when you realize you’re alone. You try your best to recite what you can sense over and over again in your mind.

The air is cold. You’re sitting on a hard floor with straw and other debris around you. The air smells like manure and hay. You can hear crickets and wind blowing just outside of the barn, and you can see hardware tools towards the back of the building.

The influx of emotions that creep into your chest is enough to make any person an anxiety-ridden mess. Your heart feels like it’s going to lurch out of your chest with every second that passes by because your reality becomes more real; this isn’t a nightmare you’re desperately hoping to wake up from. 

“Look who’s awake.”

It’s Scott. 

He flickers the lights on and that’s when you realize he’s holding a gun. 

“You took quite a while to wake up, actually. I’ve been waiting here for two hours wondering when you’d return to the land of the living.”

Scott dons a smirk that you wish you could wipe off with both of your fists. His right hand grips the gun haphazardly and he waves it around as he gestures while speaking, and the fear of dying has finally crept into the forefront of your mind.

“Where are we?” you ask. 

“South of Los Angeles,” Scott replies. “Far enough that your little team won’t find this patch of land.”

“Why’s that?”

His smirk widens when you stay quiet.

“You know, Agent, I find you interesting.”

“There’s nothing remotely interesting about me,” you say. You try your best to remember the profile and give him what he wants. He hates authority and between the two of you, you legally have all of it. So, you downplay yourself, 

“I beg to differ,” he laughs. Scott takes a step towards you and you recoil. “I’ve been watching this investigation unfold because I need to keep tabs on what’s happening so that I don’t get caught. It’s worked so far, but you were just lucky to have found my little girls.” 

“We found them because you made a mistake,” you chide. “You slipped up.”

Scott’s smirk turns into anger, and he takes another step towards you. 

“I made a mistake because I wasn’t thinking far ahead, Agent.” 

He takes another step and he’s by your thigh. Scott bends down to your level and you’re aware of how close his gun is to your abdomen, and you pray that you don’t say the wrong thing.

“I wasn’t thinking far ahead because I couldn’t see the bigger picture. But it came to me a few nights ago when I realized that you and I are people that don’t naturally get to be in the spotlight.” 

Scott caresses your cheek and you shudder underneath his fingertips. He retracts and stands up, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

“See, you and I are people who don’t get enough credit for our work. All it took was one moment watching your horrendous boss dismiss you for your work. I knew you’d be the key in getting my girls back to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott leans forward. “You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Unfortunately, it comes to you quickly.

The team had gathered around the house that Jaqueline and Scott had lived in when they were married. Penelope had clued the team in on this location. A new couple lived in that house with no connection to Jaqueline and Scott but you thought it was worth checking out.

Aaron disagreed. That house hadn’t been occupied by either of them for years since they got a divorce but your gut had been telling you to visit the property to look around for extra clues that might’ve turned up. Your insistence angered him, who accused you of disobeying orders, and it was David who had to intervene and remind Aaron never to leave any stone unturned.

Reluctantly, Aaron ordered the team to the house and you successfully convinced the new owners to let you look through their property with the promise that nothing would be disturbed. Two hours into searching and Aaron was ready to write your mishappenings in the file report when he returned to Quantico, but your sudden interest in the backyard piqued everyone’s interest.

You had discovered a well-hidden doorway to an underground room. The new family would’ve never seen it, as it was tucked away with roots and other invasive plants that covered the wooden doorway. When you and Morgan entered the space, it was clear that Scott had been there recently.

Unbeknownst to you, Scott has been hiding out a few houses down watching everything unfold, including the way Aaron distrusted your judgment. He’d been using that bunker as a living space, careful to work around the new family so as to not get caught. It was far enough that they couldn’t see him from where the windows were placed unless they were out in the backyard the same as he was.

“Remember now?” he asks.

You nod, complying. “You watched my boss reprimand me for wasting everyone’s time.”

He nods. “You and I are overworked and underappreciated. We don’t get credit or recognition even though we deserve it.”

“You knew we’d find Gracie and Olivia.”

Scott’s jaw locks but he agrees.

“I knew there was no way I’d be able to get to my girls in time to move them someplace else. So, I let you find them because I knew that I’d have no other chance to get them back if you arrested me.

“Then I followed you all the way back to the precinct so I could keep tabs on you and see where you were staying. It was just my luck that I happened to hear your boss yelling at you because of an open window. I knew my chance was when he ordered you to go back to the hotel.”

“How do I fit into all of this?” you ask.

“You, Agent, are going to help me get my kids back from Jaqueline and cover for me.”

“No chance in hell.” 

Scott doesn’t like that answer. He lunges towards you and tugs on your hair, enough to make your scalp feel like it’s being set on fire. 

“You don’t have a choice. I want my kids back and you aren’t in the position to make any demands.” 

He doesn’t say much after that. Scott looks into your eyes with a murderous expression before letting you go. Your head hits the pole behind you because he pushed you away with enough force that it makes you dizzy again.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Scott says from the barn’s entrance. “I need some sleep and so do you.”

He doesn’t uncuff you and you’re left wondering how you can sleep when you’re being held captive.

***

When the team leaves the precinct, everyone is too drained to continue talking about the case on the ride back. They’d only been there two hours after you left but Aaron gets the feeling that the rest of them aren’t happy with him dismissing you. 

The ride is silent and everyone retreats to their rooms respectively. He tries to forget the aching feeling in his chest and goes to sleep. 

He wakes up to a cold sweat. 

Aaron’s still not happy what perspired last night. He nearly made the choice to knock on your door and apologize for being harsh in front of the team and the local police, but he doesn’t. It’s better to put distance. It’s how he rationalizes how he’s treating you because he’ll fall apart if he imagines the consequences of being in a relationship with you. 

You’re the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. He’s surprised he didn’t hear you knocking on his door to give him a piece of your mind, but he was too tired to consider that you didn’t. 

His clock reads six A.M. and he’s sure the rest of the team is waking up and heading to the police station like he is. Aaron feels more tired with each day passing and it feels like his body is on autopilot mode with how fast he’s able to change and get to the precinct. 

The team trickles in one by one and everyone makes their coffee before picking up where they left off last night. Penelope had sent the team a list of possible places that Scott might be and Aaron wants to cover as much ground as possible.

When he’s more awake, he mentally groups the team and the other police officers to search each property. 

He stops when he realizes you’re not in the precinct. 

At first, Aaron feels annoyed because he thinks you’re late. It isn’t completely out of character for you, as he’s watched you stumble into the office a few minutes before debriefing. Still, he prays that you’ll show up so everyone can move on with their day. 

But you don’t come in. Every person that walks through the door isn’t you and Aaron’s annoyance becomes a question of curiosity with fear at the end of it. 

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan asks from beside him. 

“Probably slept in,” JJ snorts. “She sleeps like a brick.” 

Everyone laughs at her comment in good fun because they know it’s true. You’re a heavy sleeper. But Aaron isn’t convinced. Something doesn’t feel right to him but he can’t quite place what it is. 

He gives it another ten minutes. Aaron’s bouncing from leg to leg, anticipating your arrival. He’s waiting for you to hastily apologize about not hearing your alarm and he’s waiting for you to jump right where you left off because of your tardiness.

But you never walk through the door.

“Something’s wrong,” Aaron mutters. Spencer nods at his disheveled expression from where he sits and Emily looks down at her phone.

“I know she’s a heavy sleeper but there’s no way she’d be twenty minutes late with the stakes this high,” Emily points out. 

JJ walks out of the room the BAU is occupying and inquires with everyone outside if they’ve seen you come in, but all of them say they haven’t seen you since last night. JJ walks back into the room with shaking hands and she’s almost reluctant to tell Aaron that nobody has seen you yet.

Emily tries to call your cell phone one more time with no luck. Aaron sends Derek to check on you at the hotel and doesn't bother to respect the speed limit on the ten minute drive to the hotel from the station. The receptionist is more than willing to give him a key to your room when you don’t answer your phone. 

When he walks in, he notices that you aren’t sleeping in the bed. Your room is clean. The bed is made and there’s no indication that you slept in it last night. Your go-bag is perched on the table and a few clothes are haphazardly thrown on the chair beside it. Nothing seems out of place. 

It’s when he walks back outside to return to the station that he hears a phone ringing from the bushes. Derek walks towards the sound and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes the phone is yours. He curses and picks up the phone to see Emily’s contact.

“L/N?”

“It’s me,” Derek says through your phone. “L/N’s not here and her phone was tossed in the bushes.” Metal catches Derek’s eye. “Wait a minute.” 

He walks forward with caution and his heart drops when he realizes it’s a discarded needle and your gun right next to it. 

“What is it?” Emily asks from the other line. She hears Derek sigh and she knows it can’t be good. 

“It’s a needle and her gun, Prentiss. L/N not showing up to the precinct and her belongings being discarded can’t be a coincidence.” 

From the police station, Emily panics. She hangs up when Derek lets her know he’s coming back and her panic rises when she sees her teammates looking at her quizzically. The lump in her throat grows when she realizes everyone is looking at her for an answer. 

“Did you find her?” JJ asks. Emily doesn’t speak for a second. 

“Morgan found her cell phone in the bushes by the front of the hotel,” Emily explains. “He also found a discarded needle...and her gun.” 

Aaron’s attention shifts from the file he’s holding to Emily, who’s fidgeting with her hands. 

“Her gun?” Dave asks for clarification. “Found outside of the hotel room?” 

Emily nods. “Morgan picked up L/N’s phone and said he found it tossed aside.”

“And none of us saw her when she left the precinct?”

Nobody says anything. 

“I think she’s been kidnapped,” Reid says abruptly. “None of us saw her when we got back to the hotel nor when we arrived at the precinct. Scott must know Y/N was the one who rescued his daughters and he’s either kidnapped her out of revenge or because he wants them back.”

Aaron doesn’t like that answer. 

His hands feel warm and his heart is racing too quickly for his liking. Aaron can feel his exterior start to wither away with the realization that you’ve been kidnapped and he doesn’t second guess himself when he calls Penelope and asks her to track Scott’s cell phone and to triangulate his last known location.

This is now a rescue mission and he hates that you’re the victim. 

The team doesn’t spare a second in finding a third location he could’ve taken you too. Penelope foregoes any of her other responsibilities to find you and Aaron can hear the frantic pace of her keyboard typing as she speaks. Derek and Spencer are visiting locations that hold significance to Scott in the event that he’s returned, but Aaron's doubtful that he’d make that mistake. 

It’s when JJ explains what’s happening to the lead detective does Aaron feel like his world is crumbling around him. He’s put himself at arm’s length so much as to push you away from him and right into the arms of the unsub, and he feels like he might pass out in the middle of the precinct. 

Emily and Dave pick up how quiet Aaron’s been ever since Penelope hung up. He’s too busy staring at the white board and it doesn’t help that your handwriting is all over it. Aaron’s throat is dry and he’s a second away from starting to blame himself for your disappearance, but he knows that he doesn’t have enough time to feel sorry for himself if he wants to find you.

When Derek comes back and tells the team there’s been no luck in finding you, Aaron’s heart sinks. He’s running out of options and he knows his head isn’t where it should be, but he can’t help it. Aaron does his best to keep himself composed when Spencer tries to piece together your timeline and he hates that they’re treating you like a abduction victim because you should be in this room with them. Instead, you’re God knows where and Aaron doesn’t bring himself to imagine that you might be dead already. 

It’s Spencer who makes the connection between you and his children. He theorizes that Scott must’ve been present when you had rescued the children and kidnapped you for one of two reasons: to exact revenge or to force you to help him get his children back. JJ suspects that it’s the latter because of your profile. Scott wants to get his children back and he’d do anything to do it. 

Dave wonders why Scott would risk kidnapping a federal agent and how he knew you’d be at the precinct or the hotel, and Spencer doesn’t hold his tongue when he said the only common link between the two of you is the way you’d both been treated by your superiors. 

The room goes quiet and Spencer thinks he’s overstepped, but he doesn’t regret his choice of words. 

Everyone looks at Aaron, who’s been silent the entire time. He thinks about how angry you were last night and how he convinced himself he didn’t see you shed a tear as you passed him. The guilt of sending you home and not checking in on you when he got back to the hotel is eating him alive because you’ve been missing for twelve hours and nobody knew about it. 

“Reid’s right,” Aaron says. He feels his voice start to break. “We know why he’s taken L/N but now we need to understand how he’s going to use her in order to get his children back.” 

Aaron’s phone rings and he’s grateful for the distraction. Penelope informs them of a house that was paid in all cash and purchased under a false identity a few months ago, and confirms that it was Scott who paid for the property after speaking with the realtor and showing her a photo. Aaron wastes no time ordering the team to head to the house and he feels like he’s running out of time when Penelope says the property is seventy miles from the precinct. 

The ride to the property is agonizing. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is lethal and he’s swerving between every car with the hopes that he’ll reach you in time. Emily’s sitting in the passenger seat and she knows there’s nothing either of them can do except hope that you’re alive and well.

“We’ll find her,” she says after a long period of silence. “You know L/N. She’s strong and won’t go down without a fight.”

Aaron hesitates to speak. He gulps and he feels like his mouth is far too dry to hold a decent conversation because while he knows that Emily’s right, he can’t help but feel utterly hopeless on the freeway while you’re being held hostage by Scott. 

“I shouldn’t have told her to go to the hotel,” Aaron says. “I should’ve left it at reprimanding her for going in alone. We could’ve avoided all of this.”

“You of all people know you couldn’t have predicted that Scott would’ve done,” Emily said. “It wasn’t in the profile. Neither of us could’ve predicted that he’d kidnap L/N.”

“I know.” Aaron signals and passes three cars who are driving far too slow for his liking. 

He’s silent again, which doesn’t surprise Emily. Aaron sits in the driver’s seat, a million thoughts racing to the front of his head but he can’t seem to choose the right words to speak. He knows how unfair he’s been to you and all the anger and frustration about not being able to be with you has transpired into this mess he’s found himself in. He should’ve never let his feelings get to this point nor let his frustration shift from the forbidden relationship onto you. 

“I’ve been unfair to her,” Aaron croaks. He hears the crack in his voice as it starts to falter, but he keeps talking because he thinks he might go insane if they sit in any more silence. “I’ve pushed her aside and made her second guess herself as an agent of this team all because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check.” 

“What do you mean?” Emily asks. Aaron sighs and he grips his steering wheel, embarrassed that he’s been an unfair leader and that he’s admitting it to one of his colleagues. 

“L/N is an exceptional agent and it’s no wonder why I fell for her.” 

Emily’s quiet and Aaron’s sure he’s made a mistake by confessing that to her. He wishes he could take it back and lie instead of being honest with his friend, but he can’t take back the words he’s said. And he stands by it. 

“I’ve been so busy trying to pretend like I don’t have feelings for her but every day I’m scared that something like this could happen to her. I hate it when she’s reckless and disobeys orders because I’m afraid that it’ll get her killed.

“I know what it looks like on the outside to see me and my subordinate in a romantic relationship. She’s young, career-driven, and I’d hate to stand in the way of whatever’s next for her. I don’t know how to act around her and I thought that pushing all of this down would help me lose feelings for her, but I haven’t.”

“You sound like a teenager,” Emily says. It shocks him and when he looks at her quizzically, Emily chuckles. “What, you think I couldn't see how hopeless you were when it came to L/N? Hotch, you’re like a kid in a candy store when she’s around. The rest of us were ready to start placing bets on you two until you started giving her the short end of the stick.”

He feels awful. Aaron’s guilt causes him to flex and rev the engine. 

“I never meant to hurt her,” he confesses. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

“What matters is that we’re on our way to rescue her and there’s nowhere else she could be,” Emily reassures. “Scott wants his kids back and he knows they’re in LA county. There’s no way he would risk taking her somewhere else when he doesn’t have Gracie and Olivia.” 

“Right,” Aaron says, clearing his throat. Neither he nor Emily need to chide him for how he’s been treating you. He knows he’s wrong and Emily knows it too. 

“L/N is the strongest out of all of us. She’ll make it through this.”

Aaron has a sneaking suspicion that Emily’s trying to convince herself, but he doesn’t say anything. 

When the team reaches the property, it’s notably quiet. The next neighbor is two miles down the road and Derek’s ready to search the house when Aaron steps out of his vehicle. 

“More backup’s two minutes out,” Aaron explains, “but we’ve got enough people to start the search. Reid and JJ, check the backyard. Prentiss and Rossi, check the house. Morgan, you’re with me. We’re checking the garage.” 

Aaron orders the police officers to check elsewhere before he and Morgan make their way to the garage. With his gun and flashlight in his hands, he approaches the enclosed space with caution and his heart spikes with anxiety. Before he can think about the worst that could happen, two police officers manage to open the garage door as he and Derek search the place. 

It’s empty. 

Aaron curses under his breath as they check the confined space but find nothing out of the ordinary. The rest of the team relates the same information and Aaron feels like he’s losing hope because he doesn't know where else you could possibly be. 

“Guys, there’s a barn across the landing,” comes JJ’s voice from the communications line. “There’s a truck parked outside and I’m willing to bet it’s Scott’s.”

Aaron’s heart stops beating for a moment. 

“We need to search that barn,” Aaron commands. “Everyone pull your resources and let’s head out.” 

It feels like slow motion to him, the way he diverts his attention to the barn that JJ pointed out. He feels like he’s watching the scene unfold in front of him from another person’s perspective and desperately prays that you’re in there, safe and alive. The grip on his gun is falling from how his hands are trembling but he reminds himself that he has a job to do. 

Dave touches the hood of the car and says it’s warm, which means Scott is most likely inside of the barn. The lead detective is ordering his team to secure the back entrance and surround the building so that Scott has no place to run and Aaron instructs his team to do the same at the front. Under hushed voices, he can almost make out the faint scout of scuffling coming from behind the large wooden doors and feels his throat close. 

Then he hears a gunshot. 

Everyone rushes inside and he’s overcome with dread when he walks inside. Aaron’s heart is racing; he can feel the grip of his gun slipping because of how unsteady his hands are and he’s nearly tripping from all the hay that he’s stepping on. He fears the worst when he enters and does his best to prepare himself to see your lifeless body.

But you’re laying on your stomach with a gun in your hands. 

You don’t process the ringing in your ears until Aaron moves beside you to reach for the gun in your hands. He’s tossed it aside and maneuvers you to check for any injuries. Aaron glances at your face and notices a deep bruise forming on your left temple with scratches and smaller bruises adorning your face, and he hates it. 

He hates that your body and face is covered in Scott’s blood. He hates that your hands are still shaking with fear. He hates that there’s nothing he can say or do that will make everything better for you. 

The shirt you’re wearing is covered in Scott’s blood spatter and you’re barely able to process that you’ve most likely broken a few ribs. You don’t say anything. The overwhelming urge to cry resurfaces and this time, you don’t stop yourself. 

Aaron catches you before you hit your head onto the ground and moves his body to sit behind you. You’re stationed between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as you slump over and grab his arm for support as your tears wet his dress shirt. Aaron foregoes all standard procedure and lets you cry in his arms instead of calling for the EMT to whisk you away from the hospital. 

You don’t care that your cries are almost louder than the ambulance sirens. Your adrenaline makes the blood pump loudly in your ears and you grip onto Aaron like you’re afraid Scott will come back to life and kill you if you let go. 

His free arm is secured around you. Aaron’s eyes become glossy as each second passes by and his heart breaks in two when he hears your continual cries.

“You did so good,” Aaron whispers. “So good. You’re safe now.” 

Aaron doesn’t let the EMT get close to you when you’re trembling in his arms. He tells them to wait a moment and they try to argue with him, but they relent when they see Aaron’s stern expression. His voice cracks when he tries to speak upon hearing your soft whimpers. Your eyes are screwed shut and Aaron strokes your hair as you bury yourself further deeper into him.

Dave and Spencer canvas the scene and look around for anything out of the ordinary to report. Derek's speaking with the EMTs while JJ and Emily are patiently waiting with blankets and bottles of water for you. But you don’t get up. Your legs feel numb from sitting down and Aaron’s grip on you is so tight that you feel like you’ll fall back down if you try to stand up.

Your sobs have turned quiet and you almost feel like you’re at peace. But then you remember your bruises and the blood still on your body. You remember Scott’s body and find yourself crying even harder.

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Aaron says in your ear. “We can get you cleaned up and on your way home. Does that sound good?”

His voice is like honey. Sweet.

You nod and you try your best to sit up to no avail. Aaron tries to help you up and the EMTs catch you before you can fall back onto the ground. He reluctantly lets the EMTs take you to the ambulance where JJ and Emily are waiting. He watches as they drape a blanket over you and as you’re wheeled up into the vehicle. Emily offers to follow you to the hospital and JJ steps away, letting the ambulance drive off.

Aaron doesn’t process anything. He doesn’t hear the sirens, the police chatter, or Dave approach him with a concerned look.

“She’s gonna be okay, Aaron.”

Dave’s voice is nothing but a hollow shell to Aaron. It feels like an empty promise even though he knows you’re going to make it out alive. Still, Aaron doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s go meet her at the hospital.”

***

The doctor explains that you’ve suffered a concussion, a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm, and a grazed bullet wound. You’ll be relatively fine, but Aaron’s heart is racing and can't get past seeing you covered in blood to pay attention to anything the doctor is saying. He hasn’t had time to beat himself up for sending you back to the hotel without accompaniment and he hates that the guilt is crashing in on him when you need him the most.

Aaron looks down at his sleeves and they’re covered in blood, dirt, and your mascara. He stares down in shock and his mind flashes to the barn, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s ever seen you cry before. It breaks him.

The doctor explains that they needed to sedate you because of your sudden adrenaline rush. Your shock had caused you to lash out when a nurse had grabbed your wrist, and through your clouded judgment, you’d swung at him with all of your might. Your fretful apologies made you uncontrollably sob afterwards and the nurse could only look at you with sympathy. 

Two hours later, the team was still waiting in the waiting room. Under the guise of wanting to get you something to eat other than stale hospital food, Aaron leaves to buy you a meal. But he needs to get ou and get fresh air before he suffocates. 

Aaron’s guilt eats him alive. He walks aimlessly towards a deli and scolds himself over and over again for making you drive to the hotel unsupervised. In hindsight, Aaron knows his personal feelings came into play when he berated you for your recklessness. He knows he was unfair to you because he would’ve done the same thing if he were in your position.

When he returns, Dave’s looking at him like he knows what he’s thinking, but doesn’t say anything. Aaron appreciates his friend’s concern but the guilt doesn’t relent. He fidgets in his seat and tries to calm his spiking anxiety but nothing seems to work. His mind retracts to the moment he found you covered in Scott’s blood and your cries are enough to make Aaron feel like he might shed a tear in front of his teammates.

His thoughts are disrupted when he sees your doctor approach the group. 

“She’s a little out of it,” says the doctor, “but she’s conscious. You’re all welcome to say hello, but only for a few minutes.” 

When the doctor directs the team to your room, she explains what happened after you reached the hospital. Aaron can’t process anything she’s saying. His ears are ringing and he feels like everyone around him is talking too loudly for him to be able to hear anything the doctor is saying. All he can pick up is “dehydrated” and “concussed.” 

Everyone hastily walks to the room you’re in. JJ files into the room first. It takes Aaron a few breaths to find the courage to step inside of the room and he’s sure Emily’s the one who helped him take the first step.

“What’s the prognosis?” your croaked voice asks. JJ sniffles and laughs at the same time, and the rest of the group watch you try to prop yourself up.

“How you’re able to joke at a time like this is beyond me,” JJ gushes. She takes a pillow from the bed and helps you sit up.

“What, a few broken ribs and a concussion? I’m lucky the bullet only grazed me.”

Nobody laughs but you can tell they’re trying their best.

Aaron towers over everybody easily and he’s in between trying to catch your gaze and trying to avoid it. Emily hands you the sandwich from the local deli and you waste no time, opening the wrapper and letting the aioli slide down the side of your mouth.

It’s easily the most adorable and most heartbreaking thing Aaron has ever seen.

“Slow down, Tiger,” says Derek. He grabs a nearby napkin and wipes the sauce away while you smile sheepishly.

“Sorry,” you mutter, taking slower bites. Spencer’s next to hug you and you welcome the way he refuses to let you go.

Everyone looks at you under the harsh lights of the hospital room and you feel like you’re being observed. The sedative you’d been given is enough to make you feel somewhat normal because no matter how hard you try to panic over the last few hours, you can’t. 

You feel like you’re numb to your experiences and the pain Scott inflicted. Staring at your team feels eerily normal and you almost forget that you’re sitting in a hospital gown with enough injuries to put you out of the field for a few months. 

“You broke my heart, kiddo,” Dave chimes in. He grabs your free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to the back of your hand. JJ pulls you into a mother-like embrace, kissing the crown of your head. You lean into her touch and Aaron wishes he were the one comforting you.

“I feel like shit,” you confess. “I woke up feeling groggy and I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“We’re so glad you’re okay, Y/N,” Emily says. 

“Thanks, Em,” you say. You take another bite. “This sandwich is good.”

“Aaron bought it,” Emily speaks.

You look at him. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged his presence since he walked into the room.

“Thanks,” you mumble behind the sandwich. “I could eat five of these.” 

“I don’t want to deal with you puking on us,” Spencer jokes, and it makes you feel somewhat normal.

You don’t like feeling as though you’re a delicate piece of glass that’s close to being dropped. You hate feeling useless and pitied. Everyone’s looking at you with sad eyes and it makes you feel like you’ve let your colleagues down, even though you know there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent what transpired.

“I’m really sleepy,” you say, haphazardly throwing the wrapper on the table next to you. It isn’t a lie, but you say it with the hopes of being alone.

“We’ll be back in the morning,” JJ says. She looks at the clock in front of her and doesn’t realize that it’s four in the morning. You squeeze her hand when her eyes well up. JJ wipes her eyes and blinks her tears back and you lean against her side.

Aaron can’t help but stare. You look so vulnerable at this moment and you’re doing your best to keep yourself awake, but the sedatives are making you drowsy. The team says their goodbyes and reluctantly trek back to the hotel, but Aaron can’t bring himself to walk into the building once he’s parked.

“Get changed,” Dave says after a brief moment of silence. Aaron looks at him in confusion. “Take a shower, eat something from the vending machine, and go back to the hospital.”

“She doesn't want me there,” he says slowly. 

“She’s asleep,” Dave dismisses. “She’s not going to know you’re there and I’m sure she’ll want to see a familiar face when she wakes up.”

“I’m not sure I’m the person she wants to see.”

“You were the first person she reached for when we entered the barn,” Dave explains, “and I know you won’t be sleeping a wink tonight unless you’re by L/N’s side. Go get changed and get back to the hospital, Aaron.”

“I just–”

“I know you feel guilty. Whatever feelings you have towards her never went away and that’s why you’ve been so hard on her.” Aaron’s not surprised that he’s picked up on this habit. “I don’t have to agree with how you handled it, but what matters is that she’s alive and she’s resting. We got her back, Aaron. She’s here and Scott isn’t.” 

Aaron knows Dave is right. He thanks him for being a good friend and trudges back into his hotel room, hastily freshening himself up before returning back to the hospital.

***

You wake up later in the morning with little to no recollection of how you got there. You feel extremely out of it, like someone removed a ton of bricks from your chest after keeping it there for a fortnight. You look to your left and see a window that shows you a gloomy D.C. morning. You look to your right and see Aaron Hotchner slumped over in a seat, asleep. 

This wakes you up. You’re blinking the sleep out of your eyes when you realize he’s snoring. It’s soft and unassuming, but you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him sleep. 

The chairs must be uncomfortable, too. You do your best to sit up—which is when you notice the sling on your arm—and manage to prop yourself up on the pillows until you’re sitting upright. Aaron stirs in his sleep at the sound but he’s still asleep.

You’re not close enough to reach him and wake him up. You aren’t sure that you want to either, for the fear that he might start telling you a laundry list of all the things you did wrong throughout the case. 

The doctor from last night walks in and knocks on your door, which shifts your focus. Aaron’s still asleep and the doctor, who reintroduces herself as Dr. Aguta, gently walks around Aaron and to your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” she asks you while holding a clipboard. You notice her colorful print skirt first and it’s a contrast to how grey it is outside. 

“My head hurts,” you say with a croak. It’s the first thing you’ve said since you woke up. “And I realized my arm’s broken. But other than that, I feel fine.” 

Dr. Aguta gives you a pleasant smile. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing okay. The sedatives we gave you last night seemed to help ease your pain, though I’ll be giving you a prescription for the rest of the month when it wears off.”

She hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

Unfortunately, you do. You remember Scott, the gun, and Aaron coaxing you to go with the EMTs. It’s mostly a blur and you can’t remember the details but you remember enough. The softened expression is a dead giveaway and Dr. Aguta doesn’t press any further.

She sees your gaze shift to Aaron, who still hasn’t woken up.

“He came last night and insisted on staying with you,” Dr. Aguta informs. “Typically I’d only let immediate family stay overnight, but your boss seemed extremely worried about you.” 

“He did?” you ask. It’s news to you.

She nods. “When I saw him for the first time last night, I could tell he’s a man of few words and the leader of your team. But last night he was a stuttering mess and I let him stay overnight with the condition that he doesn’t wake you.”

You don’t say anything. Aaron’s mouth is partly ajar and you know he’s going to wake up with a lot of back pain from how he’s positioned. Dr. Aguta performs a routine check up on you and lets you know that you’ll be discharged from the hospital the following day. You thank her profusely and she can only give you a reassuring smile. You ask her to wake Aaron up for you just before she leaves.

Aaron blinks and remembers he’s not in the hotel. Dr. Aguta excuses herself to give the both of you privacy and he sits upright, stretching his back unpleasantly. 

“Morning,” he says, clearing this throat. “How do you feel?”

You’re getting tired of answering this question but you humor him.

“Better,” you say honestly. “Aside from my broken arm and concussion.” Aaron’s gaze shifts to your arm and he almost winces.

“Did you sleep well?” 

“For the most part, but I think the sedatives had more to do with it than anything.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

An awkward silence falls over the both of you. Aaron desperately tried to pull himself together by waking himself up and you’re fiddling with your hands. You noticed he’s changed since you saw him last night, now in slacks and a quarter zip, and you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him look so casual.

Aaron’s trying to think of the right words to say. As your boss, he wants to tell you that none of this was your fault and there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it from happening. He wants to tell you he shouldn’t have ordered you back to the hotel, not without anyone accompanying you.

But as someone who has deep feelings for you, Aaron wants to say he was scared to death and thought he might lose another person he cares for. His anxiety skyrocketed through the roof when he saw what you had done to Scott and he wishes that you didn’t have to work through this trauma.

But he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he swallows and you know his brain is working overtime by how often he pulls his eyebrows together. You don’t have it in you to be angry at him like you were the night he sent you away. The sedatives, along with your exhaustion, leaves little room for anger. 

“I’m getting hungry,” you say to break the silence. 

“I can get something from the cafeteria,” he offers immediately, touching his pocket to make sure his wallet didn’t fall out. 

“That would be nice.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t touched by the offer.

Aaron leaves for a short while and you try your best to process what just happened. He chose to stay with you overnight. He offered to buy you breakfast. You didn’t think Aaron would care for you like that.

He comes back a while later and apologizes for both the sandwich (that looks haphazardly made) and the time it took, as there was a long line. You thank him politely and eat the meal, and you’re grateful that you have anything to eat at all.

Aaron watches you and feels like he’s invading your personal time. He bought himself a fruit cup, knowing Dave would reprimand him for not eating if he were able to buy something. 

“I shouldn’t have told you to go back,” Aaron says softly. You almost didn’t hear him say it. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I did the wrong thing and it got you kidnapped.”

You don’t tell him that it’s okay, because quite frankly he’s right. He shouldn’t have sent you home, but you know it’s not his fault that you were abducted. 

“It’s not your fault that Scott took me,” you say matter-of-factly. Aaron can sense what you’re trying to say and his eyes hang in shame. “But I’m alive. I’m going to have one hell of a transition back to work, but I’m alive. I’m here. That is, if I still have my job.”

Aaron’s eyes snap to you.

“The job is yours for however long you want it,” he says immediately, and he means it. “What you did was reckless but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

This makes you smile a little and Aaron soars when he sees it. 

“I didn’t mean what I said back at the precinct either, Y/N. You’re a fantastic agent and we’re lucky to have you.”

There are a million things you want to ask him. Why have you been second guessing me? Is my work not satisfactory enough? Why did you stay in the hospital with me? 

But you don’t. There are too many things you want to say to Aaron that it ends up turning into a frustrating mess every time you think of the right question to ask. Aaron doesn’t seem to notice your lack of conversation. Or if he does, you think he’s trying to fill the awkward silence like you are.

“I don’t mean to be a burden,” is what you settle on. “I don’t purposely challenge your authority or how the team operates. I know I haven’t been here as long as everyone else but I like to think I make enough contributions.”

“You do,” Aaron says. “You aren’t a burden.”

You don’t believe him. “I just…lately I feel like I've been getting in the way of things.”

“You haven’t.” Aaron means that honestly but you don’t pick up on it. “You’ve shown immense critical thinking and problem solving skills. This case alone has proven that.”

You don’t disagree with him, but your mind reverts back to Scott and you start to deflate. 

Aaron knows he needs to apologize for how he’s been acting towards you. The abduction and his guilt is eating him alive and it forced him to be truthful with himself about how harsh he’s been treating you upon realizing he likes you more than a colleague should. But he doesn’t know whether this moment is appropriate or not. Ever the professional.

Both of you are saved by Dave showing up unannounced. He’s dressed casually too, with jeans and a sweater for an unusually cloudy day in Southern California. His knocking brings both you and Aaron out of your heads.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dave laments. He enters the room after you beckon him in and gives you a gentle hug on the side that doesn’t have your sling. “I won’t ask how you’re feeling because I’m sure you’re tired of that.”

“Thank you.”

“But I did want to check up on you,” Dave continues. “The rest of the team are slowly waking up, I imagine.” He turns to Aaron. “I assume we’re grounded here until Y/N can fly back.”

“That’s right,” Aaron says. “Tell the team they have the rest of the week off. I don’t think Strauss wants us spending more of our budget on flights.”

“Already done,” Dave says with a smile. “You had us worried for a while there.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, even though you know you have nothing to be sorry for. “I didn’t mean to make any of you worry about me.”

“We always worry about you, kid. It’s our job.”

“Are the girls okay?” you ask him. 

“Safe and sound. That’s actually why I came to visit, other than to check up on you.” 

You blink out of confusion.

“Jaqueline called the precinct and asked to speak with you,” Dave explains. “Long story short, she got in contact with me and wanted to know if you’d be willing to speak with her. She wants to thank you in person.”

The thought never crossed your mind. Saving her children had always been your first priority, even when Scott threatened to kill you if you didn’t help him. You’re not a mother by any means, but Jaqueline is around your age and you have plenty of nieces and nephews to get an understanding of how difficult this whole ordeal was for her.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted to make sure Jaqueline would be okay. 

“Absolutely,” you say immediately. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” Aaron asks. “You just got to the hospital.”

“I’m sure,” you confirm, turning your attention back to Dave. “They can come visit me here if they’re willing to. I don’t think I have it in me to go to the precinct.”

“Of course,” Dave says with a small grin. It’s almost like he knows this will heal the both of you. He leaves the room and tells you he’ll be back later this afternoon.

Aaron sits in silence and he’s in awe of your resilience. He’s sure it’s the shock and sedatives talking, but he’s always known you to be someone who puts other people first. 

“I should call Strauss and let her know the situation,” Aaron says. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and you’re strangely reluctant to let him go. But you do anyway and he walks out of the hospital room, leaving you with your thoughts. 

***

Dave lets you know Jaqueline is here with the girls a few hours later. 

“Agent Y/L/N?” a voice says from beside you. The young mother knocks on the door as two children hide behind her legs. You beckon them inside, with Aaron and Emily supervising from beyond the threshold.

“Jaqueline,” you say, propping yourself up to seem more presentable. “Hi. It’s great to see you.” 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she apologizes, but you’re already waving her off when you see the two children emerge from behind her. “I wanted to thank you in person. For saving my kids.”

“It’s no problem,” you downplay. 

But Jaqueline shakes her head and rushes to grab your hand. She pulls away when she thinks she’s crossed a line, but your grip is devastatingly tight when you squeeze hers. Jaqueline looks at you and tears slip from her eyes, and her children hug her legs like they know something’s wrong.

Jacqueline composes herself and brings Gracie and Olivia in front of her, who each have hand-decorated thank you cards made of colorful cardstock paper, stickers, and glitter. Your heart swells at the gesture and you will yourself not to alarm the family in front of you with your tears, so you promise yourself you’d cry when they leave.

“Hi, Munchkins,” you greet. “What’s all this?”

The girls shyly give you the cards, the eldest taking initiative to put them in your hands.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Mommy says you were very brave and saved us.”

“We drew these last night!” the younger one exclaims. “Mommy let us stay up late because we couldn’t sleep, so we made these for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you compliment, looking at the colors below you. Jaqueline hasn’t let go of your hand. “You girls are very talented.”

“Thank you,” the young one says bashfully. “I hope you get better soon.”

Your heart swells and Jacqueline squeezes your hand again before letting go. You watch her lips flutter and as her children become preoccupied with their dresses, Jaqueline surprises you again.

“Would it be alright if I called you from time to time?” she asks. “To let you know how we’re doing. That we’re okay.” You reach for her one more time.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

Jaqueline doesn’t say another word, but the look of gratitude and her quivering lips is enough to make all the hurt from the past few days disappear.

You watch as they leave the room and as the young girls save goodbye. David escorts them to the front of the hospital, which leaves Aaron awkwardly standing in the threshold with his body leaning against the doorframe.

Aaron watches you. Your eyes glaze over and the cards in your hand are slipping through your fingertips, and your lips move as if you’re trying to find the right words to say. But nothing comes out. Aaron listens as your breathing becomes shallow and watches a stray tear slip from the corner of your eyes.

Before he can think, he rushes by your side and envelopes you in his arms.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, somewhere between wanting to give you enough space and wanting to pull you against him. Your fingers are tight on his forearms when he hears your labored breathing become erratic and as your tears soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

Aaron takes the liberty of moving you in front of him, his back against the pillows you were sleeping on. He looks at your frail body in front of him; you always carry yourself as a strong-willed, independent agent on the field, and now he sees that he mistook your brazen character as recklessness when it was false bravado.

His heart aches when your grip on him tightens. Aaron reaches out to move the cards to the side table and pulls you against his chest, thankful that this bed is barely enough to fit the both of you. Aaron notices your craned neck, bringing the hand that isn’t wrapped around your frail figure to your head and gently moves your head to his chest.

Your soft whimpers are enough to make Aaron’s heart break all over again.

“You’re an amazing person,” Aaron says. “You are selfless, caring, and generous.” His words compel you to cry even harder and Aaron lets you weep in his arms until your eyes are dry and you’re hiccuping. 

Aaron doesn’t let you, not for a second, feel embarrassed about breaking down in front of him. His thumbs are drawing soothing circles on your arm and he’s wiping away your tears with a tissue, allowing you to unravel before him. 

Your dry heaving doesn’t bother Aaron, but he coos into your ear and tells you he’s going to get you a bottle of water when you grip his arm. He pries your fingers off of him and melts when you snuggle your head closer to him, but he knows you’re thirsty and the best thing he can do for you is keep you healthy. 

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promises. “I’m all yours after that.” 

You nod reluctantly and let him go. The bed feels empty when he leaves and you feel pathetic for hanging onto him like he’s your lifeline, but you don’t care. You just want to be held.

True to his word, Aaron comes back a few minutes later and uncaps the bottle for you. A soft ‘up’ utters from his lips and you sit up straight. He brings the bottle to your lips and tilts your head back enough to let the water slide down your throat. 

Aaron puts it aside when you’ve signaled that you’re done and slides into the spot next to you once again. He puts his arm around your shoulder and brings you to his chest again. 

You don’t tell him, but you feel his heartbeat. It’s irrationally fast and you don’t know what to make of it. You tighten your hold on him as you start to fall asleep and you miss the way Aaron rocks you to sleep. 

***

When it’s time for your discharge, you’re feeling better than you did a few days ago. The team welcomes you back on board once you’ve been cleared to fly and it feels like nothing’s out of place. 

JJ bought a bunch of pastries from a local cafe and everyone (save for Aaron because he was with you the entire time) has written little messages on a decorated card. It’s Spencer who frets over you the most, bringing you cups of tea and asking if there’s anything he can do to ease your pain. You’re quite touched. 

You know you’re in no shape to drive home when you land. Your dominant hand is broken and your car sits in its designated spot, no doubt gathering dust and debris. The team is tired from the trip and everyone checks in on you one by one before leaving, and you don’t know how you’ll get home until you realize your car keys are still in your desk drawer.

Aaron watches you for a moment. He notices your apprehensiveness and the way you look at your car keys, and he puts two and two together. Before he can register what he’s doing, Aaron’s making his way to you and offering to drive you. You start to tell him you don’t need a chauffeur and that he should go home instead, but he’s more worried that you might hurt yourself inadvertently. He persists and you reluctantly say yes because you know he’s right. You could barely open the door to the building, let alone drive home. 

The car ride to your apartment is quiet, save for the sounds of cars passing by on the freeway and the sound of gravel underneath the tires. You look up at your apartment complex when you tell Aaron the code to get into your garage and he parks in the visor spot after you’ve directed him.

The sling on your arm is a nuisance and you already can’t wait to get it off. You’re able to unbuckle yourself with your free hand and you’re surprised that Aaron opens the door for you.

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“It’s not a problem.” You can tell he means it.

When you get to your apartment, you’re somewhat surprised that you haven’t lost your keys. You struggle to put them into the lock correctly with your non-dominant hand and Aaron can see the quirk of your eyebrow and how you’ve bit your lip out of frustration.

He fears he’s overstepping. He takes the keys out of your hands gently and opens the door for you anyhow. 

When you walk inside, you don’t think you've ever felt happier to see your small one bedroom apartment. Aaron sets your go-bag on the kitchen counter and you stand still for what seems like an eternity until he brings you out of your haze and encourages you to change out of your clothes and take a shower. 

But you don’t move. You stand in the middle of your living room and stare blankly out of your window, unable to appreciate the breathtaking view of D.C. like you always do. Your throat feels dry and your feet feel like they’re permanently planted on the hardwood floor beneath you.

Aaron comes to stand beside you and he leaves distance between the both of you. He looks at the sight before him and makes a comment about how he’s jealous of your view, but not even that gets a reaction out of you.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you mumble after a long pause. “I-I can’t be by myself right now.”

Aaron knows Jack is at sleepaway camp for a school trip and doesn’t get back for another few days. He doesn’t have to think about keeping you company so you don’t feel alone.

“I can stay with you,” he offers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turn to look at him and the offer is enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

Aaron sounds so soft, caring, and unlike himself. Your heart tugs at his caring nature and you’re overwhelmed with the notion that he’s caring for you like he cares for your colleagues.

“Please,” you croak.

Aaron nods. He puts his hands on your arms and ushers you into the hallway and you point him in the direction of your bedroom. He’s acutely aware that this is the first time he’s ever been in your apartment, let alone in the room you sleep in, and tries not to dwell on it for your sake. 

“You should take a shower and sleep,” Aaron suggests. “It’ll help clear your head.”

You follow Aaron’s lead. He guides you to your dresser and you grab an extra change of clothes and he accompanies you to the bathroom next door. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?” he says. “Don’t be afraid to get me.”

“Okay,” you say meekly. Your voice is far too dry to speak normally.

Aaron closes the bathroom door and you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. You’re sure you look like a mess, despite being taken care of in the hospital back in Los Angeles. But you feel sticky from the flight and the sudden change in temperature, and you want nothing more than to cleanse yourself of the memories from LA.

You remove the sling from your arm and try your hardest to take your clothes off but you find it exceptionally difficult with your arm being in a brace. It hurts to lift your arm and you nearly cry out of frustration and exhaustion when you realize you can’t take your shirt off by yourself.

Embarrassed, you contemplate on showering with your clothes on, but ultimately know you’d need to take them off anyway. You open the door and call for Aaron, and you hear his steps as soon as you do.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he realizes you’re still in your clothes.

“I can’t, um, take my clothes off,” you say, clearing your throat. “I can’t bend my right arm and my left one is extremely sore. I can’t take my fucking clothes off.”

Aaron isn’t offended by your defensiveness. He gathers that it’s your coping mechanism because you feel embarrassed, but Aaron doesn’t care. He doesn’t say anything but he nods like he knows what you’re going through and you have a suspicion that he might.

“I’ll close my eyes and take your clothes off for you,” Aaron says. He says it in a way that’s so sincere but it still makes your cheeks redden at the innuendo. Aaron tries to ignore it because he feels a blush coming.

“It’s so pathetic that I can’t do this by myself.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he reassures. “You have a broken arm and your body’s still in pain. Let me help you.” 

You don’t say anything and Aaron takes it as a cue to move closer. True to his word, he puts his arms on your waist and turns his head away from you, careful to not hurt your broken arm. He maneuvers the fabric until it’s free from your body and he’s acutely aware that he’ll need to touch you in order to take the rest of your clothes off.

Aaron’s surprised when you move his hand to the button of your slacks. He clears his throat while you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip, pretending that the situation you’re in is completely normal to keep yourself from blushing too much. Aaron’s fingers work on the button and he’s careful not to put his hands where it’s inappropriate. He almost laughs at the thought, considering he’s your boss and he’s helping you take off your clothes.

You shimmy out of your slacks as Aaron slides it down your legs. He blushes at the thought of what’s to come next and swallows hard. Aaron returns to his stance and finds his neck is sore from craning, so he keeps his eyes closed and faces you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “I-I don’t think I can unclasp my bra.” 

You wince at your words, but it’s true. You tried to reach behind you when Aaron worked on taking off your pants, but the ache in your shoulder was too much. 

Aaron doesn’t say anything and you’re afraid that he might leave you. He’s so quiet that you can barely hear his breathing and you look at his closed eyes and see that his jaw is clenched. He mumbles and you’re barely able to catch it. Aaron lifts his hands to find your shoulders and you nearly shiver underneath his warm hands, despite the fact that your body might be just as hot. 

Aaron reaches behind you and searches for your clasp. You can feel his fingers on your back as he feels for it and he’s incredibly aware that your gaze is on him. It takes all of his willpower not to open his eyes. He’s imagined undressing you before, but not like this. Aaron’s fingers find the clasp and he’s slow to undo it, afraid of tangling the metal.

You feel yourself free from its constraints and Aaron slowly moves his fingertips from your shoulders and down your arm. You comply the best you can with your sore arm and your broken one, and your breathing hitches.

Aaron ignores how fast his heart is beating when he hears your bra drop to the floor. His mind is in overdrive and he bends down again, his fingers immediately coming to your waist and gripping them with gentle care. You look down at him and your mouth is wide open with your jaw hanging when you realize he’s on his knees in front of you. Aaron’s fingers hook on the material of your underwear, but you can’t bear to see him take them off.

“Wait,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily. 

Aaron forces himself to keep his eyes closed and he can hear your shallow breathing. His fingers are wrapped around the fabric of your underwear and suddenly he’s aware that it’s an intimate piece of clothing. Aaron’s cheeks redden and he’s desperately hoping you don’t notice.

“I can do it,” you say. Your voice wavers and you aren’t sure that you won’t be in pain when you take them off, but seeing Aaron on his knees with his hands practically down your underwear is too much for you at this moment.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearing his throat. His fingers detach themselves and he abruptly stands up. Aaron keeps his eyes closed still.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, and you mean it. “I really appreciate you helping me out…I’m sure this has crossed a lot of boundaries.”

Aaron wants to tell you he doesn’t mind it one bit, but he holds his tongue to refrain from making you uncomfortable. His eyes feel heavy and he stumbles when he stands up but catches himself when he feels the doorknob behind him.

“Like I said, I’m here if you need anything.” 

Aaron stands still for a moment and it feels like the both of you had the air knocked out of your lungs. He doesn’t want to overstep or make it seem like he’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state, so he exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

You lock it immediately and pin yourself against the door. Your heartbeat is irrational and you turn the water on, fixing it to your desired temperature. Bending to take your underwear hurts and your shoulders feel like they’re about to pop off, but you manage.

You’re acutely aware that Aaron’s in your living room, no doubt trying to rid himself of the awkwardness. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful at what transpired because while it’s enough to help you forget about Los Angeles, it makes your cheeks flare into a hot mess and you feel uncomfortably turned on.

Aaron, too, feels the same way. He feels filthy sitting on your couch and results in pacing around the room. His shoes are discarded by the door and it feels all too domestic. Aaron’s tie is suddenly too tight so he tugs on the knot to loosen it. He rids himself of his suit jacket and places it neatly on the arm of the couch, and thinks about anything but you, naked in the shower. His slacks feel a little too tight, so he takes out his phone to check his email. It works for a while,

A while later, Aaron realizes you’ve walked out of the bathroom and you’ve managed to change without his assistance. You comment about how the shower loosened your muscles and you were able to get your clothes in relatively painlessly, but all he can think about is how cute you look in an oversized shirt and sweatpants.

He’s too preoccupied admiring how undone you look because it’s the complete opposite from how he sees you at work. In Quantico, you’re somewhat put together, always wearing appropriate office attire and taking your caseload with grace while the rest of the team complains to no end about the amount of paperwork that needs to be filed.

Now, you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and an old shirt that has lost some lettering. It’s domestic and Aaron loves it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about offering you the bathroom,” you say timidly. 

It’s nerve wracking for you to be in Aaron’s presence because of what happened a few moments ago and because you’re not sure why he’s been so nice to you. It’s fresh and strange at the same time, as you’re used to him looking over your shoulder.

But you don’t feel like he’s being domineering. 

“I’ve got a few shirts that might be your size,” you announce. “And a bunch of sweatpants too.”

Aaron’s heart flutters at how welcoming you are considering all that happened to you, but he’s also found himself standing with jealousy when you mention that you have men’s clothing. Are you dating someone? Does he know he’s there?

“I love thrifting and sleeping in big shirts,” you explain, overcompensating for how awkward you feel to be standing in front of your boss looking like a disheveled mess. “I tend to thrift for clothes in the men's section because you guys have really good clothes for dirt cheap.”

Aaron’s worries are quelled and he doesn’t know why he feels so relieved to know you aren’t seeing anyone. 

“That would be great,” Aaron says. 

You nearly skip to your room and huff at your awkward demeanor, pulling out a large shirt from your dresser and a pair of sweatpants you hope is big enough. When you walk back to the living room, Aaron is still standing in the same spot and you’re somewhat touched that he’s nervous to be in your apartment.

“You can change in the bathroom,” you instruct. “Take as long as you need. There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter and a towel on the rack.” 

Grateful, Aaron scurries into the bathroom and you walk away before you can think of imagining him getting undressed. Instead, you busy yourself by fetching extra blankets and pillows for him. There’s an extra thick blanket in your closet and you pull two pillows from your bed, unsure if Aaron’s the type of guy to care about his pillow count. You find yourself stumped for a moment, each hand two with pillows as you debate on how many to give him, before you realize how idiotic you must seem if someone were to take a peek inside your head.

You settle with two pillows. 

You’re fixing a cup of tea for the both of you when Aaron walks out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. You know he likes to drink chamomile tea on the plane when you’re coming back from a case late at night. You’ve seen him make it a million times. It feels weird to be making him a cup, but you figure it’s the least you could do after he helped you change out of your clothes. 

“I made you tea,” you say lamely, setting the cup down on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Aaron walks towards you and he feels the hardfloor beneath him and how hot the mug is when he touches it. Thinking about this distracts him from your broken arm and the swell of guilt he has in his chest. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says. 

“I put in a little bit of honey. I hope it’s not too much.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “How’d you know I liked honey in my tea?”

“You drink it a lot on the plane,” you explain. “I see you make it a lot. You always scold Spencer every time he puts too much of it in.”

He can’t help but smile, but he hides it behind the cup.

Neither of you say anything. You don’t know what more you can say. The words cause you to choke every time you think about what happened back in Los Angeles. Realistically, you know there’s no way Scott can hurt you anymore, but it doesn’t stop you from panicking at the thought of being alone in your apartment. 

But you look at Aaron, who’s looking at you, and you’re able to let your guard down for a little while. 

“Thank you,” you muster. “For taking care of me back at the hospital and back at the barn. It…it meant a lot that you stayed.” 

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly. “You’re a member of this team and your safety is my top priority.”

Your gaze drops to the floor. You aren’t sure what you were expecting. An apology? A confession? Truthfully, you don’t know what you want to hear from Aaron but it hurts knowing that he views you as just another colleague.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel that way in a long time,” Aaron starts when he realizes you’ve grown quiet. “A member of the team, I mean.” 

“I-I just felt like I should’ve been doing more,” you confess. 

“You’re doing everything right, Y/N. You’re an exceptional agent and an outstanding person. Any part of the bureau would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly. 

“Absolutely.” Aaron means in.

You finish your tea and it all becomes too much for you. The pain of your arm is quelled by the medication your doctor prescribed and Aaron helps you open the bottle. It makes you feel silly that you need someone else’s help to do something so simple and you feel your frustration get the better of you. 

“I’ll be out here if you need anything, okay?” Aaron reassures. “Please don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I promise,” you say and it’s one you’re planning on keeping.

You close the door behind you and turn off the lights. It feels weird to be in your apartment because you feel like everything should be back to normal, but it isn’t. In your years with the BAU, nothing as serious as this kidnapping has ever happened to you. You’ve been trained to deal with kidnappings before and how to talk to the victims and to the survivors, but you’ve never thought you’d have to deal with the aftermath yourself. 

You can’t sleep on your side because of your cast and your body feels like it’s constantly being run over by a stampede. The soft mattress is a contrast of how stiff your body feels and it all feels like it’s too much. 

Aaron can’t sleep either. He’s been staring at the door for the past thirty minutes as he tries to fall asleep. His phone is plugged into the wall behind him and he checks in with Dave, who texted him as he drove you back to your apartment. Aaron briefly thinks about Jack and his heart softens for a moment, but then he hears your soft cries from the room.

Aaron lies completely still and hears your whimpers. He hears you sniffle, blow your nose twice, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea what to do. He has half a mind of barging into your room to comfort you until you’re asleep, but he doesn’t want to overstep his welcome more than he already has. Aaron feels frozen on the couch and doesn’t know if you’re too nervous to ask him for comfort.

He’s surprised when you walk outside. You don’t turn the lights on and he can barely make your face when you step into the moonlight. But you look frail, broken, and like you’ve been tormented by your memories. Aaron hates that.

“Aaron?” you call out. Your voice is small and his heart cracks. “Can you keep me company?”

Aaron doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He lifts the blankets from his legs and follows you into the bedroom. You sit on the edge of the bed and sniffle. Aaron sits next to you and carefully puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

It’s comforting and it aches. The pain of trauma and knowing that your life will never be the same again makes it seem like you’re never going to recover. Aaron doesn’t say anything, letting you cry into his shoulder and ignores the way your tear stains have soaked through the fabric. 

He’s imagined being in your apartment before; he often wonders what your decor looks like and how often you spend time here. He’s imagined cooking breakfast for you before you wake up, making you cups of your favorite tea, making the bed after you’ve both woken up, and kissing you goodbye when you walk out the door. Being in your bedroom like this feels too intimate, but if he was being honest with himself, Aaron doesn’t really mind it. He likes that he’s the person you choose to lean on. He feels like this is the first step in holding himself accountable for how he’s treated you in the past. 

Your shoulders are shaking and Aaron does everything he can think of to coax you through your sadness. He whispers praise and allows you to cry when you keep apologizing for your behavior, and he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere. 

When you manage to calm down, you’re tired. Aaron lets you climb underneath the covers and tucks the blanket under your chin. His hand brushes your skin and he blushes, though he’s sure you can’t tell because of how dark it is. Aaron bids you goodnight and starts to walk back to the living room but you reach out for his hand before he gets the chance to leave. He turns around and feels your soft grip on him. 

“Could you sleep with me?” you ask. “Or at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Aaron says. He throws all caution in the wind and starts to walk to the other side of the bed and he’s surprised when you open the covers for him.

Your mattress is soft and your blankets smell like you. He tries not to think about it and leaves space between the both of you.

“Did you know I joined the BAU because of you?” you ask in the darkness.

“What?” Aaron says of shock.

You laugh lamely. “You guys held a few seminars at my alma mater and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I applied to the academy the next fall.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. His cheeks are hot and you’ve rendered him utterly speechless. In your tired state, you push yourself as comfortably as you can until the back of your head is leaning on Aaron’s chest, mindful of your broken arm. 

Aaron’s stunned and his body stiffens. But he thinks of all the times he’s thought about laying beside you like this and decides that he’ll cherish it as much as he can. His arm snakes itself underneath you as he tugs you closer, and he whispers a soft goodnight.

***

D.C. is a little cloudy when you wake up. The light peeks through your blinds and you’re made aware of the man sleeping beside you when you realize your face is buried in his chest. Your good arm is beneath you while the other is on top of the blanket. Aaron’s arms are encircled around you and when you feel his warmth. 

You don’t rush to wake him up. Being here with him somehow feels right despite the part of your brain telling you he’s your boss and nothing more. But Aaron wouldn’t stay with you if he didn’t want to, right? 

Part of you thinks he’s doing it just because he feels guilty. You know that there’s some truth to that, but you wonder if it’s the only reason he elected to take care of you. But you decide it’s too early to think about this. Instead, you close your eyes and bask in Aaron’s warmth, and fall asleep again. 

This time, Aaron wakes you up twenty minutes after you fall back asleep. His arms are numb from your weight and he feels like he might try to kiss you if he doesn’t wake you up. 

Your eyes flutter open and you bury your head in his neck. Aaron doesn’t bring himself to push you off of him. He pulls you against him and the both of you lay in silence for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, Aaron has to leave because Jack’s coming home from a sleep away camping trip. He apologizes a thousand times over because he knows he said he wasn’t going anywhere, but you tell him that Jack is more important. An unrecognizable expression flashes across his face before he’s out the door, promising you that he’ll call to check in once Jack’s home.

And he does. Aaron calls you a few hours later when Jack’s in the shower and asks you how you’re feeling, if you’ve taken your medication, and if he needs to do anything for you. You decline for his help despite desperately wanting him back in your apartment.

When night falls, Aaron lets Jack stay up an hour later than usual. They’re watching cartoons from the nineties when Aaron gets a sudden idea. He pauses the television and turns to Jack.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Aaron asks his son.

“Of course I do,” Jack says. “She’s the one who buys me snacks when I come to visit you.” 

“That’s right, buddy.” Truthfully, Aaron didn’t know you’ve continuously done that for Jack. But he rolls with it. 

“Is she okay?”

Aaron knows Jack can tell something’s up.

“Not really,” Aaron replies honestly. “She got hurt real bad in our last case and broke her arm.”

Jack opens his mouth in surprise. “Oh no. Do you think she’ll get better soon?”

“I hope so. She needs a lot of help right now because she lives alone.”

“Well she can stay with us until her arm is better,” Jack says as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Aaron can’t help but smile through his shock. 

“I’ve gotta ask her first, but I think that’s a great idea. That’s actually what I wanted to ask you.”

“It’ll be fun!” Jack exclaims. “Me and Y/N can watch cartoons while you’re at work and she can help me with my homework. She’s nice like that.” 

“Yes she is,” Aaron says, nodding. 

“Do you think I should make her a card so she feels welcomed in our home? I think I have leftover paper and glitter. Girls love glitter.”

“Y/N would love that. I’m going to talk to her first and if she agrees to stay over, you can make her a card.”

“Yay! This is gonna be the best sleepover ever.” 

Aaron’s ecstatic that Jack’s receptive to the idea. He calls you the next morning and proposes the idea of staying at his place until your cast comes off. When you lament how long that’ll be from now, he insists and tells you Jack was the one who came up with the idea.

You can’t say no to Jack. 

Aaron helps you gather belongings from your apartment and tells you that he’ll drive you back here or pick you up any time you want or need to. You double check that you’ve packed enough clothes for a week.

It’s a gradual and awkward start. You feel out of place as you try to navigate his apartment and where he keeps everything, not wanting to feel like you’re already welcomed in his home. But Aaron keeps reminding you that his home is your home and you don’t need permission since you’ll be here for a while.

Jack is sweet, too. He helps you by telling you where everything is stored and goes so far as to hold your hand while doing so. He insisted on tucking you in while you slept in the guest bedroom just to make sure you were comfortable on your first night, and you thought you might start crying in front of him.

At first, you walk on eggshells. You tiptoe around the boys and feel like a burden when Aaron brings home dinner for three or when he buys extra groceries, especially when he refuses to let you chip in. Jack tries to ease your worries after sensing your discomfort by asking you to build legos with him and you do your best despite the pain in your arms.

Aaron reminds you of your medication (and in turn, Jack asks you if you’ve taken your pills), cooks your favorite comfort meals, and drives you to mandated therapy sessions whenever he has the time. It warms your heart at how helpful he’s been since you know how busy he is typically, and you’re not sure what to make of your emotions. 

Time passes by and suddenly staying with Aaron feels somewhat normal. You’re off of work until your arm is healed and you’ve seen your therapist a number of times, and you know you have a couple of months of doing whatever you want until you go back into the field. Against the advice of Strauss, you continue to help with cases and the paperwork load so Aaron can spend more time with Jack.

Gradually, you start to feel comfortable when you’re alone. You use his kitchen, clean his dishes, and busy yourself with tidying Jack’s messes. You explore his neighborhood and have found a few cafes and restaurants you’d like to try out. You feel more comfortable lounging on his couch instead of keeping yourself in the guest bedroom.   

It feels domestic and you can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. There’s still so much left unsaid, including how you’ve felt being his subordinate prior to your abduction. Aaron’s apologized over and over again, has given you time to heal from it and chooses not to ask for forgiveness in lieu of letting you find it yourself. It means a lot. Deep down, you know Aaron isn’t a bad person. You just wish you knew why you were different.

A week turns into two, then into three, and soon enough you find yourself caring after Jack. You feel useless if you sleep in and start waking up early to make breakfast as best you can for everyone (limited to cold breakfasts until you start to feel confident using your dominant arm when it’s out of the sling). Aaron walks into the kitchen to see you making oatmeal one day and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped, but he thanks you profusely.

Jack waddles in and he takes the oatmeal without question and asks if you can put brown sugar and fruit in it. You look around and see apples and blueberries, and Jack chooses the blueberries. He watches as you fix him a bowl and eats his breakfast in silence.

It becomes a routine for you after growing tired of doing nothing all day. Helping Aaron’s around the house as best you can, working remotely on cases, and spending time in his neighborhood feels like you’re recording.

Jessica, Jack’s aunt, has been informed of your stay by Aaron. You’ve met her before in passing but have never spoken to her in depth before staying with Aaron. She picks him up and drops him off, making small talk with you about her life and about your work. It goes so far as coffee dates when she’s available and it feels like your life is getting back on track.

Meanwhile, Aaron realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew when he sees you every morning. He hears your morning voice and finds himself wanting to wake up to it every day. He sees the way you are with Jack, how thoughtful and helpful you’ve been, and thinks it’s where you belong.

And it hurts. It hurts to know that all of his suppressed feelings are suddenly coming to the surface.

Your cast is coming off later today and you’re due for another mandated therapy session and a psychological evaluation before you’re able to return to work. He’s elated, but that means you’re okay to return to your apartment and he’ll have to get used to the house being empty.

Aaron’s parked his car at Quantico and he glances at you in the passenger seat. Your arm sling and cast are gone and you look as good as new, but he’s reluctant to step out of the car. You look back at him, hands fiddling in your lap.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you begin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jack.”

“You’d be just fine,” Aaron assures. “But it was nice seeing you recover. Is your arm doing okay?”

“It’s like I never had a broken arm.” You flex it in front of him for emphasis. “My shoulder’s still a bit sore but I think my physical therapist has expedited the healing process.”

Aaron smiles. “Good. I’m glad.” 

A brief moment of silence falls between the two of you before you both get out of the car. Your therapist had asked you whether or not you were ready to integrate yourself back with the team and was scheduled to supervise your initial day back in the office. You’re apprehensive, however, because you know that you never perform well if you’re being watched closely. 

JJ’s the first to greet you when you walk through the doors. The office smells the same and it looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. You spend a few extra seconds embracing JJ and gather that she needs this hug more than you do.

Everyone files in and it’s barely eight in the morning. David congratulates you on recovery, Derek and Penelope bombard you with jokes that make your stomach hurt, Emily shows you photos of Sergio upon your request, and Spencer gives you a side hug and tells you he’s glad you’re doing better.

The therapist arrives soon after and you’re on your best behavior without making it seem like you’re trying to be. 

In the end, she permits you to return back to the BAU with the promise of continuing therapy. She refers to you to a few others and tells you that you should try to go in at least once a week, or however frequently your job lets you. You’re clear to fly, yield your gun, and you’re reinstated as a profiler with the BAU.

Aaron drives you back to his place to pick up your belongings before he drives you back to your apartment. He and Dave had been kind enough to drive your car back to your place, where it’s been sitting untouched.

The ride is filled with music from the eighties and you’re so elated from your first day back at work that you don’t mind singing in front of Aaron and pretending you’re shredding on an electric guitar. He takes his time getting home, taking the long way instead of the direct route, and he doesn’t think you notice. Aaron hopes you don’t.

But he arrives at his place and Jessica’s greeting you at the front door, happy to see you’ve recovered before she goes home. The sun has barely set and Jack walks out behind his aunt, asking you what’s for dinner.

You’re stunned for a moment as the realization that this all ends tonight. Staying with Aaron, falling into a life of balancing work and domesticity comes to an end when he drops you off at your apartment. Jack’s tugging on your elbow and Aaron scolds him because you might still be in a little bit of pain. He apologizes sweetly.

Aaron beckons you inside where you've started to pack your belongings. The luggage you've brought seems smaller than when you brought it, as you find it difficult to pack everything. You make the bed and set the room as you found it (to the best of your recollection), and you’re ready to put your shoes on when Aaron rounds the corner.

“I was thinking we could have one last meal here.” He clears his throat. “To celebrate your recovery.”

You don’t hesitate. “I would love that. I finally get to show you my cooking skills.” 

Aaron smiles and Jack runs to your legs, beckoning you to the kitchen. You settle on making oven baked chicken with mashed potatoes and honey glazed carrots, all of which Aaron had in his refrigerator. Jack asks how he can help and you’re touched when he brings a stool to perch on, and you tell him he can help you by rinsing the potatoes. 

Aaron offers to help and you look at him with a silly grin, letting him prepare the carrots while you prepare everything else. Halfway through the process, Jack becomes somewhat irritable because of hunger and because the entire kitchen smells like a Thanksgiving feast. But he relents and waits for the meal to be done when you tell him the food always tastes better when it’s cooked longer.

You almost forget it’s your last time with Aaron and Jack when you eat your meal together. You forget it when Jack insists on ice cream for dessert and when Aaron makes you a cup of tea just the way you like it. You forget about it until Jack asks his father if he can be there when he drops you off at your apartment. 

Your heart breaks a little. Aaron agrees and lets you grab your belongings while he buckles Jack in the car. Your luggage is in the trunk by the time Aaron is done and he opens the passenger door for you before getting in the car himself. Jack talks the entire ride, thanking you for dinner and lamenting how much he loved spending time with you. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is tight and he doesn’t think his heart could swell any bigger.

Eventually, the boys walk you up to your floor and Jack lunges at your abdomen after the three of you have walked into your living room. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jack mumbles in your sweater.

“You’ll see her around, buddy. She’s not leaving the team,” says Aaron.

“But I’ll miss Y/N at home. I like spending time with her there.” 

You and Aaron share a look. You can’t tell what he’s thinking but you know you’re unable to control the influx of emotions that will eventually spill out of you when they leave. 

“Me too,” Aaron says quietly. 

They leave soon after that.

You spend an hour crying in your living room and you haven’t unpacked your suitcase. Living with Aaron and being so close to him made you realize how your feelings for him, albeit complicated, have always been there. 

You love him. You love his generous nature. You love the adoration he has for Jack and for his team. You love how he knows your beverages of choice and how gentle he’s been with you. You love the way he says your name and you love that you feel right at home with him.

It’s ten o’clock when you grab your phone and you know Jack’s been asleep for at least an hour. You dial Aaron’s contact and in your anxious state of mind, nearly regret your actions. But he picks up and you hear the sweet melody of his voice through the phone. Your voice falters at first, but you push through them anyway. You’re sure Aaron can hear your voice post-crying because of how raspy your voice is, but you don’t care.

You tell him you think you love him and it’s not because he’s been taking care of you. You pour your heart and soul into this speech and you panic when he doesn’t say anything.

“This’ll be one hell of a story we tell Strauss.”

And you laugh. You laugh because you know Aaron feels the same and you laugh because facing paperwork and recounting this conversation to Strauss doesn’t seem like the most frightening thing in the world anymore.

But just for good measure, Aaron tells you he loves you too. 

***

AAAND WE’RE DONE X 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner blurbs #aaron hotchner sceanrios #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner oneshots #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds x you #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner #SSA aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #my writing #reckless #yall if no one reads this im gonna scream ok bye enjoy #fem reader

[gabseyoo]

HELP — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, established relationship, public indecency, car sex, blowjob, handjob, ball sucking. word count: 1,3k.

“So… are you feeling better?” You asked your boyfriend—who was resting his chin on his palm looking out the car window—after several minutes in silence.

Kiyoomi shook his head and replied without even looking at you, “Give me another minute.” You couldn’t help but giggle, and that apparently didn’t please your grumpy boyfriend. “Stop giggling. This isn’t funny.”

“It absolutely is.” You said with a smile and decided to tease him a little more by poking his arm as you added, “You like me that much, baby?”

“Stop.” Kiyoomi finally turned to see you though still with his elbow leaning against the window. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

The accusation almost makes you burst out laughing, “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I won’t kiss you anymore if you don’t want me to. But apparently you like my kisses too much for that to even be an option.” You noticed how a chuckle almost escaped his lips before he playfully rolled his eyes and looked back at the window. 

No matter what Kiyoomi said, this was funny.

You were supposed to have a dinner date to celebrate your anniversary, and in fact, you were already parked in the restaurant’s parking lot. 

The thing is that you decided to give your boyfriend a small kiss just before you got out of the car, well, if a ‘small kiss’ means sticking your tongue in his mouth for more than three minutes— but you just couldn’t help it! You were happy and excited for tonight. 

Anyway… the result was that he got hard, and now you’ve been in the car for for who knows how long waiting for him to ‘feel better’. 

Honestly, you found the situation as funny as you found it sexy— your handsome, big, tall boyfriend getting rock hard just because you gave him a kiss. That also had an effect on you, which obviously wasn’t as noticeable as the big bulge in his pants, but you still couldn’t stop those not-so-decent thoughts that had you rubbing your thighs together. And well, it’s not like you have a lot of self-control. 

“I can help you, you know?”

That apparently caught his attention, because he turned to look at you curiously. “Huh?” 

“I can help you feel better.” You said innocently, leaning your elbow on the middle console to rest your chin on your hand. 

Kiyoomi was quick to understand what you meant.

“We’re in a parking lot, baby.” Despite his words and the dim lighting, you could see that hint of excitement in his eyes as he looked around, perhaps analyzing how empty the parking lot was. 

“And? It’s not like we haven’t done this before.” 

“I know, but—” At  that moment he looked back at you and his words got stuck in his throat when he realized that you were already looking at him with those doe eyes you knew he loved and couldn’t resit even if he tried. “Doll, don’t give me that look.” 

“What look?” You tilted your head slightly to one side as if you really had no idea what he was talking about.

Kiyoomi didn’t respond, but his actions spoke for him, maybe it was on purpose, or he did it by reflex, but when his hand that rested on his thigh went to cup his bulge—perhaps in an attempt to soothe himself—it turned you on. Fuck, you wanted his dick in your mouth now. 

“So, Kiyoomi?” Your other hand went over his, forcing him to put a little pressure on his erection that made him moan. “I’ll be quick. After all, judging by the way you look right now—” You leaned close to his ear to whisper, “I don’t think you’ll last long.”

A second later, his lips were on yours, kissing you as desperately as if it was the last time he would ever taste your lips. 

He moved your hand to hastily unbutton his pants and pull them and his boxers down, just enough to release his throbbing erection. Immediately, you wrapped your palm around his dick and began to stroke it up and down slowly before breaking the kiss to see his face and the pleasure reflected on it. 

Kiyoomi tried to maintain eye contact, but when your thumb circled his tip while your other hand moved to fondle his balls, he couldn’t help but close his eyes in pure pleasure. He already seemed to be in heaven, and you hadn’t even used your mouth yet. But that will change soon. 

You lowered your head down until your face was close to his cock and spat on it to lubricate the rest of his length with your palm before taking the tip into your mouth.

Kiyoomi cursed under his breath as you made circles with your tongue, tasting his precum, and without waiting any longer, you slipped the rest into your mouth to start bobbing your head up and down, not taking long to find your rhythm. 

Your hand kept massaging his balls while with the other you kept stimulating what couldn’t fit in your mouth, and you knew that now you had your boyfriend in actual heaven by the moans coming out of his mouth. 

Although many wouldn’t expect it, Kiyoomi was a vocal, and you loved it. That’s why you shoved his entire length down your throat until you gagged, knowing how much he loved that. He sighed your name as he pushed his hips up and his hand settled on your head, holding you there for a few seconds until you couldn’t take it anymore and had to pull away to catch your breath.

Kiyoomi used this moment to recline the seat and spread his legs further apart, “You have no idea how sexy you look right now.” His words were accompanied by his hand caressing your back before moving it down to your ass, where he squeezed the flesh over the fabric tightly before slipping his hand under your dress and doing the same but now with direct contact with your skin. “So fucking perfect, I— fuck!” He couldn’t finish his praise because at that moment you put one of his heavy balls in your mouth, sucking it a little and then doing the same with the other one while you kept pumping him with your hand. 

Kiyoomi threw his head back when you took his length back into your mouth, resuming your previous rhythm. He was practically panting now, completely immersed in the pleasure you were giving him. 

“Baby, I’m going to cum.” He mumbled after a minute, and without resisting any longer, he brought both of his hands to your head to now guide your movements, making you go faster and deeper each time you lowered your head. 

More tears came out of your eyes every time you choked on his cock on every downstroke as you tried your best to breathe through your nose. It was hard, but you managed to hold on until he came in your throat with your name leaving his lips.

You swallowed what you could as Kiyoomi continued to move your head now more slowly until he emptied himself. Seconds later, he released his grip and you licked the cum that had oozed from the edges of your mouth as you sat up straight.

A smile appeared on your face when you saw that he was still panting, trying to recover from his climax. You watched him with lust in your eyes as he pulled up his underwear to cover himself, without even bothering to fasten his pants. 

“Well, problem solved.” You said, breaking the silence and Kiyoomi snorted as he turned to look at you with a smirk. 

“Still want to have dinner?” He asked with a suggestive tone, “Or should we go home?” He added before leaning toward you to kiss you again. Slower, but no less eager. 

“Dinner was the plan, wasn’t it?” You answered playfully, still with your lips on his, and you deepened the kiss a little more before speaking again. “But you know? Now I’m the one who needs to feel better.”

He smiled against your lips, “And I’m more than willing to help.”

+ note: happy anniversary i guess <3

#𐀔 — mar wrote this. #— thirsts #— hq #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa drabble #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa imagines #kiyoomi smut #haikyuu #haikyuu sakusa #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu smut #hq sakusa #hq kiyoomi #msby smut #msby sakusa #msby x reader #msby black jackal

[palioom]

a bond formed of love

summary: ecstatic about finally being married to the love of your life, Oberyn Martell, dread consumes you at the thought of consummating your marriage. will the horrible tales of first nights told to you become reality? or will they turn out to be elaborate lies?

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 11.1k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; first times; wedding night; oral (m & f receiving); unprotected p in v; multiple orgasms; body worship; oberyn being the most devoted husband ever

author's notes: this one goes out to @aurasjournal who not only inspired a huge part of this but also kept pushing me to make this as long as it is. thank you so much <3

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

Happiness. It was all that she could feel, consuming her entirely, filling every last inch of her.  Almost euphoric in nature, laughing and smiling as she moved beside him - her love, her husband.

Husband.

The sole reason why she was so happy today, unable to tear her eyes away from him, no one around her mattering in this moment. Looking even more handsome than usual, as if that was even a possibility, his dark eyes crinkling at the corner when he laughed.

Oberyn Martell, her husband.

Finally she could call him that. The love of her life had finally become her husband, making her the happiest woman, the happiest wife, in the world.

Not that she hadn’t been happy before, back when he was simply courting her, when he had asked her to marry him. She had always been happy with him at her side - he made her laugh, he entertained her, he took her out for rides into the most beautiful corners around Sunspear.

Down to the shores, into the deserts.

But she had longed to be his by title, to wear a ring which showed she was his and he was hers. 

All hers.

Just dancing with him here, moving with one another, as if they were connected somehow. As if the Gods had bound a string around them so long ago, pulling it tighter and tighter as they moved towards each other on the wide floor, empty save for them. Tighter still, until they met, his hands finding her hips with a laugh, her hands resting on his broad chest, on the beautiful robe he wore for the occasion, a pale yellow, adorned with golden suns and many intricate details stitched with golden thread.

Their lips found another, pulling them even closer together, the string so tight around them that it expelled the air from her lungs, breathless from kissing and laughing and dancing all day. 

The exhaustion creeped in slowly but surely, replacing the rushed emotions of excitement and euphoria she had been feeling.

“We should retire soon, my sweet dove.” Oberyn said when he parted from her lips, wishing he could just keep kissing her as they spun around. Eyes bright, sparkling with something she had seen often before but could not always place. 

Mischief, perhaps. Desire. 

“I wish to be with you, alone.”

She understood what he meant, a sudden nervosity replacing some of the happiness inside of her, albeit not all of it. Nothing could take this wonderful feeling from her, slowing down in their movements, slowly circling one another.

But she did feel nervous, and had felt so for a long time. 

Because just as excited as she was about finally being alone with him, to be as close to him as was humanly possible, she was just as tense about it.

She knew about his past, about how often and liberally he had taken partners. The Dornish way, all while she had waited for her future husband, had waited even when she had fallen for Oberyn. When she knew she would never love anyone else but him.

Knowing deep down in her heart and deeper still, that this wasn’t just love but that he was the partner promised to her by the Gods.

Oberyn noticed the sudden change in her, saw the emotions on her face, one hand raising to cup her cheek. She could feel the cold of the ring on his thumb as it brushed over her cheekbone. His gaze intense but gentle, their movements coming to a halt.

“What has befallen you, my dove?” He asked, feeling the need to implore what seemed to cloud her mind, unable to stand the thought of her feeling bad on their wedding day. They had both waited far too long for this. “What bothers my beautiful wife?”

His wife.

Warmth spread through her at the words, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She did not want him to worry about her.

“I am just getting tired, my love.” She replied, voice as quiet as his. “Tired but thrilled. Let us go, I wish to have you to myself.”

Leaving the festivities was more difficult than she had imagined, nervousness still sitting deep inside of her as they made their rounds, saying their goodbyes to everyone who had come. Squeezing his warm hand tightly as they went, now walking along the corridors to their new chambers.

Their shared chambers.

It only filled her chest with more tension, knowing these chambers would be where she was to reside with him for the rest of their lives. 

What an odd thought, to leave her childhood rooms behind to find her life with Oberyn.

They did not speak as they walked, his touch doing all the talking through squeezing her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. His head turned to look at her with a smile so soft and loving that she could cry from joy, reciprocating it as they walked.

His smile always managed to ease her nerves, and she wished he could smile at her forever somehow. To capture it in a way that she could carry it with her, able to look at it when she was in a foul mood.

Perhaps she could ask the woman who had done their wedding portrait today if she could paint them again, and make a small copy of him for her to carry inside a locket of some sort.

So she could open it and look at his beautiful smile at all times.

She was so in thought, she didn’t notice that they had reached the huge double door, opening them while still holding her hand tightly in his, only reluctantly letting go of it once the doors had closed behind them.

Oberyn watched her take in the large room, their room. 

The big, four poster bed draped in the finest dark red and orange silks and linens, curtains hanging off of it which would shroud them in a sense of privacy. 

The doors leading to a spacious balcony, letting them look out into the sky from their bed. The cushions and chairs in one corner by the bookshelves and strewn throughout the room which was lit with various candles, a vanity at the other side, near the door that led to their private bath. 

Walls decorated with tapestry and rugs. It all felt intimate and warm and welcoming.

She would be happy to live here with him.

“I hope everything is to your liking, my love.” Oberyn said behind her, making her jump a little as she hadn’t heard him walking up to her. Silent like a viper. “I am sure you will give it your touch in due time.”

Her eyes found the telescope standing by the door to the balcony, the books in the shelves including thick volumes about topics she loved. 

All attentively picked by him.

The sweetest gift, his love apparent just by how he had asked the room to be decorated.

His fingers touched her waist when she nodded, her view suddenly blocked by his wide chest as he came to stand in front of her.

“I love it, Oberyn.” She said with a smile. Voice small, so unlike herself.

He smiled back, the gentlest, most loving smile, his hands wandering up her side, slowly and carefully, as if she could break if he was just any faster in his movements. Seeing her slight tremble, hearing it in her voice as she spoke, suddenly so quiet. 

She wasn’t quiet and timid usually, not afraid to give him a piece of her mind, so this worried him, cupping her cheek with one hand, her nervous eyes finding his. 

His eyes became questioning in turn, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

“What is ailing you, my dove?” Oberyn asked, so gently that it made her heart burst, making her feel bad suddenly. “Tell me, my sweet.”

The sigh that left her was heavy, loaded with a burden which hurt him to hear. She didn’t deserve to be burdened, no matter what it was, and he did not wish to see her upset, see her nervous and quiet. 

Deserving to be carefree and loud and happy. With him to carry her burdens for her.

“I- I am scared, my Viper.” She admitted, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her gaze casting down as she couldn’t bear looking at him, afraid of what emotion his face would display. “You know I have never… I am simply nervous.”

A compassionate smile curved his lips upward, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

The hand on her cheek came up to the crown in her hair, carefully untangling it before he placed it on a table next to them. It shimmered in the lights of the candles, the gold and the jewels embedded in it, all for her.

“You do not have to be scared, my sweet dove.” He said, his knuckles running over her cheek. Still gentle and careful, his new wife being the most precious thing in his life at this moment, besides the daughters he already had. “I will show you nothing but tenderness, there will not be anything done that you do not explicitly wish to happen.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to slow her heart, thrumming away in her chest. A tempest of emotions settled within her.

How had she gotten so lucky with him?

“I know, Oberyn. I know, but-” She took a deep breath, trembling. “I am still so scared. I have been told it hurts, it is uncomfortable and… I apologize, my love.”

His brows furrowed, two of his fingers moving under her chin, tilting it upwards. Making her look at him, he saw the fear etched into her features, his heart breaking at the sight.

No one had prepared her properly. She had been told nightmares and nothing more than that. It hurt him, seeing the love of his life so scared. Scared of him, of what he could do to her.

Things which were supposed to be joyous only but had been tainted and marred by the tales told to her.

“There is a possibility of it hurting, my dove. That is, if we rush things.” He said, his voice quiet, soothing. Like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe. “Yet, I do not wish to rush things. We do not have to consummate our marriage tonight, not in the traditional sense.”

Now her brows furrowed in confusion, her fingers running over the embroidery of his robe, feeling the golden thread. She wasn’t sure if his words unnerved her more or soothed her.

What other way was there? He was to take her, to validate their marriage.

Just like everyone had told her a husband would on their first night together.

“What other way? Won’t our marriage be invalid if we do not-” She paused, swallowing hard as tears welled up in her eyes. The pressure of it, their marriage and being good for him, when he has had many partners before, it was terrifying. “If you do not take me?”

He smiled, loving and encouraging as always when he looked at her. Melting under her gaze, her tears tearing at him and his heart.

It was a special sort of pain, to see one's wife with tears in her eyes. A pain unlike any physical one he had ever endured.

“There are many ways to pleasure, and I will not take you if you are scared. This is as much about you as it is about me, my love.” Oberyn said, bowing his head to kiss away the few tears which were rolling down her cheeks, the saltiness of them a displeasure for him tonight. “I will wait until you are ready, and if it takes all eternity to do so.”

She took another shuddering breath. How was he so calm about this? Talking about waiting until all eternity while the guilt of being too scared to give herself to him weighed heavily on her.

Not even his lips on her wet cheeks could help soothe her in this moment.

“But, Oberyn- Isn’t it your right? Isn’t it a husband’s right?” She asked, her voice thick with tears. “To take his new wife, to consummate their marriage, willing or not?”

The smile faded from his face, his expression turning stern suddenly. Only terrifying her more, thinking she had misstepped, had angered him somehow.

She had never wanted to anger the Viper.

“My dove.” He spoke, his voice firm but not cruel, conveying an importance to what he was saying. “Fuck whatever you assume to be my right. I did not marry you to fuck you, my sweet dove. I married you because I love you and my only command as your husband is to banish these thoughts of old customs from your mind.”

Raising his brow, he looked at her, so scared and small in front of him, her bottom lip quivering.

“I am not a brute. If you are too scared tonight, then I will not force you. Nor any night hereafter.”

Her hand reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against her palm. So handsome, so sweet. Such a stark contrast to his reputation in the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Viper. Cruel, cunning.

“But- My Viper-”

Oberyn shushed her, gentle and quiet but not lacking in firmness.

“No, my dove.” His lips found her forehead again, hoping to convey his love and his understanding through the caress of his lips. Soft and tender. “If you allow me to, I wish to show you something different. To ease you into pleasure, to ease you into me.”

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip again, feeling his calming presence soothe her nerves. As he always did, so expertly taking away her worries as if they were nothing.

“What do you wish to show me?” Her voice was as quiet as his, still shaking as she spoke.

Oberyn smiled against her skin, finding the faintest sliver of amusement in her innocence. What a wonderful thing she was, his wife. So willing and devoted and in love with him, but entirely unknowing.

Any man of less honour than him would have taken advantage of her sweetness.

But not him.

His hand went from her chin to her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer to him while his lips stayed connected to her forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded, the reaction so fast as if it was innate, like there was no doubt about her answer. And she did, she trusted him with everything.

“With my life, Oberyn.”

His lips curved upward against her skin, his fingers curling into her side. 

What a lucky man he was, to have married a woman like her.

“Sit down on the bed for me, please.” He said, feeling her hesitation at his gentle words. 

Taking a moment to steel herself, she took another deep breath before walking away from him, just a little unsure in her footing.

Still, she made it over, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed just like he requested, the silks smooth under her hands. She watched how he followed her, slow, deliberate steps, feeling a tenseness in her abdomen at the sight of him. His gorgeous smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle, coming to stop right in front of her.

Instinctively she reached for his hand, just lightly holding onto it, needing reassurance, encouragement. The motion only made him smile more, squeezing her fingers as he slowly kneeled down in front of her.

He couldn’t hold back the chuckle which left him when he looked at her surprised face, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t-” She stammered out, confused by his actions. What husband kneeled before his wife? On their wedding night no less. “Shouldn’t I be the one-”

Oberyn slowly shook his head, raising her hand to his lips, giving each knuckle a kiss, dark eyes fixed only on her. His unoccupied hand touched her clothed thigh, making her jump just a little, her eyes never leaving his. 

Like they were bound to him in some way.

“If I wish to kneel before my wife to show my devotion to her, then I shall do so.” He said, his voice calming her nerves, just like his lips did, turning her hand in his, kissing the tip of each finger. Each kiss lingering, an extension of his love for her. 

Moving to her palm, eyes staying fixed on hers as his lips pressed against it, his beard tickling her.

She enjoyed it, watching in awe how attentive he was, feeling warm at his touch.

Then, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own and she could feel the desire sleeping within him, holding back for her sake. She allowed herself to close her eyes and simply feel him, aware of his hand on her clothed thigh, the other intertwining their fingers, an anchor for her.

Carefully his lips wandered away from her mouth, kissing the corner of it, then peppering her jaw with fleeting touches, finally reaching her neck. 

The gasp that tumbled from the depths of her chest as he made contact with the sensitive flesh excited him, the sound something he wished to preserve forever.

“Oberyn.” She whimpered, shifting in her place when his tongue darted out to taste her, breathing in the scent of oranges which always lingered with her.

A smile graced his lips, enjoying that she was easing into his ministrations, perhaps even enjoying herself as he caressed her skin.

“Do I have permission to undress you?” Oberyn asked after several more moments, pulling back to look at her face, finding it flushed and her eyes still closed.

The nervousness which had faded a little under his touch came back suddenly, turning her stomach into knots. 

Undress her.

Seeing her naked, completely exposed. When he had been with so many others before her, would he even like what he saw?

She wasn’t self-conscious by any means, but in comparison to his life before her, she could not help but think about the possibilities. Being inexperienced in pleasure already weighed heavily on her shoulders, she didn’t wish to disappoint him in just about everything tonight.

He could see the emotions cross her face, her eyes spoke of all the uncertainty and fear that whirled inside of her at this moment when she opened them. 

And it broke his heart. 

His beautiful, stunning wife, chained up by the expectations which had been placed upon her shoulders by everyone but him.

There was nothing he expected from her, already knowing she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his dark eyes upon, the most kind and loving wife. All he would ask of her was to stay loyal to him and to love him like he loved her, with all her heart and mind and soul. Like they were bound by fate.

Bound by an invisible string which had led them to one another.

She softly squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath before nodding. Forcing the smallest smile onto her lips, small compared to the one he gifted her in return.

The hand on her thigh moved up to her shoulder, brushing back the hair which had fallen over it, then letting his fingertips wander over the material of her gown. Soft silks, embroidered and beaded with hundreds of thousands of small stones.

Making her shimmer in the candlelight, like a million stars were strewn across her body.

Never losing her eyes when he brushed one strap off of her shoulder, watching for a reaction that she didn’t want this. There was no joy in this if she wasn’t willing.

He let it glide down her arm, not yet exposing her breasts to him, simply letting the swell of one appear in the periphery of his view. Soft skin, the whisper of a sigh leaving her when he leaned forward to kiss her exposed collarbone, to press his nose against the dip above it.

Still holding onto her hand, her fingers nervously flexing against his own as he moved on to the other side, slower this time.

The beat of her heart was visible, shaking the pretty material over where it sat, hoping he would be able to make it beat as wildly for another reason soon.

And as he carefully slid the material off her other shoulder too, she took a shuddering breath looking up at the ceiling. The cool air meeting her heated flesh, nipples perked.

Oberyn repeated his earlier motion, kissing the other side but this time moving down to press his lips against the valley in between her breasts. A low hum vibrated in her chest and he could feel the noise, kissing her again and again.

“You are so beautiful, my dove.” He said, looking up at her but seeing her gaze turned away. Unable to tell if it were simply her nerves or shame. “May I touch you?”

Silence befell them for a moment as she tried to calm herself. His words were encouraging, her heart soaring and the gentleness with which he treated her made her want to cry.

She could feel his lips on her still, like she had been branded by him, hot and searing. A good feeling, a welcome one.

Longing for his touch but still too afraid to speak, her skin yearning for his lips, for his fingers. Yearning for every inch of him, still wondering just what exactly he had in mind for tonight.

“Yes.” She breathed out, shaky and barely audible even in the dead silence.

Then his hands were on her, softly cupping her breasts, feeling the velvety skin of them. Admiring them, his thumbs brushing over the peaks, making her moan quietly. She tilted her head down, taking in the way he looked at her.

With a desire she had never seen in anyone before, mesmerized and needing, but not making her feel like an object for his desires.

He made her feel like art. Like a beautiful painting.

A slight pressure built in her abdomen as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples again and again, an unfamiliar feeling she blamed on his touch. It was pleasant, watching in awe as he bowed his head to take one stiff peak into his mouth. Hot and wet on her skin, her free hand twisting into his hair, a shaky gasp leaving her.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, concentrating on his tongue repeating the motion of his thumb, a deep groan of his vibrating against her. “It feels good, fantastic. You feel fantastic.”

He looked up at her, not stopping his ministrations but a twinkle appeared in his dark eyes. She rubbed her thighs together, a motion which didn’t go unnoticed by Oberyn, finally releasing her breast with a soft pop. Surging upwards to capture her lips in another kiss, fiery this time but reigning himself in as he felt himself move too fast.

“You’re feeling it, are you not?” He asked, parting from her and staring deep into her eyes. “Pleasure, my dove?”

“I’m not sure, Oberyn.” She replied, his kiss having left her a little breathless, her head reeling. “There is a pressure…”

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, a smile stretching his mustache wide over his lips, revealing his teeth. 

“Right here?” He touched her abdomen, right where the feeling appeared and she nodded. No one had ever thought to teach her a damn thing about herself. “Yes, my dove. Pleasure. Do I have permission to undress you further? I wish to give you more of this feeling.”

Her nod was eager this time, easing into his touch. It filled him with joy, pressing another kiss to her lips which made her giggle.

Oh, how he loved that sound.

“Lay down for me, my sweet.”

She did, their hands finally letting go of each other as she laid back, immediately finding his lips to be back on her sternum, kissing a path further down between her breasts, onto her stomach. Revealing more of her skin as he went.

Peeling the garment off of her like he would with a fruit, revealing the sweet flesh, tasting it, feeling it beneath his fingers.

Feeling her shaky breaths as he lingered over her stomach, her muscles twitching under the caress of his lips.

He lifted her hips, pulling the dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. Exposing her entirely to him, his lips pressing against that spot on her lower belly where she felt the pressure building.

Her heart beat in her throat, fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, knowing he would just move them away. His own hands smoothed along her naked thighs, watching her face as she looked at the ceiling, lips slightly parted.

“You were made in the Gods’ image, my love.” He whispered, letting his lips trail back up her body, feeling himself become drunk on her body, on her beauty. To think she had feared this, feared showing herself to him when she truly was the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes on. “No beauty compares to that of yours.”

She smiled, a sound the cross of a sob and a huff tumbling over her lips, overwhelmed by his love for her. Melting into his lips as they found hers yet again, like he couldn’t get enough of her, of the taste of wine and fruit on her tongue.

Suddenly she thought about him, still fully dressed. Shouldn’t she make him feel as good as this, too? Cover his body in kisses, worship him like he worshipped her?

She was curious to see him, wondered if he bore scars. How big they were, how deep. She wanted to see him, longed for it.

Her hands wandered to the hem of his robe, attempting to undress him but he stopped her. Gently taking her wrists in his large hands, he moved them away, shaking his head.

“My Viper-” She began in an attempt to explain before he shushed her again.

“Tonight is about you, my Princess.” Oberyn said, kissing the corner of her mouth. A small whimper escaped her, her lips chasing after his when he moved back again. “You and your pleasure only. I told you, I can wait until all eternity.”

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, hoping to get her to understand just through his eyes that his words weren’t empty promises. As he breathed with her, one calming breath after the next, he hoped she understood that he would wait a lifetime and beyond for her to be fully ready. Her pleasure alone would be enough to sustain him until the sun had shared its last rays with the world, until the world grew cold and dark.

“I wish to touch more of you, my love.” Oberyn whispered into the silence, his hands moving to her hips. “Will you allow me to?”

She nodded, more firm than at the beginning, feeling a throbbing between her thighs, an unfamiliar wetness.

“Yes, my Viper.” A whisper just as quiet as his, her eyes full of desire, even if he could still see remnants of fear in them.

Oberyn brushed the bridge of his nose along hers, an intimate gesture which made her heart burst with love and joy. Hands coming up to cup his cheeks just for a moment before he slipped away again, down her body.

Calloused hands rested on her knees, his eyes on her face as she sat up slightly, leaning onto her elbows to watch him. She bit her bottom lip, his hands slowly opening her legs, gentle and sweet in his movements.

He kissed the inside of one knee when she was fully spread for him, once again resisting the urge to close them. His beard scratched along the sensitive skin, moving to the other knee as well.

It felt good, the way he kissed her skin, the way his beard felt on the sensitive flesh. How his hands smoothed over her thighs as he inched higher, lifting his head again.

One of his hands moved upwards, ghosting over her mound and feeling the coarse curls covering it, feeling the shiver that went up her spine at the featherlight touch. He watched as he gently spread her lips apart for him, glistening from the wetness that had gathered. 

His thumb just hovered over her clit, like he was unsure. All while she watched, holding her breath in anticipation of where he would touch her next, each touch better than the last.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” Oberyn asked, eyes moving back up to hers. Knowing fully well that she would answer with a No. She was too responsive to his ministrations to have done so before. “Right here?”

His thumb pressed down, featherlight, like a ghost, drawing a choked gasp from her, her hips involuntarily rolling in response.

It was as if lightning had shot through her, setting her nerves ablaze at his touch. Her skin hot, she felt like she was burning up from the inside, the pressure in her abdomen only becoming worse.

“N-No.” She breathed out. Already longing for more of his touch. Needing more of that buzzing feeling it provided, pulsing faintly where his thumb rested.

His thumb swiped lower, gathering a little more wetness before ghosting over that little peak of nerves again. Carefully, trying not to overwhelm her with these new emotions, coaxing a low moan from her lungs.

It might just become his favourite sound, a sweet symphony sung only for him in this shared intimacy. Sweeter than the choirs which had sung at their marriage celebration which just now seemed so long ago already. Sweeter than the birds, than the bustle of the markets, than the rolling of the sea.

He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of it as he lazily rubbed his thumb over her, watching her reactions. Her eyes were dark with nothing but lust and curiosity, only fixed on his moving digit. She tried to hold back more sounds, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart still thrumming against it for reasons he liked now.

No longer out of fear but out of desire.

“How does it feel, my dove?” Oberyn whispered against her skin, pressing more wet kisses against it, the hand holding her leg caressing it while his thumb moved away from her clit. Instead, it traced her outer lips, which still made her hips jerk and roll but provided a more subdued sensation. “Tell me all, I wish to know what it feels like for you.”

Her eyes snapped up to his when his thumb moved away, a whiny noise of protest leaving her.

Desperation on her face.

“It feels good, Oberyn.” She whispered, the leg over his broad shoulder trying to coax him to continue. “You feel marvellous. My blood has been replaced by molten metal, I can feel it burning and throbbing.”

Oberyn smirked, lightly nipping at her skin. “Your cunt?”

Watching her discomfort at the word, he chuckled but saw her nod still.

The urge to taste her overcame him abruptly, the urge which had been his plan when she told him she was too scared to have him tonight. Knowing he could show her the heights of pleasure on the tip of his tongue, ease her into it entirely.

“My love, you said you would trust me with your life, did you not?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked onto hers. She nodded again, whispering a shaky Yes. “Please, lay back and close your eyes, I wish to surprise you.”

Her brows knitted together, having half a mind to do as he asked and not beg for more of his touch. Laying back down and closing her eyes, anticipation frightening her but trusting him in whatever he had planned.

It took a moment, a moment in which she heard him shift around, his tunic rustling, feeling him move.

And then, she felt it. Warm and wet against her, his beard scratching against her most intimate parts, her legs threatening to close at the foreign sensation but his broad hands keeping them open.

“Fu- Oh Gods, Oberyn!” She cried out, his tongue circling around her clit again and again, wet, slurping noises accompanying his motions. One of her hands threaded into his hair for purchase, not daring to open her eyes and look at him.

He hummed against her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, eyes trained on her parted lips, face twisted in lust.

“Say it.” He commanded, finding it amusing that she did not fully give into her desires in favour of appearing proper. What was there to be proper about when he had his face buried inside her sopping cunt? “Say it, my dove.”

Her back arched, feeling him suck at the bundle of nerves which made her cry out once more.

“Fuck!” She moaned, liking how the word rolled off her tongue. “Oberyn, fuck! Oh, Gods.”

A smile crept over his lips, doubling down on his efforts, feeling her fingers tighten in his dark locks. Focusing entirely on her clit, eating her like a man starved all while he looked out for her body’s response.

She could feel something inside of her, the pressure mounting more and more as her whines and moans turned higher in pitch, his tongue driving her closer to something. And he could feel it, holding down her hips in order to lap at her, the obscene sounds in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he pressed against her.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, the sight making her cunt clench. His head between her thighs, with a stare of lust and determination, his eyes dark and piercing. 

It was a beautiful image.

Maybe she should have this painted instead.

“Let go, my dove.” He whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her, feeling himself hard against his breeches but biting back his own desires for her. Just this was better than the Seven Heavens, he was sure of it. Nothing would be sweeter than this, to bring her to the brink of pleasure and push her over for the very first time. “Let it take you, let it wash over you and just allow yourself to feel me.”

She did. Her body tensing up and expelling all air from her lungs, the cries of his name broken on her tongue as she tried to make sense of the intense feeling surging through her. The pressure releasing, her legs snapped shut around his head again but this time he did not stop her. 

Oberyn wanted to see the full extent of her ecstasy, remember every sound, every little movement of her muscles beneath her skin as she shook.

Needed to memorize her expression as he brought her to completion.

He saw the tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of him, of the rush inside of her.

She felt dizzy as it faded, as he slowed down his movements until he had fully helped her through it all, pressing gentle, wet kisses against her mound and lower belly, feeling how her deep breaths let it rise and fall.

“More, please, more.” She whispered into the silence after a few moments. Quiet and breathless, his ears perking up at the sound.

Intoxicated by the way his mouth had worked her to completion, by how good it had felt. There was an understanding in her now, for why he had sought out pleasure for all these years before they had found one another.

She never wanted this to end, craving more of him, more of their unity. 

“Ah, my wife is a greedy one, I see.” Oberyn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I will give you more, my love. My wife shall have everything, I shall give you all you want for - gowns, jewellery, pleasure. I shall spoil you rotten.”

“You already do.” She moaned, his mouth back on her, hissing at the slight sting she felt. “Fuck, you do, Oberyn. You do!”

This time, his tongue wandered lower, and she threw her head back into the sheets at the feeling of his talented tongue licking around her pulsing, aching hole before he pushed inside. His nose bumped against her clit, the wet, vulgar sounds becoming louder. 

Lapping at her like a thirsty man would drink from an oasis in the desert. Like she was the life to sustain him, to keep him breathing.

He groaned against her in an unabashed fashion, letting his pleasure from this be known, mingling into the perfect symphony with her cries.

That sweet pleasure coursed through her, letting tears well up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, trying to form words in between her incoherent sounds.

Delirious and intoxicated.

“Oberyn, please! I’m-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, ecstasy stealing her breath away as he expertly pushed her over again, her hands pushing and pulling at his hair. Too much, too much and yet it was just right, riding wave after wave that crashed into her, washed over her.

Her hips bucked up against him, chasing his mouth as he pulled back, giving her some reprieve, hungrily kissing along her inner thigh with a groan.

“I knew you would enjoy this, my love.” He growled, nipping at her skin with his teeth and making her squeak. There was nothing more he wanted than to be buried inside of her right now, he couldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t, instead planning to wear her out so thoroughly with his mouth that all of her worries would simply ease away. “My sweet, wonderful wife.”

So he kissed up her thigh to her knee, letting his lips wander over every inch of her, then venturing further over her calf. 

“I do, my Viper. I do.” She whispered, each kiss sending a jolt through her. Until now she couldn’t have fathomed anything to be so intense and all consuming as this. To make her feel like she was on a cloud, drifting away while her new husband worshipped her.

“I am not through with you yet. You will feel the heights of pleasure tonight, I have promised you as such.”

And before long, his mouth found her core again, coaxing another orgasm from her, her voice turning hoarse as she whispered his name over and over like he was one of the Gods. 

Maybe he was. 

With the way he moved about her body, his hands wandering and feeling while his tongue worked her up to another peak and another.

Holding true on his promises and leaving her spent when he finally decided that she had experienced enough bliss. The candles around them long burned down, shrouding them in darkness, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Oberyn left her boneless on the bed, eyes closed and breathing hard, she drifted in and out of the comforts of sleep, faintly feeling his strong hands manoeuvre her under the covers.

“Oberyn…” She mumbled, hearing him shush her like he had done so often this night. The bed dipped beside her, his heavy form laying next to her body, pulling her close.

Still feeling like she was floating, embraced by his warmth, the happiness from earlier this night returning. His lips pressed against hers, so tender and gentle as if he hadn’t just taken her apart with only his tongue.

“Sleep, my dove. My sweet, wonderful and kind wife.” He whispered, kissing her forehead as she slowly drifted into slumber. Gratefulness and love sat deep inside her chest as she did. “There will be much more to discover. So much more.”

She woke before the sun had risen, her body aching in the most delicious ways as she moved. Oberyn’s arms still embraced her, turning around in his grasp to look at his peaceful form. 

Her husband. 

It still felt like a dream, too good to be true. Even though his strong arms around her body and his handsome face right in front of her reminded her that it was in fact real. She could still feel his hands on her body, etched into her skin like a mark. A mark she would be happy to wear until all eternity.

Her gentle fingers found the bridge of his nose, brushing over it, taking in his features. Thinking about the sight of him between her thighs, worshipping her.

How he had lapped at her, like a thirsty, starving man who had found his paradise between her legs, finally finding it after a seemingly endless journey. Drinking from her to sustain himself, taking as much as he was giving, making said paradise blossom.

She felt warm at the thought, her fingers wandering over his tanned cheek. Never had she seen him like this and she found it strange to see him without his smirk when in her presence. Always smiling, making her laugh.

Breathing in and out at a steady pace. This would be the face which would greet her until all eternity, she realized. The arms which would hold her every night, his warm, firm body pressed against hers, still clothed unlike hers. A welcome image, making her smile wider as she brushed some hair from his forehead.

“My Viper.” She whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, first on the tip of his nose, then his lips. Soft beneath hers, his beard tickling her skin.

Desire awoke in her again at the touch, the vivid feelings from last night at the forefront of her mind. His arms wrapped around her tighter, startling her as he tiredly kissed her back, awoken by her featherlight touch.

Caressing her, chuckling quietly when she drew back. His dark eyes were so beautiful, piercing even when laced with sleep. The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, full of love and admiration for her.

“My dove, my sweet wife.” He sighed, one of his hands smoothing over her bare hip, moving to her bottom.

Squeezing it gently and making her gasp.

Fanning the flames within her, humming deeply at his ministrations. She thought about his mouth, how he had used it on her, wondering if she could do the same for him.

She wanted to, a strange eagerness to pleasure him overtaking her, her hand wandering to the opening in his robe, feeling his warm, bare chest beneath.

The thought of consummating their marriage seemed more acceptable at this moment, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully give into the idea just yet.

Oberyn saw the look in her eyes, recognizing it in an instant. How often he had seen this exact gaze in others, how often had it preceded the most wonderful sensations. Yet here, with her, it made him proud, made him more hungry than it ever had made him before.

Despite that, concern mixed into his excitement. She had been so scared last night, inexperienced and her head filled with terrible tales. The emotion in her eyes seemed real, but he couldn’t help but be worried.

“I wish to give back to you, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hand wandering lower, resting on his covered belly. The tips of their noses were touching, eyes locked onto another. “You made me feel the most incredible sensations, and I wish to pleasure you. Let me use my mouth like you used yours.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, surprised by her sudden boldness. He had always known that her soul simply needed a gentle nudge to bloom and come alive. That the fierceness he saw in her every day extended into far more facettes of her being.

It was as if a new spirit had taken over her, leaving her more confident. 

“Please, Oberyn. I wish to give to you what you gave to me.” She whispered intently when he hesitated, still scared of the actual act itself, but more than willing to reciprocate his love and devotion the way he had shown it to her.

“My dove, this is about you, not me.” He whispered back, cupping her cheek in his large palm. Rough and calloused from years of training, years of fighting. “I cannot allow this in any good faith.”

“Please.”

The way she looked at him, so eager and determined. How could he say no? She wanted this, even if he wanted these glorious morning hours to be devoted to her only. Devoted to the beginning of their life together, the sun only starting to show the top of its face in the far distance of the horizon.

“Promise me that this wish is not borne out of any obligation you feel towards me.” Oberyn said, needing to rule out that the loving, kind spirit of her being drove her actions instead of her own desire. “This is borne from you, your own heart.”

She nodded, whispering a small Yes back in answer to his question. 

He sighed, kissing her forehead with an affirmative hum. Feeling the excitement grow within him, his cock twitching at the thought of her mouth.

What a wonderful wife he had.

But as he watched her naked body emerge from beneath the covers, his brows furrowed, seeing her move to the side of the bed, attempting to slide off of it.

Oberyn grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and she looked up at him, confused. Looking so beautiful, with the sun slowly painting the skies behind her a beautiful purple, driving away the darkness. Her hair tousled, shallow lines on her face from sleep.

“What are you doing, my dove?” He asked, sitting up.

Her brows knit together in confusion, mirroring his gaze.

“Getting on my knees, just like you did, Oberyn.” She answered, genuine about her intentions. Watching him shake his head, pulling her towards him.

“No.” He replied, looking at her intently. “I won’t allow you to. My wife will not kneel before me.”

“But, Oberyn-” Her attempt to argue was squashed by the look he gave her.

“I am to worship you, kneel before you on the floor to show you my devotion, to show you pleasure.” Oberyn said, looking at her kneeling on the bed in front of him. She seemed more demure again suddenly, more timid. But the lust still blazed in her eyes. “Far too many wives expect it to be their place, on the floor in front of their husbands. Not you. You will not kneel on the floor today, my dove.”

Her heart warmed at his words, smiling and leaning forward to kiss him, her hands wandering to the thin robe he still wore. His words touched her, so thoughtful of meanings she hadn’t even thought about yet.

She wanted to kneel before him, just as he had done the night before, but she cared deeply for his words.

Slowly she opened his robe as she kissed him, letting her hands wander over his toned chest, down to the soft swell of his stomach. Touching and exploring like he had, her lips mirroring the paths he had painted onto her not too long ago, kissing down his jaw, to that point which had felt so good on her, below his ear.

Revelling in the way his breath hitched when she ventured down further, kissing every inch of him.

In the way his hands threaded into her hair, moving it out of her gorgeous face to watch her.

“You are a fast learner, my dove.” He chuckled and she felt the vibrations ripple through him. A smile broke on her face, feeling encouraged by him, by the way he touched her, the way he loved her.

“I am, am I not?” She giggled, sitting back up when she had reached his navel, the patch of dark hair which travelled into his breeches. Sitting back on her legs, she admired him for a moment, his tan skin glowing in the faintest orange from the rising sun, his beautiful body on display for her, almost as naked as she was.

Littered with scars like she had thought him to be, both small and large in size, some deep and some shallow. Faint and bold, her finger tracing along some of them.

Looking like one of the Gods. Made in their image.

“You look beautiful, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hands wandering to the strings on his breeches, needing to see what lay beneath them. The outline of him was prominent, leaving little to the imagination. “May I?”

He smiled, leaning forward to gently capture her lips with his own. One of his hands smoothed up her arm, feeling her nerves well up again. Attempting to calm her.

“Of course, my dove.”

She smiled, rubbing the bridge of her nose along his just as he had done, her shaky fingers untying the string. Peeling back the dark fabric, she couldn’t hold back the gasp that left her lungs at the sight of him, springing free.

She had been right to be scared, to be nervous and while she felt a strange desire at the sight of his cock, angry and leaking, she couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again.

Oberyn just watched, slowly leaning back once more, her fingers trailing through the dark, coarse hair at the base. Just letting her explore on her own, hissing softly when she touched him, featherlight as if she was unsure.

Soft like velvet, throbbing and bouncing. The dark tip glistened with something. 

She ran her finger over the prominent vein at the underside, then drew back, deciding to take his trousers off entirely first. Needing him fully exposed like she was, she tugged them down his legs, revealing his toned thighs and calves, hardened from years of training.

Like the Gods.

Wrapping her hand around him, she looked up to his face, seeing the intense gaze of his as he watched her fingers before his dark eyes met her own. Upon seeing the uncertainty in her, Oberyn gave her an encouraging smile, her touch setting him on fire unlike anyone had ever done before.

“You’re doing well, love. Keep going.” He said, his heart fluttering at her smile, his legs opening a bit wider. “Just move your hand, if you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said. Leaning down to take him in her mouth, she was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

“You best lay down on your belly for that.” He suggested, his voice growing thinner. This woman would rob him of his last sanity and he hadn’t even felt her properly just yet. “It will be easier on your body and I will be able to see your face, my love.”

“Oh.” She replied, the simple sound making him chuckle. Shifting into position between his opened legs, feeling awkward as she did. He beckoned her closer, helping her so her arms were positioned over his hips, her elbows resting on the sheets.

So close to him, her hot breath fanning over his sensitive skin. The hunger clear in her eyes as his cock was right in front of her, still gripped by nervousness. 

Ducking her head, she pressed small kisses against his belly, then over his hip bones. Peering up at him through her lashes only to find him fixated on her, his hand coming up to gather her hair in a loose grip, just to get it out of the way. Watching how she teased him, his aching cock brushing along her cheek, trying to tame his hips which were squirming in anticipation.

Excruciatingly slow she moved back a little, lifting her head and taking him into one hand again. Oberyn’s breathing became heavier, seeing her lips descend and press against the head of his cock, like she was kissing it. Her tongue darted out, licking over the slit and grimacing a little at the taste of the pre-cum.

He couldn’t help the chuckle, warm and without malice, making her smile and giggle in return.

“Salty.” She remarked curiously, then resumed kissing him. Over and over, pressing her soft lips against the head, trailing them down the length of it. Just following what she thought was right, peering up at him now and then as if to ask for encouragement.

She moved so deliberately and gently that it looked like she was worshipping him. Worshipping his aching cock while laying in between his legs. Making his blood boil hotter than the sun, mesmerized by the sight of her.

“What a sight you are, my sweet dove.” He breathed out, fingers running along her scalp as she moved back up to the head. “My sweet wife. You are doing so well, simply keep kissing it.”

She felt warmth spread through her at the praise, the pressure in her abdomen returning. 

But this was about him.

“Does it feel good?” She whispered in between kisses, letting her tongue dart out again, giving the sensitive tip the tiniest lick.

“Divine.” He moaned, the sight of her too much. She looked beautiful, her contours slowly being bathed in orange hues as the sun rose higher. “You may take it into your wonderful mouth, my dove. If you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said, opening her mouth just a little to take in the head, already feeling heavy on her tongue. Did she just move her tongue now as he had done with her? 

Or should she take more of him?

She decided on moving her tongue, licking at the head and experimentally sucking on it like he had on her clit, the deep groan that left him making her feel proud. Proud to be able to give back what he had shown her last night.

“By the old Gods and the new, nothing will feel more divine than this, my dove.” Oberyn moaned, his fingers twitching in her hair, clearly trying to hold back. Unwilling to scare her away, just letting her explore as she saw fit. “You feel wonderful, so wonderful. My cock on your tongue, what a sight.”

She took more of him, gently bobbing her head, knowing she was doing right when he kept making those wonderful sounds above her. Groaning and moaning with every movement, ecstasy overtaking his body.

Her own, private melody, her own song.

She wanted to hear more of it, becoming more eager, more assured with her movements, lifting her head to kiss it again, her hand spreading the saliva over what she couldn’t fit into her mouth, stroking him. Liking what she was doing, the heavy feeling of when he was in her mouth, her desire growing by the second but wanting to see what pleasure looked like for him. What his face would look like when he reached the heights that she had at the mercy of his mouth.

And as she continued, alternating between kissing him and bobbing her head on him, she didn’t feel scared or nervous anymore. She wanted him, needed him. Needed to know what his cock would feel like inside of her.

Needed to be one with him, beyond what they were doing right now. She was growing impatient, feeling so safe and so loved in his presence, here between his legs, that she did not want to wait much longer.

“My viper, I want you.” She breathed out when she lifted her head, her hand stilling for a moment. Pupils blown wide, a nearly ravenous expression on her face. “Please, Oberyn, my love.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she meant, finding it difficult to form a coherent thought with how close he was to his own peak, lost in the feeling of her lips around him.

“Are you sure, my sweet?” He asked, cupping her cheeks with both hands as she rose onto her hands and knees, her face close to his. “Do not feel pressured on my behalf-”

Slotting her lips against his, she cut him off, kissing him with such vigour he knew she was firm in her words. She moaned when he kissed her back, his hands on her body as he rose, moving her to lay down onto the silk bedding, never leaving her lips, staying connected to her.

Moving to her neck again as she laid below him, kissing and sucking at that sensitive spot below her ear.

“Oberyn, please.” She moaned, eyes half-lidded, squirming beneath his broad body. Hair splayed out like a halo around her head, tinged in orange sunlight. “Do not tease me, please.”

As he hovered above her, he took a moment to take her in. All of her, all his but not owned by him. Still as free as a bird for he would never cage her, make her submit, but this sight of her only for him to enjoy. The curves of her body, the way she breathed heavily, squirmed in anticipation and desperation.

All his. His wife.

Still unbelieving that this was reality, settling himself between her spread thighs. He was able to see her heart beat against her ribcage once more, just as he had wished to see it, pumping hard because of lust and not of anxiety.

His cock rested against her thigh, heavy and leaking and aching for her, aching to fully become one with her.

“Tell me you want this, my sweet.” He breathed, positioning himself so the head of him pushed against her aching hole. Ready to have him, inviting him in. “Tell me, my love. You want this, you want to become mine in body and heart and soul the way I want to become yours.”

She cupped his cheeks, eyes only on his as she nodded. Her heart swelling with every word that tumbled from his lips in the dawn, his handsome features lined by orange hues.

“Yes, Oberyn. I want this.” Her answer was a whisper but it did not lack in fervour. Smiling up at him, tears in her eyes, knowing what she was doing was right and that she was happy for this to be her life, with him by her side. “I wish to be yours, in body and heart and soul, connected to you until all eternity, until our hair turns grey and our bodies wither with the run of time.”

It was as if they held their very own, private wedding ceremony. Just the two of them to witness their words, to witness their love and passion and pleasure. 

“Until all that remains of us are two stars in the night sky, our names a whispered memory.” He said, kissing her, his hips slowly pressing forward.

It took her by surprise, her gasp swallowed by his mouth as he carefully pushed inside of her, a groan rumbling in his chest. 

A feeling like no other, feeling full as he stilled inside of her, his forehead resting against hers and breathing hard. The smallest laughter shared between them before their lips met again and again, his hands wandering all over her body, grabbing and pulling at every inch.

He could remain here forever, buried inside her, their lips meeting in a fiery passion, fuelled by their love for one another, the desire to feel, to be one.

Her embrace warm and welcoming, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. She wished she could crawl inside of his skin, mentally cursing herself for having been so scared of this.

Mentally cursing everyone who had told her tales of pain and misery, of simply enduring the first night and every night thereafter. Not one had mentioned the intense love and desire, the feeling of needing another human more than she needed water to drink or air to breathe.

The feeling of completion, like she had found a piece of herself in him which made her feel whole. 

No. Like an addition to herself, an extension.

“Please.” She mumbled against his lips, her hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles dance beneath his skin. “Oberyn.”

He understood, kissing her cheek when he moved his hips, pulling out of her almost entirely before sinking back in, and the sweet moan that left her was music to his ears.

Sweeter than any of the sounds he had pulled from her before, breathy and high-pitched. 

Looking magnificent in her ecstasy.

“My sweet dove.” He groaned, setting a slow rhythm, trying to hold himself back. Her mouth and hands had brought him close before and her sweet cunt made him feel dizzy, too close to the edge for his own liking. He needed to savour this, drag this out, for her and for himself. Wishing to remember this forever. “Tell me what you are feeling, tell me all.”

A sloppy kiss met the corner of his mouth, trailing to his jaw.

“Complete, full and complete and ecstatic.” She moaned against his skin, her nails digging into his back. Driving in and out of her repeatedly, brushing against spots inside of her that made her feel lightheaded, her toes curling. “I never want this to end.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek.

“This is what the Seven Heavens must feel like.” Oberyn groaned, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, overwhelmed by her. Her tightness, her embrace, her warmth. “Here, buried in your sweet cunt lies paradise, just for us.”

Nodding, her lips found his again, so close once again.

Tears running down her temples, settling in her hair. Feeling nothing but him, the world ceasing to exist while entangled with him, becoming drunk off the pleasure.

Her peak reached her so suddenly, she couldn’t do much more than whimper against his mouth, her arms pulling him into her. Breathless, her body set ablaze.

The feelings so much more intense than before, feeling him shudder and then still against her through the haze in her mind. Their lips never stopping, her name tumbling from his and right into her mouth, as if he was praying to the Gods above.

Basking in the afterglow, he kissed her cheeks, her temples wet with tears, shushing her gently as she cried. Tears of joy, of happiness unlike no other.

He could not imagine himself with anyone else, everyone that had come before her paling in contrast.

The sun warmed their skin, the sky a bright orange, fading into pinks and purples at the very edges. Dipping everything it touched into its mesmerizing hues.

“I love you, Oberyn.” She whispered, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. Stroking his cheek, tears still in her eyes, barely open from exhaustion, from bliss. “My sweet Viper, my husband.”

Oberyn smiled, slowly pulling out of her, already missing her warmth and tightness. He rolled them over to the side, carefully guiding her spent body. Admiring the beauty of her in the rays of the sun, casting beautiful shadows across her face, making her look like a fabled creature.

Glowing like the sun itself.

His Sun.

“And I love you, my Sun.” He whispered back, brushing some hair from her forehead. Seeing her brows knit together at the new name. “My wonderful wife.”

“My Sun?” She echoed his words, finding a warmth and safety in the name.

“You are my Sun, my sweet. The centre of my being, my warmth and my light.” He said, smiling gently, cupping her cheek. “Us Dornish worship our sun. She gives us food, she gives us life. A new day in her safety and guidance. She is sacred to us, without her, there would only be darkness and coldness.”

Her heart soared at his words, a sob leaving her, overwhelmed by his gentleness and his affection.

“You are my Sun now. Without you, my life would be dark.” He continued, brushing away her tears, filled with nothing but unbridled love for her in this moment. “And I am your Moon. Shining brightly only in your light, in your presence. Cold without your warmth, without your bright smile.”

She couldn’t find words to match his, everything she thought of seeming inconsequential.

But he was not done. His heart so full for her, as she laid in the light of the rising sun, embracing each other's spent bodies.

“Before you, my life was nothing but the chase for pleasure, to forget what I have lost.” Tears welling up in his eyes as well, a sight she had never seen before, raising a hand to wipe them away as they fell. Knowing somehow he was talking about Elia. “But now, with you by my side, there is no more need for such chases. All the pleasure of the world lies within you. In the warm heart beneath your ribs, your gentle kiss and sweet embrace. In this sweet cunt between your legs.”

She giggled between her sobs. Of course he couldn’t just not mention it.

But she felt sadness, her heart breaking at the thought of his dead sister. Of this sweet, loving man drowned in darkness and sorrow, trying to find something to take away the pain her death had caused.

He hadn’t talked of her much just yet, the memory too painful.

Hoping that he would now, after he had found a light to guide him out of the darkness.

“I wish to show you the world, to experience all the world has to offer us with you by my side. To give you all the children you wish for, tiny viperlings in the image of us.” More words which brought forth more tears. Ever the poet, ever spilling his aching heart. “All that will heal my broken heart. Healing it further as you have already begun to heal it, my Sun, unbeknownst to you. Every moment spent with my daughters, treating them like your own, giving them your love, all of that put another broken piece back into place.”

“Oh, Oberyn. My Viper, my Moon.” She whispered, wiping away more tears as her own continued to spill. Leaning up to kiss them from his cheeks, brushing her nose against his. “I do not have the words to explain what I feel for you. They feel inadequate to everything you have just said.”

Oberyn chuckled, moving to kiss her lips, those sweet, soft lips.

“There is no need, my Sun. Your touch and your smile are enough to let me know just what you’re thinking, what you are feeling. Let me worship you as you ought to be worshipped in this moment.”

Pressing their foreheads together as they lay in the glowing sun, tangled limbs and tangled souls warmed by it.

Just breathing, just feeling.

Connected in their very beings, basking in each other’s presence.

The love they felt was enough to sustain them for a hundred lifetimes.

The Viper and his Sun.

In a bond formed of love.

#oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell smut #game of thrones #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fic #fan fic #fan fiction #my writing #tvats

[faesdreaming]

Yandere Miguel O’Hara Headcanons

a/n: there are two routes platonic and romantic, which will be bolded and colour-coded like this, please forgive my spanish i am breaking out my high school spanish classes.

tw: yandere themes, possessive, obsessive, and controlling behaviour, potential spoilers, suggestive themes (romantic route), captivity, canonical inaccuracies, implied neglect (platonic route)

•Becoming the hero Arachnid wasn’t something you ever planned on happening. You were just going about your regular, every day life when a radioactive spider bit you. The spider that bit you gave you amazing powers that you utilized to become the amazing, the one and only friendly neighbourhood Arachnid! Then, you were suddenly pulled into another dimension that was almost exactly like yours and discovered that you weren’t the only one of well you after all.

•You, alongside other spider-themed heroes, joined forces against Kingpin in order to return to your home dimensions. However, that wasn’t your last adventure with the multiverse. Your next encounter would occur a few months after your first misadventure. Having finished fighting the Green Goblin, you were ready to end the night there. Then, a portal similar to the one that brought you to Miles’ dimension opened up. Out came a tall, well-muscled Spider-Man and a Spider-Woman

•They introduced themselves as Miguel O’Hara and Jessica Drew and informed of the Spider society they’d formed. You were offered membership by them. Well, by Jessica. Miguel was staying silent. You don’t know why, but you felt as though he was watching you. He was, of course, he was right in front of you, but this felt eerie. Your senses were telling you something was wrong but Jessica was so nice and you really were excited and honoured to be given such an opportunity. So, you take it.

Romantic Route:

•Miguel stared at you intently. He’d been watching you for a while now, observing. You resemblance was uncanny— you looked exactly like his spouse. Not his spouse exactly, but the one the other had. You looked like the partner that Miguel had grown to love alongside his daughter. A variant of them. Although he was initially against you joining, it would be easier to watch you— look out for you if you joined the lobby.

•After your acceptance, Miguel tasked Jessica with guiding you around the lobby. He didn’t trust anyone else and he couldn’t bare to do it himself. He couldn’t handle himself around you. It wasn’t just your appearance that was uncanny, it was everything. You mannerisms, habits, likes, interests, everything. How Miguel yearned for you. Yearned to feel your touch, your kiss. Yearned for the happiness he once knew.

•But that would break the canon, wouldn’t it? The memories of his world, his family fading from existence because he broke the canon. He couldn’t let that happen again. So, he behaved coldly towards you. But as Miguel continued to watch you and interact with you, he started to doubt. You were a variant of his partner, but your dimension didn’t have a variant of Miguel O’Hara. Perhaps, he rationalized, this was canon. Your fates were meant to be intertwined. He needed you and you needed him. That was canon.

•Miguel strikes when you least expect. Spends weeks carefully planning. He stalks you, memorizes your routine to a point. He assigns you a mission, not overly-difficult but not easy. Something to tire you out. With your senses dulled and the weariness from the fight left you susceptible to his attack. Quickly, stealthily and by surprise, he subdued you. His sharp fangs biting into the tender skin of your neck, paralyzing you.

•When you come to, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. Yet there are familiar objects lying around; trinkets and photos that had disappeared. Your spidey-senses were going off the rails and that’s when he came.

“Miguel?”

•He tells you you’re here for your safety and for the safety of your dimension. Swears you’re meant to be with him, that it’s canon. Warns you of the consequences if you break the canon. You stare at him, intaking his audacity. Then, you shriek at him. Call him out on his absolute bull. Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He ignores your screeching and leaves. Obviously, you’re still in shock. You’ll come around.

•Almost a month later, lo and behold, you still haven’t come around to being pliant with your captor. Miguel is a man of many things, but patience is not one. He is so very tired, having to deal with Lyla’s teasing and the other Spider’s bullshit. Is it too much to ask to come home to his loving spouse? Just like he used to.

•Apparently, it is. Seeing as you aren’t his spouse, but someone he locked up, you scream at him. Unholy screeches whenever you see him. Today, Miguel’s had enough. Large hands wrap around you and slam you against the headboard of the bed you’re chained too.

“Enough.” He hisses. “¡Mierda! I won’t hear it. ¿Me entienden? You stay here. If the safety of the multiverse won’t convince then maybe the safety of your aunt will.”

•The moment the vague threat passes over you freeze entirely. You’ve lost almost everyone, everyone but her. Carefully, you suck in air. Large tears brim at the edges of your eyes. as you look Miguel directly in the eyes. His eyes, dark and dangerous, bore back into yours.

“Please Miguel,” you whisper. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry. Don’t hurt her.”

•Miguel softens at your submission. However, he still doesn’t trust you. He pulls himself off you and stalks out, leaving you laying on the bed, dazed. From that day forewords, you become more compliant. You listen to Miguel and don’t fight him. Miguel knows that he can’t keep you locked away forever. People were asking questions. With your ‘good’ behaviour, you’ll be granted more privileges. More freedom, if that’s what you can call it. You’ll never truly be free, trapped under Miguel’s watchful eyes. But you’re able to go into the lobby again. To talk with people, even if you do so bearing Miguel’s marks. You know you can’t escape him, not when he could take away the little you had left, not when he would hunt you down through every universe. For now, you know you can’t escape Miguel’s grip.

Platonic Route:

•When Miguel saw you for the first time, he felt the world stop around him. It was as though there was nobody else but you and him. You, who was the only variant of his dead child that wasn’t truly his. He watched as you swung around, mocking villains and making clever quips. Miguel’s heart ached for you, for himself, for his dead daughter and child. As he watched you, memories of holding his child as they died because of him resurface. Once more, does Miguel feel the bitter sting of grief and loss.

•Oh, how Miguel desires to hold you, to cradle you close and never let go. But he can’t, he won’t. You’re not his child. You’re not the child he failed to protect. No, you’re a child he can protect. Thus, his decision to allow you to join the spider-society, if only to watch over you and protect you. Your family clearly isn’t doing a good job at it. Miguel spends more time than necessary looking after you. Not that he meant to, of course. You were just so vulnerable. You needed guidance. You may have been s superhero but you were also a child.

•Under Miguel’s guidance you thrive. He teaches you proper fighting techniques, improves your web-shooters and other tech you have and acts as the father figure you need. His teaching method is firm yet gentle. Miguel remains stern, however, everyone notices how soft he is with you. Life is good in the lobby. To be honest, sometimes you consider staying forever. Or more accurately, Miguel implies you should.

•Yes, he was originally not going to interfere. But it was you who made the decision to stay, so obviously that meant something. And Miguel wouldn’t lie, whenever you returned to your Earth to fulfill your duties as Arachnid, he could barely think he was so worried. Every villain encounter, every scrape and bruise is another chance to fail to protect his child. Miguel gets more desperate over time. Your time in the lobby is almost exclusively spent with him. Every mission is with him, every meal is with him, almost every moment is spent by Miguel’s side. And honestly? You’re starting to get s little sick of it.

•Not that you were complaining. You’re so grateful for the opportunities Miguel gave you, but he’s so overbearing. Maybe it’s normal, you rationalize, you’re family isn’t very close. Besides, you’ve seen Peter B. Parker with Mayday. Even Miguel isn’t that clingy. Your senses are blaring danger and to get away, but your yearning for love and affection suppress them. You continue to push down your instincts until you can’t. Until you decide to listen to your doubts— only to prove them wrong, of course. However, just your luck, your instincts are proven correct. You discover a goddamn tracker implanted in your arm.

•Finally, everything clicks. Everything Miguel does? Not normal! Just creepy, especially this. Thus, you decide to leave. You dig out your tracker and stitch the wound back up. You leave the tracker where you know Miguel will find it and leave, discarding your portal bracelet. You return to your Earth for the final time, intent on never leaving again.

•When Miguel returns to find your tracker and no trace of you, he goes ballistic. You left, he can’t protect you. You’ll get hurt, you’ll die. Miguel can’t risk losing you. He travels to your Earth in search of you. There, he tracks you down to find you losing badly against the Green Goblin. You’re clutch your ribs, bruised and bloody. The moment he sees you like this, Miguel enters a blazing fury. He attacks the Goblin viciously, pounding him until a sickening crunch is heard and the Goblin’s neck snaps. You collapse, from your injuries and the shock of witnessing Miguel kill the Goblin.

•Your chest seizes, hyperventilating. You can hear your heart beat racing as Miguel turns to you. He watches you panic and slowly paces towards you. You attempt to scoot away, but you can barely move. Miguel’s mask is off. You can see his eyes being filled with the same eerie softness as the day you met. Carefully, he leans down and large hands grasp onto you. You struggle as best you can, squirming despite the pain.

“¡Ay! Cariño.” He admonishes gently. “Be still, you’ll hurt yourself.”

•Regardless of his orders, you continue to squirm. Sighing, Miguel extended his fangs and bit down on your neck. Paralyzed, you fall limp in his arms. Carefully, he maneuvers you so to not hurt you. He cradles you to his chest as he inspects you over.

“We’ll get you checked out when we go to your new room. ¿Estàts bien?”

•Unable to do anything, you lay helpless in Miguel’s arms as he takes you to your new fancy prison cell— or room as he calls it. From there, you’ll be safe. Somewhere only Miguel knows, a place he can be certain he can protect you. Yes, you’ll stay locked away in your gilded cage, guarded by Miguel. Safe from the world, from every threat but him.

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel o’hara x reader #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #yandere platonic #platonic yandere #yandere spiderman #yandere romance #yandere x reader #miguel is a little (a lot) delusional in this one #this turned out better than i thought it would #and longer