#Rusty appreciates him for trying

[areyouscaredyet]

extremely disjointed and stupid but I have a headcanon…

[st4rbwrry]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 ୨୧ ˖ ࣪ . . . 6.3k. black fem!reader ◞ librarian!armin ◞ lowercase intended ◞ rainstorm / trapped in , protection use ◞ size difference ◞ praise ◞ oral ꒰ f + m. ꒱ ◞ humping the air ◞ prone bone ◞ hair pulling ◞ spanks & choking ◞ armin’s cocky in this ngl ◞ brief throat fucking ◞ fingering ◞ pet names ꒰ cutie , baby , bunny ꒱ . minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated <3 𓊇ྀི

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . still questioning whether i like the way i wrote this + armin in general. but, this is my first fic coming back from hiatus so im def a lil rusty lolz. this was written purely off a trip to the library and spotting a blonde boy ‘n a kitty. <3 smut linkies > > ( ❤︎. ❤︎. )

 

rain falls in heavy sheets for hours. trees rock with brutal winds as clouds descend into darkness. a gust of cold wind blows at the heavy doors to the library, aggressively slamming shut behind you along with the chime of a vintage shopkeeper bell. the old man, mister arlert, who usually runs the shop is nowhere to be found. it shouldn't be of surprise given the sudden change of weather; rushing here to return a few books that passed their deadline before your departure back home. 

you had a flight to catch early in the afternoon to spend time with your family for fall break. located in the blistering heat of the countryside. having already packed the night before given your dire need of hefty attire, cosmetics, and toiletries — there hadn’t been much to do these past two days. you’ve been cooped up into your apartment off campus after finals ended, cleaning your home, tending to self care, and binging long awaited tv shows. 

today the weather was brutal. rain literally beating down on your windows for hours now. there’s been crackles of thunder, but nothing much to worry of. although, your phone did buzz a few good times in reminder of flash flooding and possible tornadoes. it never was anything to be too concerned over given you lived in the east coast. at most, there’d be small floods, nothing exceeding two inches. since it’s currently fall, the weathers migrating to windy and chilly temperatures. tis the season for sweaters and leg warmers. 

since you had nothing better to do, you remembered you had to run a quick errand to return a few books you’d borrowed from the local library. there’s a sweet old man who owned the shop; mister arlert. each time he saw you he’d always give the warmest greetings. usually helping you with finding exactly what you needed or even giving suggestions of novels he’s enjoyed during his younger days. most of which he read to his wife. 

stepping deeper into the library, it’s completely silent. your clothes are slightly dampened, having to run towards the door to not get entirely soaked. with the books clutched close to your chest, you quietly make yourself known in the presence of whomever was here. you’d made the worst decision of wearing shorts, your thighs wet from the rain, droplets sliding down to your bethan doc martens. luckily, your wore an oversized toffee sweater that reached the backs of your thighs. 

“hello?! mister arlert?” 

silence. 

so, you continue your exploration. maybe mister arlert was in the back dusting off classics. suddenly, you hear a meow coming from the library’s famous cat; fluffles. the chunky orange persian feline with streaks of white on its fluffy coat — hence the name. you smile, clicking your tongue to get his attention as you coed and stumbled closer. 

“hii pretty baby. how are you today? i know, the weather’s scary, huh?” cutely, you gasp when his tiny head knocks into your palm delicately for comfort, purring softly. 

he’s feeding into your attention to him for two minutes before he’s made the decision to walk away. you follow him blindly, trying to see if anyone will pop up around the large, brown shelves of collections. to your luck, you do find someone. 

there’s a man you’ve never seen before, especially here at least. he has his back to you and doesn't seem to notice you, lost in his own world. you watch him for a moment, appreciating his focus and attention to detail as he carefully arranges the books. 

first, your eyes fall straight onto his hair, gawking with bloomed irises of pure enchantment. it’s blonde and bright, like the sun almost. ringlets of curls and really fluffy. it surrounded his features like a paper stick of cotton candy. really airy to touch, you’re sure of it. he’s tall, even though he’s standing on a latter organizing novels. he’s got earphones plugged in, blasting incredibly loud because even you could hear the muffled tunes of jazz he hummed along with. 

“excuse me?” you manage to announce yourself, lifting your hand to wave in his direction so he’d spot you. 

the man blinks slowly, eyes on yours in the prettiest shade of icy blue. it was too dreamy, he looked like a daydream. you could even smell him, too. his cologne like clean linen. laundry on a soft sunday. his lips are full and pink. his body is adorned in chocolate brown cargo pants and a white t-shirt, a plain black button-up draped over, halfway rolled up his forearms. 

“oh, sorry. didn’t hear you come in. i’m about to close, actually.”

you didn’t expect him to sound the way he did. his voice has a certain dialect to it, kind of valley-like. the baritone of it is quiet, yet has undertones of raspiness. it’s gentle, he looks the same. 

“h-hi, um — is mister arlert here? i know i came pretty late, but i promised him i'd have these books back by today."

“nah, he's not here today. won't be back for a while," he replies calmly. “i’m his grandson. names armin.”

“sorry, i’m ꒰ ❤︎ ꒱. um, is he okay?"

armin takes note of your worry, expression softening slightly. "yeah, well — he's gettin' up there and wasn't feelin' too good. i'm coming from uni for fall break, so i've just been looking over the shop for him."

the news upsets you. "oh, no. i'm sorry to hear that."

armin shrugs nonchalantly. "it's alright. he's a tough old boy, he'll be back soon." 

knocking his head fully up, he glances out the window at the pouring rain and lets out a heavy sigh. you’re eyeing the silver chain around his neck and wrist. "man, it's bad out there. did you bike or somethin'? how’d you even make it here?"

"i didn't expect it to get this bad, honestly. i was really adamant on returning this since i'll be home for fall break. but, i drove."

an eyebrow arches. "in this weather? that's reckless."

pursing your lips, you shrug. “kinda. if you say so. weather like this doesn’t scare me.” 

“hm.” 

you notice the way he . .  looks at you. it’s like he’s trying to find what to say to you while also keeping his composure. eyes running up and down your curvy figure. you’ve got this cute crocheted set on that looks handmade. shorts that sit on your hips perfectly and a thin strapped top that barely covers your torso, a teddy bear stitched into the bosom. your knit sweater keeping you warm along with leg warmers.  your hair is to your shoulders, half of it pulled back into a pony with a black bow. you’re pretty. 

breaking the awkward silence, there’s a crackle of thunder that startles the both of you, booming so loud it causes car alarms to go off. soon after, the lights began to flicker inside the shop, panic settling into you as you run to go check on your car, only to find there had been an inconvenient accident. a tree stump was cracked in half causing it to crash onto a few cars ahead of yours while also blocking the main road to head home, meaning you’d have no way of leaving here tonight until the storm passed.

“fuck,” you slam your hand to your mouth in agony. “ugh, no!" 

armin’s not far from behind you as he checks to see the collision. his face scrunches up in irritation, knowing he’d also have no way of leaving here tonight. the floods are picking up, the rain is beating down heavier, and it wouldn’t be safe for either of you to depart right now. thankfully, his car was parked in the back. 

“that’s just fuckin’ great,” armin sucks his teeth, placing his palm on the window and dropping his head. “well, that’s not good. looks like we’re both stuck here for the night.” 

your distress is fairly evident, forehead in your palm as you groan and ponder, trying your best not to crash out. “i literally can’t. i have a flight in the morning. this is really bad.” 

armin’s got a look of sympathy for you. “it's really coming down out there. and that tree looks like it could have damaged the road below it. there's really no way you're getting out of here anytime soon."

that didn’t make you feel any better. though, he tries his best to offer comfort.

“hey, it’s g’na be alright. i understand your worries about your flight, but safety is more important right now. it’s not worth risking your life trying to bypass this issue.” 

with a deep sigh to collect your emotions, you nod. you could agree on that. you’re sure your family would prefer if you visited with your body intact. “you’re right. i have to contact my parents. i don’t know, maybe the flights will be delayed?” 

“most likely. i doubt they’ll risk it. i’m hoping it’ll clear up in a few hours,” armin shakes his wrist to eye the watch on his wrist. “it’s a little after ten now. guys might come ‘round five.” 

“god, what a mess. i'm not usually stranded in a library with a stranger." you meet his gaze, feeling a bit self-conscious. “no offense."

armin chuckles and shakes his head. "yeah, i get it. this isn't exactly a normal situation. but, i’m not too bad company, right?"

"you're eerily calm about this. it kinda frustrates me.

armin smirks, "panic won't change the situation. it's best not to overthink it. plus, the old boy has plenty of natural disaster knick knacks in the back."

"hm.”

armin can see that you're still concerned. he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "sorry if i seem so cavalier about this. i’m just trying not stress you out even more.” 

maybe you were being a bit standoffish. it seems like he’s trying his best to make you comfortable. taking a deep breath, you sigh. “it’s okay, i’m sorry. i have a bad habit of being cold when i’m overstimulated.” 

when he smiles again, you notice a faint dimple sinking into the crevice of his top cheekbone. he’s super fucking cute. that’s another factor to your stress. you’re trying not to freak out over the fact that you’re stranded here with a man you’ve found yourself newly attracted to. anything could happen in this scenario. it’s straight out of a porno. question is, would you let it get that far? 

“it’s cool, i get it,” armin strokes the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, watching you. “c’mon, lemme show you the attic.” 

“okay.” 

following behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from wandering over his backside. he’s very slim but well built in the right areas, specifically his back, arms, and thighs. you study his walk as he digs one hand in his pocket and safely guides you up a spiral staircase leading to a secret room behind an almost ancient wooden door. 

it’s a cute little nook above the library that nearly resembled a loft apartment. there’s rustic brick walls, polished wooden floors, a kitchen, and futon in a living area. boxes upon boxes stocked in different sections filled with precious material.

"wow, this is pretty neat." 

armin grins. "yeah, it's a pretty cool little hideaway. the old man's had this place for so long that he's got pretty much everything he needs. even when the power goes out, this place stays cozy."

and for some reason, a few moments after he uttered those words, the power went out. the room is plunged into darkness as the power fails, leaving you and armin in the dim light that filters in through the windows due to the lightning. armin looks a bit surprised, but quickly composes himself.

“well, i guess that was perfect timing," he jokes. "looks like we're gonna test out that old man's preparedness."

hugging yourself tight, you swallow as you hear him pull out a drawer, revealing a few candles.

"help me light these, huh?"

you nod and rush over to help, and as the warm, flickering light from the candles illuminates the room, you can't help but feel a bit more at ease. the cozy atmosphere created by the candlelight gives the space a certain charm. as you finish setting up the candles, placing them in areas of the space that needed it, you notice that armin is already rummaging through the cabinets, looking for something specific. a radio he finds gets cut on to listen in on the news. 

"there's a few roads blocked, it seems. hopefully it won't get too bad to where'd people have to evacuate." 

solemnly, you nod. "yeah, i hope it doesn't come to that. it’s bad enough that we're stuck here already."

"hey, it's not . . too bad. don't get discouraged. we can make the time past. i've got some blankets and a futon for you. i can give you your space if you're feeling uncomfortable or anything."

"no, i uh . . actually wouldn't mind your company. it'd take my mind off the situation."

armin’s a bit relieved. "alright, that works for me. uh, you can sleep on the futon and i can just crash on the armchair over there." 

he walks over to a closet and pulls out a stack of blankets, handing them to you. "here, take these. it can get pretty cold up here, especially at night."

"thank you. i really appreciate it.”

“of course. anything else you need? ima go lock up the shop, feed the cat, then i’ll be back up.” 

“you got some food? if i knew this'd happen i wouldn't have left spaghetti on the stove,” you roll your lips inward after giggling. 

he finds you incredibly cute. chuckles and nods. "lucky for you, he’s got a stockpile of food in here. let me do some grocery shopping for lunch breaks. i can make some ramen. you like that?" he suggests.

your stomach growls at the thought, both of you hearing it and sharing a wholehearted laugh. "yeah, that'd be awesome actually."

"cool. i’ll be right back.” 

you get accustomed to the area you’re in, taking a seat on the sofa and wrapping yourself up into the blankets for warmth. you checked your phone to see if you had any service and possibly contact your parents, but there was no luck. even though the texts sent through green, it was better to send it just in case you’d gain connection once the power cut back on. it didn’t take long for armin to come back up, giving you a sweet smile while he heads towards the fridge to grab some ingredients. thankfully, he had a gas stove to work with.

"talk to me, cutie. i don't want you to be nervous around me."

you pause, a bit taken aback by the pet name. ignoring the way your face just heated up. “okay. what do you w’na talk about?"

"you said you have a flight tomorrow. where to?"

"uh, my parents live across country,” picking at the blanket with your nails, you study his movements. how quickly his wrist moves when cutting vegetables. god. “we're supposed to meet up for a family get together. horse riding, fishing, cook outs . . the usual."

armin listens intently, interested in getting to know you. "you can ride a horse?"

"yeah, i mean . . i don't do it as often anymore, but i'm decent at it. i'm actually more excited about the fishing. i haven't done that in a while."

"what's the biggest thing you've caught?"

"hmm, that's a tough one. there was this pretty big bass i caught when i was sixteen. i remember it took like thirty minutes to reel it in. me and my uncle cooked it up real good with some grits,” you reply, recalling the memory with a smile. "what about you? fan of fishing?"

"not really my hobby. i'll probably sound like a old man myself, but i'm into chess and shit. pottery is a thing of mine as well."

"ooo, pottery. i've always wanted to do something new like that. i’ll push it up in my list of hobbies."

"i could teach you. it's not hard. not really," he smirks, "i'm always looking for another person to play with. tease a lil', make 'em think they're doing good." 

this is flirting. has to be. so of course, you play along. "hm, masochist. am i your next victim?" 

armin chuckles and cocks an eyebrow at your question. "are you implying something?" he teases, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk.

"not implying, just prying."

“next topic,” he winks causing you to roll your eyes. 

trying to figure out what else to say, you twiddle your manicured fingers in thought. "it's sweet of you to look over the library while mister arlert's gone. most people would let it rot and go about their lives."

“honestly, he’s done a lot for me so it was never g’na be a hesitation when i found out the news. i’ve always kept to myself, even as a kid. i find comfort in books and silence, and i guess that’s why i enjoy spending time here. i get to shut off my brain.” 

“you sound pretty reserved. i admire that. it's cute." 

the sound of the storm outside provides a soothing background noise along with the warmth from the candles. armin’s finished cooking the ramen. using store bought packs of shin and adding miso paste, kewpie mayo, eggs, scallions, and even some rotisserie chicken. the ramen tastes delicious and makes you feel warm. the conversations you have flows effortlessly and makes time pass as the two of you trade stories and laugh at each other's jokes.

by now, the attraction is mutual. unexpected deep topics were spoken of and the two of you found each other sitting body to body, sharing warmth. armin’s got his arm thrown behind the back of the futon where you sit, thighs spread apart while you sit cutely beside him bundled under the blankets. legs crossed, eyes and scent encompassing his. 

as the conversation begins to lull, armin glances towards the window and notices that the storm seems to be dying down. "hey, looks like the rain’s starting to let up," he observes. 

you glance over your shoulder, seeing that it’s lighter outside, meaning it’s dawn now and you’ve been chatting for hours. “oh . . yeah, i think i hear the recovery workers.” 

the thought of leaving armin in possibility that you won’t see each other for a while feels like a knife to your gut. you’re drawn to him in a way that surprises you. the night is coming to an end, so you find yourself reluctant to say goodbye. you want something more, something passionate.

without realizing it, your gaze drifts to armin’s lips. they look soft and inviting, and the desire to feel them against yours is almost overwhelming. the air between you two suddenly feels charged with eroticism. it’s as if you're both feeling the same pull, the same desperate need to touch more than you were. 

"you can't kiss me." 

his words.

it seems to break the spell that had enveloped the room. your eyes widen in surprise, expression shifting from desire to confusion.

"what?" you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

"it's just . . if you kiss me, it'll turn into something else."

your expression softens, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "is that a bad thing?"  

he makes you anxious, his fingertips tracing the exposed skin of your hips, your body shivering. the room suddenly feels unbearably hot, and your heart is pounding in your chest. armin’s found himself torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to press you against him. 

“no, but i'll get addicted and want you more,” he murmurs, tone low and sensual. “don’t think this is the right setting right now. you deserve more.” 

“and what's so wrong with wanting more?" you’re moving even closer to him, chest pressing up on his side. 

his fingers continue to trace small circles against your skin, armin’s eyes going gray at your words. the proximity makes it difficult for him to think straight, and his desire for you is growing stronger by the second. but, he’s also aware of the danger of giving in to this passion. he could feel his resolve weakening, but he tries to steady himself. 

the more you think about it, maybe this wasn’t the appropriate setting nor time. you’ve just met this man and only known him for a couple of hours. a few good conversations were had, he cooked you some top quality ramen even under the circumstances, he’s beautiful . . but, you didn’t want to regret it if something did happen now. so it’d be best to wait. 

"you know what, maybe . . this isn't a good idea. you’re right," you manage to stammer out. but your protest is weakening as armin closes what little distance is left between you, breath warm on your neck where his lips go to kiss. 

“nah, i’m wrong. fuck it,” he rasps by your ear, opening his mouth fully to latch onto the sensitive area of your neck. his tongue follows in a sloppy kiss, hand coming up to grab you by the neck. 

a gasp falters when you feel how hot his hand was on your skin, clutching your neck entirely in his grasp, squeezing your thighs tight and scrunching your face up from pleasure. his kisses are audible, making it known how bad he wants you. your sweater begins to slip off your shoulders as he maneuvers his way down to your chest, groping and inching both of his hands inside of your top to smooth them down towards your sides and reaching your hips briefly. hotly gripping at your flesh. 

“armin,” a weak whimper. “we shouldn’t.” 

armin catches your wrist the moment you go to stand abruptly, yanking you back towards his chest and towering over you in the process, his gaze darkening as he glares down at you. 

"i want your taste on my lips. c’mon, bunny.” 

his soft plea sends a jolt through you, fingers entwining with your own before he’s guiding that arm behind your back and resting it on your ass he uses as leverage to press you up against the bulge in his jeans, body bending backwards slightly to give yourself some air to breathe. and when he does this thing, like wind his waist to rub his clothed dick against you with a snarky ‘mhm’ blown out with frustrated air — it sends you into a state of blurriness. his scent envelops your senses, growing weaker in his hold as you stare up at him with need.  

“i —” you can’t understand why you're protesting. you knew you wanted him, and it’s clearly mutual. he just scares you, in a really good way. you fear that if you have sex with this man, it wouldn’t be the end of it. and possibly could progress to more. 

“say yes so i know you want it, then sit back down.” 

it’s clear you both didn’t care about the situation you were in anymore. you just needed it, bad. done playing cat and mouse. swallowing from his switch of demeanor, you slowly nod. 

“yes.”

so, you sit. lowering your body while training your eyes to stay on his. you’ve removed your sweater completely, tits exposed to the cool air of the attic as the straps cling to your arms. he thinks you look fucking yummy. he damn near could salivate. 

taking his seat back beside you, armin’s stretching his hands to pull your top down to your stomach, grazing your skin passionately but with notions of aggression. he wants to be sweet to you, he’ll try. he’s got his back to the couch again, spreading his thighs to give relief of the blood rushing to his dick. brushing a hand through his hair, you watch in fascination as the follicles bounce back in front of his eyes, his hand coming to unbutton his jeans as he rubs your thighs and catches your soft lips back onto his. 

it’s more aggressive this time, swallowing your lips and grazing tongues, noses smushed. you suck on his tongue, grinding in your spot and trailing your hands towards his jeans, helping him tug them down to sit at his thighs. unlatching your mouths, armin grips your chin, thick fingers indenting into your cheeks before giving you another rough kiss, his pupils blown. 

“come spit on it,” he rasps.

moaning from the way he spoke, he’s guiding your face down with the hold on your jaw, brows furrowed and pink, plush lips going agape as your dainty hands pulls his cock out of his briefs. when you see it, it makes all the more sense why he acts and talks the way he does. 

“mmph,” you moan in awe almost, fitting both of your hands around it as it throbs in your possession. “s’so pretty, ‘min.”

“yeah? . . is it too much for you?” 

that makes you grin. “mm-mm,” you deny. “i like it.” 

whatever overcomes you the moment he shifts his hips in silent plead and grips at your ponytail tight could only be adored from his view. with both of your palms wrapped around his dick; fat, curved towards his stomach with a tinted pink tip. one hefty muscle protruding the underside that you know will feel so good when he slips it in. and cutely, a beauty mark or two. his pubes are neatly trimmed, as blonde as his pretty hair. you’re drooling at this point. and you use that to salivate over his dick, armin practically dragging your head towards his dick and moaning when you do as you were told and coat it with spit. 

“yeahh — unh, good girl,” armin hisses, groaning and adjusting himself in his seat as you stroke your hand at the base, leading your way up and over the flushed head. 

he doesn’t expect you to do it, you really didn’t have to, but he’s not hellbent on stopping you either. the minute you hike yourself up so you’re arching over him, armin’s smoothing his hand over your ass now raised up and whimpering when your mouth engulfs half of his dick with a greedy moan. 

“ooh, that’s good baby. yes,” it twitches on your tongue that’s planted at the base as you suckle and drag your lips over either side. 

swaying your hips, armin sucks on his bottom lip before landing a hit to your ass, taking a handful of the fat of it after. your throats sinking further, tasting all of him while he’s raising his hips to gently fuck into your mouth. his head gets thrown back, lips parting and releasing gasps when you go to clutch his throat, pushing his head further back so it touches the wall behind, and slurping at his dick sloppily. 

“oh my god, gimme that,” armin can’t help the way his eyes roll back into his skull, unable to properly breathe. every time he tries to silence a moan, it’d come out higher pitched than the other, alternating between rough groans and whimpers. 

the gags coming from your throat along with the paced bobs of your head makes him clutch your neck to pull you up, smashing his lips on yours and roaming his hands down your thighs. he couldn’t wait any longer. if you feel that good through your mouth, he could only dream of how your pussy felt. 

catching your breath, he’s swiping a thumb over your lips to clean you up, your body mindlessly gravitating towards him, bug-eyed and nibbling at your lips.

“take these off ,” he whispers, biting his lip as he tugs on your shorts. “gotta taste you. i know it’s fuckin’ wet.” 

the quicker you tugged them off, the faster your heart pounded. armin situates himself by laying back on the sofa, politely taking your hand and carefully leading you up to sit on his face. his dick is heavy on his stomach, your thighs hovered over his head and crouching your pussy just enough for him to inhale your essence. it’s glistening in shiny slick, precious bud hiding underneath puffy pillows from his direct view. 

“every part of you is gorgeous as fuck,” armin groans, lifting one of his legs to plant on the sofa while he levels his head at just the right spot to catch your clit before you could even utter a word.

he’s kneading the flesh of your ass in his veiny hands, pushing and rocking you on his fat tongue as you listen to the incredulous sound of him slurping. you can’t speak, mewling while locking your lips beneath your teeth, threading your fingers through his fluffy hair to yank on. he’s sucking you up, all of your flavors, puffy lips enclosing around your achy clit, tasting heavenly on his palate. 

"she's such a loud girl.” thwack! it’s a hard hit he lands on your ass while grunting, your stomach rolling inward from the heat that illuminates your entire body. legs vibrating and moans breathless. “let me slip my fingers in, huh? make me fit.” 

“uh huh, yesplease.” 

gyrating your pussy into his mouth, you’re leaning further down till his nose is mushed to your clit, armin giving an audible, nasty open mouthed kiss before rubbing two fingers against his tongue, parting your folds and slowly sinking them in, armin landing a smack on your ass again to feel you pulsate and clench. in the moment, he’s unable to keep his waist from grinding upwards, dick twitching, practically humping the air as he drowns his face in your cunt.

“fuck, your fingers make me feel s’full,” you cry out, scooting so he could dip them deeper. the tingles are rushing to the pit of your stomach, lifting and dropping your ass back onto his fingers. “can i fuck them?” 

shit, you really got him spent. “yes, baby. ‘fuckin course you can. such a good baby for asking.” 

the way he speaks to you is crucial for your arousal. your moans flow out almost thankfully for that. it’s like he knows exactly what to say to you. you wish you could see his face squished under you, you know in your soul he looked messy, and you fear seeing him like that would make you squirt on the spot. a proper, sweet talking, respectful man completely losing himself in your pussy. it’s hot.

“good girl, biiig stretch.” they’re moving in coordination; the speed of his fingers and the pressure of his mouth sucking and swallowing at you. he’s loud when he does it, too. like, whimpering along with you, loud. 

“f-fuck, my tummy,” whining, you never stop your hips from swaying. voice breaking and trying your best to keep your mouth from drooling. everything felt so, so good. “anh, armin! ‘m g’na cum.” 

“all in my mouth, alright?” 

the grip of your pussy around his fingers is maddening. shoving them in and out at a steady pace and purposely thrumming against that spongy spot. you’re grinding on his face while maintaining your clasp on his scalp and the couch. when you cum, armin makes sure he keeps at his rhythm while thrashing his tongue heavily on your bud, holding his breath with you and letting you groan intensely while he follows pursuit. gasp’s ensuing.

“fuckk, good bunny. c’mere,” chin doused with your juices, he slams a palm on your ass and trails his hands to lay you flat on your tummy. 

too out of it to think of what he was doing next, you clutch onto the sofa with your cheek flat to the furniture, catching your breath and trying to fix the blur of your sight. you listen to him shuffling to find something in the room, smiling into your arm when you feel his touch on you again, smoothing his big and surprisingly baby soft palms up the back of your thighs leading to your ass. 

armin hovers over you, patting the shape of your butt with his dick a few times before you hear him rip a condom with his teeth. he’s bending to kiss at your back, shuddering from the new sensation when it gets sloppier. tongue lolling out to drag up your spine following suite with passionate kisses. his hair is disheveled, tickling at your forehead when he goes to kiss your temple, then your nose, then your lips.

rolling the condom onto his dick, he slaps it at your pussy, biting his lip as he listens to the lewd sound of wetness. then, while taking his time does he begin to slide in, the tip alone making you squeak and grip at the sofa. mouth agape, you unabashedly rock your ass back, impatience settling in. 

“m-mmgh,” the rumble in your throat is stammered, his weight on you making it impossible to escape. trapped in, no running, free use for him. 

“keep your thighs pressed together,” armin whispers. 

the feeling of his skin on yours sets you ablaze. he’s removed all of his garments because he couldn’t bare not having your skin against his. the hairs on his muscular thighs and legs scraping on yours as he works his way deeper in your pussy made your eyes shift to white. the path of his toned abdomen on your backside, the plush of his lips on your temple, and then the hot hand he clutches your throat in as his elbow rests on the sofa makes you fucking dizzy. 

breath mingling with yours, sharing moans when his dick is fully in, armin hisses in your ear, sunshine hair drifting upon your sight, nudging just where you begged for him to be. the possession of your throat in his lock gets tighter, carefully subduing your airway while making sure you could still breathe enough. this kind of intimacy wasn’t what you expected from him. not at all. 

it starts off slow. handling you with respect for a sum of minutes until he’s stuffing you full, forcing you to take it all. gummy walls suffocating his cock. tendrils stick to your face, hair falling from its perfect bow causing your hair to swarm around your features flawlessly in layers. as if you couldn’t get prettier. 

“hu—uh,” armin’s brokenly moaning, sharp hips slamming down onto your plump ass, recoiling from every hit. it starts steady, but every pound transcends rougher, harder. 

“oooo, s-shit,” you stammer out, face screwing up before you release a quiet scream. “k-keep your dick right there, baby. you’re on my spot.” 

“fuuck, yess. that's where i want it,” he’s grunting in your face, brows furrowed as he gets buried in the pleasure of you, cunt sloppy and squelching from each draw back and dip of his dick. 

skin clapping, breaths inordinate, he’s fucking you. it’s almost embarrassing how loud you were, moaning in syllables after every pound and wanting to scramble away from the unutterable pleasure of him, his tone, and body heat. he smells like the cleanest linen with hints of jasmine. a fucking trip.

armin can say the same for you. everything about you overtakes his mind. he loves the way you talk, mannered and sweet. loves the way you smell, like wild strawberries. the fullness of your lips when his are immersed. the twinkle in your feline eyes when you admire him. you’re smart, beautiful, and taste real good. that’s an issue. 

“prettiest fuckin' bunny ever,” now he’s licking at the shell of your ear, tracing from there to the underside of your jaw. it’s got you so heated. 

there’s that pet name again. it came from a joke he had made during your conversations earlier. how you bounce in your spot when contemplating what to say or just anxious. but now you’re really moving like one. whining and pawing at the furniture while weighing your ass back each time he grinds forward. 

“take me, take me — fuck,” you’re full on crying now, skin sticking to each others, sockets full of tears and losing your mobility. 

armin’s face is flushed, tinted red nearly. he takes your right arm and throws it over his neck, armin’s mouth finding the peaks of your nipples to eat at greedily, other hand pressing down on your arch for better balance before he’s inching halfway out and striking forcefully. he studies the fall of your jaw, tossing your head back and shuddering out your noises. he’s moaning in your chest, fucking you harder. the way you choke yourself and stare at him makes him lose his mind. 

“m’c-cumminggg,” dragging out whines, you raise your knee up higher which his body is planted on, squealing as his balls collide with your clit now that there’s room. 

armin doesn’t intentionally do it out of irritation or anything, but he’s quick to toss your arm off of him and take hold of your hips, deepening your arch, forearms popped out with veins bulging and fucking into you with crudeness. forgetting he cared about you momentarily just to cum. still staying where he needed to please you. 

“me too, fuck. me too . . fuckk.” 

the warmth of him embracing you with strong arms burying your head and cumming first. it’s not long after when you’re frantically squeezing your thighs together and humming gravely, armin humping slow to ease your quivering. neither of you wanted to move. glued in the same position sharing intimate, slow, sloppy kisses. tracing each others skin delicately with the pads of your fingers, smiling like idiots and cracking small jokes. 

you’d fallen asleep before him, waking up to a brightly lit attic and the smell of cigarettes, tucked under comfy blankets and rubbing your eyes to find armin sitting at the loveseat manspreading and smoking a quick cigarette — watching you. it was cute, until you began coughing and he immediately apologized. the roads were long cleaned up, debris in mass areas of the city. it was finally time to head home. 

you got his number, rescheduled your flight for early next morning, and he promised he’d call you when you’ve safely arrived, excited to hear your voice say his name again. 

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not copy, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[fawniswriting]

Mr. Congressman

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: After Congressman James Buchanan Barnes buys you a drink at the bar, your night takes a turn for a more passionate one.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warning(s): no use of Y/N. use of the nickname angel and sweetheart. alcohol consumption. lots of flirting. smut (18+ mdni)—dirty talk, so much praising, handjob, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms (reader), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie. lmk if I missed anything!!

Author's Note: I decided to drop this while I'm rewriting the next chapter of Faithfully Yours. I've wanted to write Congressman Bucky for awhile but didn't know what kind of story to make until this idea came upon me. For the record, smut is my kryptonite, and it took a lot of miracle for me to even finish this up. I genuinely have developed a new kind of appreciation for all of you smut writers out there. Anyways, the concept of this story sounded a lot better in my head, but hopefully this isn't that bad for a first attempt and I hope you'll still like it xx don't forget to comment/like/reblog to support :)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Your drink, Ma'am.”

The bartender slides a tall flute across the counter, settling it beside the empty glass of spritzer you downed earlier. It doesn't take long for you to recognize the fruity aroma wafting through the air, the rusty red liquid rising in tiny bubbles as you scrutinize the drink with furrowed brows.

The Minimalist Bar and Lounge is nestled on the ground floor of Rosewood Hotel in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. The bar's interior exudes subtle sophistication, its dim lighting casting amber reflections across the polished mahogany counter. Soft piano jazz hums through the speakers overhead, cruising into the low murmurs of the sparse Thursday night crowd. 

You look up towards the bartender, a middle-aged man with laugh lines creasing his tan skin, and push the glass slightly towards him. “I didn't order this.”

“A gentleman sent it over,” he apprises, tapping his fingers against the counter with a knowing smile. “Says to tell you that you've got an admirer.”

Before you can say more, the bartender gives you a cheeky wink, striding away to whip up an order from another customer.

You drag the slender glass closer, spinning the drink around until the golden liquid at the top simmers into the red. As soon as you take an intrepid sip, the sweet tang of blackcurrant explodes in your mouth, compelling you to hum favorably at the familiar flavor coating your tongue.

You have barely set your glass back down when a deep voice suddenly erupts by your side.

“May I join you?”

The low, rough timbre of the voice sends a shiver down your back, chased away immediately by the warm presence that has settled next to you. Shifting in your seat, you tilt your head and lock eyes with another pair in cerulean, breath hitching in your throat when you take in the scent of fine spices mixing sedulously with bergamot.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes is a sight to behold within the quiet establishment. With his tall stature and lean muscles stretching taut under the fancy suit, he is bound to attract every thread of attention in the room. The faint gray dusting his stubbled cheeks only adds to the man's overall charm, and as he peers down at you from his full, subjugating height, you can't help but ponder about how none of his pictures ever did his attractiveness justice.

Gathering your composure, you manage a small smile before nodding towards the empty seat beside you. ”Of course.”

The congressman doesn't waste time sliding into the stool, reciting his order towards the bartender with a practiced speech and a methodical gesture of his hand. His whole focus is back on you in a matter of seconds, bright ocean blue eyes taking in your features like curators would a priceless piece of Monet. You burn under his blatant appreciation, trying to mask the crack in your poise by taking another sip of your cocktail. 

“How's the drink?” he asks, the curve of his lips discreet but genuine under the warm lighting.

“It's good.” You set the glass down, tilting your body to the side until your knees nearly touch his. “I gather you're the one who sent it?”

Congressman Barnes doesn't say anything in return. He only continues staring at you—as if nothing else exists in the world at that moment except for the woman sitting in front of him—but the glint of mirth in his pupils tells you everything you need to know.

Your knees bump into his. “Very smooth, Congressman.”

The corner of his lips tilt higher. “Call me Bucky.”

Your eyebrows rise.

Before you can give a response, the bartender returns carrying the congressman's order of a classic Old Fashioned. Congressman Barnes accepts the drink with an easy nod, his fingers curling around the short tumbler as he turns towards you again. 

“It's what my friends call me,” he adds, smirking behind the rim of his glass.

“Is that what we are now?” you muse, eyes flicking twice between his hypnotizing eyes and kissable lips. “Friends?”

The man chuckles. He puts down his glass with a deliberate slowness, each stretch of movements calculated and needlessly arousing. Then, he leans in, just enough to steal the air between the two of you, just enough to make the world beyond to begin blurring around the edges.

“Angel—” his voice dips, the raspy edge floating along your skin, “—we can be whatever you want us to be.”

A shudder runs through your spine. You try convincing yourself that it is due to the chill in the air and the sheer material of your dress, but the simultaneous quickening of your heartbeat, along with the rush of goosebumps across your skin completely banishes that attempt. It was all your body's reaction to Congressman Barnes, and he knows this. He can read you like a goddamn open book—pinpoint the slightest change in your posture, detect the tiniest rise in your pulse, and spot the way your pupils dilate with each second your gaze stays locked on him.

He leans even closer, the ghost of his metal fingertips venturing the skin of your knee until he catches the silent gasp in your throat.

It excites him.

Biting your lip, you shuffle slightly to your side to escape his electrifying touch, putting on a pristine smile while pretending as though your composure weren't currently lying in tiny broken shards on the floor.

“Well, Bucky—” your voice is soft, baiting as you reach for your flute on the counter, “—thank you for the drink. How'd you know Kir Royale's my favorite?”

The smirk on Congressman Barnes’—Bucky's—face widens. 

“Simple, sweetheart.” His velvet voice drips with amusement. “I just picked something that suits you the best.”

Bucky's fingers drift along the edge of the bar, brushing against your own hand and pulse point, lingering there as if committing the rhythm of your heart into memory. By the dark flicker in his gaze, you know that he must have caught the stutter in your heartbeat, the indisputable evidence of his infuriating effect on your being.

Without breaking eye contact, Bucky plucks the glass from your grasp, his fingers warm where yours have been.

“Something sweet,” Bucky murmurs, swirling the red liquid before lifting the drink to his lips. He takes a long, unhurried sip, letting the moment stretch, cerulean blue smoldering into your eyes over the rim. “Seductive.” 

He sets the glass back down with a soft clink. Never once taking his attention off you. Tracing his heated gaze over your entire body in a way that sends fire searing through your skin.  

“And dangerous,” he finishes with a husky whisper, heavy with tension and unspoken revelations.

“Dangerous?” Your eyes twinkle. “How am I dangerous?”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, flashing you his striking pearly whites. “You kidding me? A woman like you, looking like that.” 

His eyes roam the length of your legs, landing on the skin of your thigh peeking through the slit of your dress, delicate and tempting. Bucky's tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he takes a moment to admire you.

“And that dress—” his eyes dip lower to your chest, drinking in the sight of your exposed collarbones and the shape of your curves, lingering too long as if it were the first time he ever laid eyes upon a woman, “—is the very definition of sin, sweetheart.”

A surge of delight curls your lips as you sway slightly in your seat, letting the dress grip tighter around your frame like a second skin, feeling the material shift just enough to taint Bucky's eyes with something prurient. Your fingers slither down the side of your body, half-conscious of Bucky's heated gaze that seems to map the path of your provocative touch.

“Do you like it? It's new,” you goad coyly, caressing your body through the silk. “I bought it today for a special occasion.”

Bucky's eyes crinkle at the corner, his pupils glistering with intrigue. “Yeah? Like a first date, Angel?” He takes a casual sip of the amber liquid in his glass, his nose scrunching up in thought as he plays along. “Bought it for a boyfriend? A husband, perhaps?” 

You fight off the thrill traveling through your veins and answer, shrugging nonchalantly, “Something like that.”

The tip of Bucky's mouth lifts. “What a lucky bastard,” he says earnestly, eyes drilling into yours as if he wants to bury himself there.

You evade his intense stare, feigning interest at your cocktail instead. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” you pause purposefully, studying all of the sharp edges that forge the man sitting in front of you, picturing all of the tenderness that he has concealed beneath the crisp white shirt and that impeccable tux of his. “Are you here on business? Or something else?”

Bucky's eyes wander towards the rows of bottles and liquors lining the wall of the bar, tweaking his bow tie as though just now remembering that it was there in the first place.

“Business,” he replies, straightforward, the pad of his index finger circling the lip of his glass on the counter. But then his eyes fly upward, sealing you in place. “Maybe a bit of pleasure as well.”

You hum, leaning closer until you feel the neckline of your dress flitter recklessly from your skin, divulging parts of you that manage to reclaim Bucky's sole interest. “Is that so?”

His throats bob.

There is no mistaking the whirr of his vibranium arm as the fingers clench, metal plates shifting in tandem with the torrent of desire rushing through Bucky’s mind. He imagines dropping his head to your chest, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses on the expanse of skin, coaxing gasps and sounds of pleasure from those perfect, alluring lips. He imagines sinking to his knees, running his mouth up the length of your leg until he reaches the one place that would make you quiver and crumble in his mercy. Worshipping at your altar like a madman finally finding the true meaning of religion.

Public decency be damned. 

But before he can open his mouth, before he gets the chance to act on the budding ache tightening his slacks, the ringing coming out of his suit pocket stops him dead in tracks.

Bucky curses.

You study him curiously, taking in the augmenting scowl on his face as he glimpses at the screen of his phone. Nursing your drink, you let your voice soften while asking, “Something urgent?”

“No.” Bucky is quick to answer, shoving the phone back into his pocket like he is eager to be rid of the gadget. “Not at all. Nothing more important than you, Angel.”

The next round of ringing downright betrays his words.

It takes Bucky a copious amount of willpower to not launch the despicable device across the room. He grits his teeth, blue eyes hurling invisible daggers towards the number on the screen, a number belonging to one of the jerk-ass faces with whom he has no intention of doing business at this moment in time. Bucky wishes he could just block the sleazy bastard's number and be done with it.

But he can't.

Because as hard as Bucky tries to shed the new title when he steps out of the confined spaces of his office, at the end of the day, he is not merely Bucky Barnes anymore.

He is Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

And playing nice with people he would rather punch in the face is, unfortunately, part of the unofficial job description.

Bucky heaves a sigh, running an exasperated palm across his face before his repentant gaze finds yours. 

“I have to—” he pauses, voice thick with guilt and frustration.

Bucky expects you to scowl, to see the same kind of disappointment that is gnawing at him etching on your beautiful face. Instead, all he finds is your effortless smile, the kind that has the power to wage a war or two. It makes something inside him lurch.

“You should take the call, Mr. Congressman.”

You glide out of the comfort of your seat with ease, finishing your drink and collecting your stone-studded clutch in hand. Bucky moves to protest, nearly leaping out of his own seat to prevent you from leaving, but the soothing press of your palm against his chest renders him back in place.

“Finish the call,” you tell him, adamant. Above the counter, your hand skims forward, furtively sliding something under Bucky's own palm before your fingers squeeze his in fervent. “And when you're done, come find me.”

Upon your departure, Bucky turns his hand over, smiling to himself when he sees the key card with a room number scribbled on the paper holder. He examines your retreating figure once his head lifts, consuming the languid sway of your hips, the way your silk dress is clinging to every hard and soft edges that sculpt your captivating figure. 

His body tenses with the urge to follow, to sneak his palm onto the small of your back and guide you towards where he knows this night is leading. But the shrill ringtone of his phone is relentless against his eardrums, ousting the compulsion away, forcing him to tear his gaze off as he answers the call with a clenched jaw.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Bucky's flesh hand flexes around the key card, letting the corner dig into the center of his palm, a silent reminder that the night is far from being over yet.

The clean smell of cotton bedsheets and the tang of lavender air freshener greet you the moment you step into your hotel room. Inside, though, your lungs constrict, yearning instead for the scent of cloves and bergamot that you left behind at the bar alongside the handsome gentleman who possesses it.

Your heels are discarded somewhere in the foyer before you tread indolently towards the bathroom, going to the sink to splash some water on your face, mindful not to mess the makeup you have expertly painted on earlier in the evening. The cold water does little to eliminate the heat on your cheeks, the same one that now travels through your entire body as your skin tingles with the phantom touch of a certain super soldier turned congressman.

It should be illegal—the facile power he holds over you.

The carpet is plush underneath your steps as you exit the bathroom, sauntering towards the balcony and delighting in the breath of late May’s fresh air that hails you when you walk through the sliding doors. Washington, D.C. sprawls out beneath you in a tapestry of scintillating lights and colossal silhouettes. From your vantage point, The Potomac snakes through the city like a ribbon of obsidian, its surface catching the occasional reflection of passing headlights, glinting in contrast against the ink-dark sky. The Capitol's dome gleams in the distance, a beacon of order and principle, while the Washington Monument stands unyielding like a silent sentinel. 

The city buzzes with life even at this hour, cars speeding through the streets and far off laughter resonating from the avenues below. And yet, even with all of its grandeur, the city's view still pales in comparison with the images of him in your mind—the way his blue eyes darkened when he took you in, the way he ignited your body just from a single touch. No matter how much you try to focus on the cityscape, your thoughts inevitably circle back to him: Bucky Barnes. Every time you blink, he is there—braided into the crevasses between your heartbeats, dithering in the warmth still coiled beneath your skin.

As though summoned by the constant notions of him in your head, you catch the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking, followed closely by the echo of heavy footsteps entering the room.

When you emerge from the balcony, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the lush executive suite, shedding off his tuxedo jacket and bow tie where they end up in a pile above the sofa. He looks up at the sound of the sliding doors being locked, the stress in his shoulders dissipating when his eyes finally find yours. 

Examining him from head to toe, you lean your shoulder against the balcony door and ask, “How was the phone call?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers simply. “I took care of it.”

“Hm. Good.”

The atmosphere desiccates with tension. There is a flame starting in the pit of your stomach, one that you’re trying miserably to quell before it grows into something destructive and menacing. But the way Bucky is looking at you from the distance, so stubborn and piercing, suggests that he already knows what kind of turmoil your body is currently battling with itself.

Clearing your throat, you walk over to the assortment of liquors available in the mini bar, avoiding Bucky’s stare as you ask, “Would you like something to drink?”

Reaching for the undoubtedly expensive wine, you turn it over in your hand, nearly dropping the bottle when Bucky replies, “I don’t know, sweetheart. Kinda craving something else right now.”

Your chest hammers as you listen to the scratch of shoes against the floor, the surrounding temperature rising with each breadth of space Bucky erases with his footsteps. He is a fortress when he finally stands behind you—a man of battle and steel, whose hands have seen bloodshed beyond your wildest nightmares, whose same hands are now ghosting over your arms with a tenderness that tugs at your heartstrings.

Bucky drops his head on the nape of your neck, his breaths spluttering as he grounds himself with a grip around each of your forearms. Your stomach folds at the brush of his plump lips against your skin, the nudge of his nose as he breathes in your scent like it was an appropriate substitute for oxygen.

“What are you doing to me?” he bleats, almost to himself, sucking in a bruise to your pulse point that wrenches a gasp out of your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, the bottle of wine long forgotten as it stands lonesome on the counter. Turning in his arms, you are faced instantly with the intense blue of Bucky’s eyes, brimming with a hunger so conspicuous it threatens to consume you whole. You card your fingers through his hair, rejoicing in the gravelly rumble Bucky makes over the simple touch. “I could ask you the same thing.”

In Bucky’s company, the extravagant suite around you feels smaller, as if the walls were closing in to bear witness to the charged moment simmering in the meager space separating you both. Metal fingers sweep your jaw, featherlight yet sizzling, treading carefully before finding purchase on the side of your face. You barely register what is happening before Bucky’s lips are suddenly on yours—kissing you, claiming you, molding against yours in a dance of affection that soon bleeds into desperation. 

Bucky swallows every whimper and plea, his tongue exploring your mouth as if the kiss itself has become his soul's main source of sustenance. His vibranium palm on your cheek is alleviating, but his flesh hand on your waist is rough, gripping tenaciously, pushing you back until your spine is pinned between his imposing frame and the mini bar's counter. His lips teeter away from the kiss to find your jaw, trailing a path down your neck until there is no inch of skin free from the adornment of his marks.

He slots his thigh between your legs, nudging against the place where you yearn for him the most, making you mewl.

“Bucky, please,” you cry out, grinding yourself down on the toned muscles of his thigh.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can't believe you're wrecked and bothered already,” Bucky muses, eyes drifting downward to drink in the erotic roll of your hips. “And I haven't even started yet.”

You should be embarrassed, should be alarmed by the mess you have become from just a single kiss. But any semblance of self-consciousness in your body evaporates in the blink of an eye, especially when Bucky yanks at the flimsy straps of your gauzy dress without so much as a warning, tearing it clear from your frame and letting it pool in a pathetic heap around your feet.

“Bucky!” you shriek, half from shock and half from the cold air that has suddenly enveloped your skin.

The man only licks his lips. “I'll buy you another one.”

You do not protest after that—not when his eyes rove over you as if you were the long-awaited feast to his ravenous beast. A thrill runs down your spine, satisfaction blooming in your chest at the way his stare lingers on the lacy matching set you so carefully chose to don for the night. It was meant to be a simple indulgence—a cute little thing you bought on a whim after catching a glimpse of it while you were out window shopping with friends—but now, under Bucky’s shameless admiration, the lacy number feels like the most brilliant spending decision you have ever made in life.

“Goddamn, Angel,” Bucky rasps, his teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip. “You sure as hell know how to send a man to their knees.”

“And yet, here you are.” You raise your eyebrows. “Still standing.”

The grin he rewards you is a thousand times brighter than the sun. “Not for long.”

Bucky drops his head lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your décolletage, nibbling on the silky skin that borders the line of your lacy bra. He makes quick work unclasping the garment and tossing it to the side, the cool air briskly nipping at your skin before his mouth is back on you once more, lavishing attention on each sensitive peak until you are trembling in his arms.

“Oh, Bucky,” you murmur amorously.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pinches your nipple, forcing you to bite his shoulder to stifle your squeal. “God, you’re one beautiful thing.”

His journey continues southward, across your torso, all the way down to your most private area. Bucky is kneeling before you now—the madman finally paying reverence to his most beloved goddess—and he looks absolutely fucking ecstatic. The sight of him between your legs, mouth-watering and aching to taste, is enough to have your head spinning in anticipation.

“I can smell you.” Bucky groans, sinking his head to press a kiss on your clothed core. The contact sends you spiraling over the precipice. “So fucking pretty. My pretty angel.”

Bucky's hands caress the back of your thighs, the contrast between flesh and metal sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. He dips his head again, this time wrapping his mouth around your mound, and starts eating you out despite the barrier of your panties.

You moan wantonly at his sinful attention, nearly collapsing to the floor if it weren't for Bucky's firm support keeping you upright. He fidgets with the fringe of your underwear, holding the fabric to the side to coat two of his flesh digits with your wetness.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs, lapping at his soaked fingers with a blissful look across his face. “Tastes like nectar, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” you whine, pulling at his shoulder-length hair until his blue eyes are locked onto yours. “No teasing.”

The shit-eating grin on his face would have aggravated you if it weren't for how unbelievably gorgeous he looks, kneeling at your mercy.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky lets go of your underwear with a final kiss on your covered clit, standing to his feet and hauling you up in his arms all in one breath. You yelp in surprise, securing your legs around Bucky's waist as he carries you efficiently towards the bed, the delicious friction of his pants compelling your inner walls to tense in ardor, making you crave him even more.

Bucky ensures that your back meets the mattress gently before he withdraws, though your whine of protest stops him before he can go far, your arms reaching for him as he takes your hands with a laugh.

“Eager, are we?” he asks impishly, peppering tiny kisses across your knuckles.

“Only for you, Buck.”

Bucky's smile softens, his lips securing a final kiss on the back of your hand before his deft fingers start undoing the buttons of his shirt. You observe with bated breath as he reveals the muscular panes of his torso, biting your lower lip when his hands begin working on his belt buckle and dress slacks.

Once he is back on you again, this time in nothing but the thin fabric of his boxer, it feels like everything in your life has slid right into place.

“Hi,” Bucky says, breathless, a boyish grin stretching his lips into a charming curve.

“Hi, handsome.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, lugging him down into a heated kiss and relishing in the feeling of metal fingers pinching your hip. Every sensation is amplified as his breath stumbles in your mouth, the softness of his lips contrasting with his metallic touch. Your hand wanders the expanse of skin, exploring the river of veins and the constellation of freckles, drawing random patterns down Bucky's abdomen until you reach the waistband of his drawers.

When your palm slips inside, circling around his hardening length, Bucky stammers into the kiss.

“Angel.” His voice comes out as a guttural moan. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna make you feel good, Buck.” You bury your nose in his temple, kissing the corner of his eye. “Please.”

Bucky barely has time to nod before your fingers scramble to rid him of the last barrier casing his body. His underwear is gone in a swift motion, ditched somewhere in the room through the haze of urgency. 

At last, Bucky is there—above you, all around you, entirely overwhelming in his presence—and the sight of him alone steals the breath from your very lungs. The austere glow of the room carves shadows along the solid lines of his body, every muscle and sinew sculpted into something unreal. His skin is littered by old scars and the passage of time, telling a story that you long to trace and memorize with every subtle scrape of your heart.

He is devastating—an Adonis chiseled not by gentle divinity, but by violence and calamity. And yet he is here, flesh and blood, naked and glorious, a whole man despite history and remorse masticating him bit by bit. And right now, Bucky Barnes is looking at you like you are the only thing in this world tethering him to reality.

Your heart constricts, synchronously with your pussy, catching you somewhere between awe and want as you reach for him once more.

At the first grip of your fingers around his shaft, Bucky lets out a hiss.

“Is this okay?” you ask cautiously.

“God, yes,” Bucky respires, forehead creasing when you give an experimental squeeze around his girth. “Yes, sweetheart, it’s more than okay.”

His rough response motivates you to start pumping.

It doesn't take long for you to settle on a rhythm, moving your hand up and down, twisting and clutching until you are requited with his morose sighs and moans. Bucky is utterly beautiful like this—eyes shut, long hair shielding his face as his hips snap up to meet your depraved ministrations. Each moan that escapes him only drives you to move faster, your own pulse quickening as you feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

When your thumb resolutely swipes over his slit, Bucky's entire body staggers, a shuddering gasp tearing through his throat as he jerks in your grasp.

Your chest inflates with titillation. “You like that?”

“Y-Yes. Oh God,” Bucky stammers, burying his face in your neck when you repeat the movement again, collecting his precum. “Shit, Angel. M’ not gonna last if you keep that up.”

His admission only spurs you on, tightening your grip, encouraging your strokes to grow bolder. Bucky is a mess above you—all ragged breaths and sweat-slicked skin, every muscle in his body coiled like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. It is an addictive view, so intoxicating that you could live off it, spending the rest of your days ravaging him like this.

But before your dream can materialize, a calloused hand clamps around your wrist out of the blue, putting an end to your movements and forcing the thrill in your veins to a halt.

Your forehead knits in confusion as you stare into Bucky’s eyes.

“Gotta stop, sweetheart,” he pants, an easy but wrecked smile embellishing his gorgeous face. “Or else I'd blow before we even get to the good part.”

Heaving a deep sigh, you jut out your bottom lip and sulk. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Christ, no.” Bucky chuckles. “Another time, I might take you up on that. But tonight?” He ducks his head, stealing a quick kiss that has you seeing stars. “I wanna be inside you when I cum.”

The promise catches you off guard, sending a dash of anticipation through your ribs and into every corner of your being. Bucky's fingers gently unwrap yours from his length, his cock still red and leaking from your recent attention. He regains control in no time, his lips descending upon your skin like a voyager mapping out a sacred route, pressing open-mouthed kisses as he charts a path down the curves of your body.

 His breath is warm against your stomach, each kiss dragging lower, teasing ruthlessly, until his fingers hook into your underwear and strip it away in one hasty, practiced motion. He groans at the sight of you, his voice thick with admiration and something more primal as his mouth lets out a muttered curse. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Bucky’s dark lashes flutter, drinking you in. “You’re a damn masterpiece.”

The raw compliment nudges your heart, brewing the fog in your mind until you are nothing but a heap of fire and lust. 

Words fly out of your head as Bucky eats you out like a man starved—licking, sucking, and biting with a desperation that borders on worship. His tongue moves in volitional strokes, alternating between featherlight flicks and deep siphoning of your bundle of nerves. Your fingers twist into Bucky's hair, tugging hard enough to earn a growl, the sound vibrating in pleasurable waves all throughout your body.

As if his current ministrations weren't enough, Bucky suddenly brings his metal fingers to your opening, prodding and unfolding gently, pushing two of his digits in until they are sheathed inside the heat of your weeping hole.

“Holy shit, Angel. Look at ya,” Bucky mutters, watching your walls throb around him as he pushes and retracts his vibrainum hand. The sight alone makes his own hardness twitch. “Soakin’ me like a dam, sweetheart. This all for me?”

“Yes, Bucky. No—ah! N-No one else,” you let out between helpless gasps, grinding despairingly onto Bucky's hand.

Bucky's pupils dilate, his eyes scanning you from head to toe as if immortalizing you into memory. The pace of his fingers is increasing by the minute—scissoring, curling, grasping for that one magical spot that never fails to ruin your whole being. Bucky's mouth returns on you in no time, nibbling and tracing with his tongue, humming heartily with every wrecked sound escaping from your chest.

“S-Shit. Bucky, that feels—mpphh. I'm s-so close—ah!”

The climax crashes into you in a matter of minutes, arriving like a tsunami, abrupt and earth-shattering. Bucky is patient as he guides you through it all, continuing the lazy licks on your clit and the slow pumps of his fingers inside you. He only relents when you begin squirming away from him, whining at the over-sensitivity aching through your bones.

“Are you okay?”

You blink through the mist in your vision, your eyes slowly refocusing on Bucky's concerned face.

He is a perfect picture of debauchery—kneeling on the bed in all of his majestic nudity, remnants of your release coating the nether part of his face. His question should be startling—the way it juxtaposes everything he has done to you thus far. However, Bucky Barnes is no man if he is not a decent one, and you let yourself find solace in that little fact as your lips widen into a smile.

“Bucky.” Your voice is sheer, grated away by the daze of satisfaction that still muddles your mind. “I am fantastic.”

A cheeky grin overtakes Bucky's lips as he crawls up your frame. 

“Fantastic, huh?”

“Hm.” You nod, cloaking his neck with your arms. “You're fantastic.”

Bucky seizes your lips in a kiss, allowing you to taste your own desire on his tongue. Moans spill out of your mouth at the delectable shove of his shaft on your wetness, cherishing the way Bucky returns each roll of your pelvis with his own, his haze-lidded mind reducing the once mighty soldier into a mess of broken whines and crushing rapture.

With a sudden tide of momentum, you push against the formidable wall of his chest, catching Bucky off guard as you send an abrupt shove that sends his back straight to the mattress.

Bucky blinks up at you, stunned, taking in the sight of your body above his, straddling his hips like they were a throne created specifically for you to sit on. His hands instinctively come up to grasp your thighs, fingers flexing against fiery skin as his gaze darkens with an avid yearning.

“Damn,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t see that one comin’, sweetheart.”

You brush your mouth against his jaw. “I can’t wait any longer, Bucky. I need you inside me.”

A responding groan rumbles from Bucky's chest the moment you start to sink down, his cock stretching you open, filling you inch by inch until the two of you are joined as one. The world outside ceases to exist as you take him in, your bodies fusing together until there is no distance separating you two, no way of knowing where Bucky ends and you begin. 

You take a speculative roll of your hips, testing the waters, finding your footing before descending on a lascivious, steady tempo. Bucky's hands are explorative on your skin, caressing down your thighs and up your hips, all while mumbling breathy curses and gentle encouragement that crackles down to your hankering core.

"That’s it, Angel," Bucky rasps, his hands squeezing the plush flesh of your backside. "So damn beautiful. Feels like you were made for me.”

“Buckyyy,” you wail, your hands bracing on top the sturdy surface of his chest. “You feel—oh! S-So—uhh—so good.”

Euphoria stumbles past your lips in a concoction of jumbled words, babbling against Bucky's chest while occasionally littering his hard panes with kisses. Every nerve ending in your body is alight, every drag of him inside you a luscious reprieve. Your entire senses are heightened with everything Bucky.

The gallant man beneath you sits up slightly, drawing you down by your neck until your foreheads are wedged against one another.

“You tired, sweetheart?” His voice is the epitome of lust, woven discreetly by a tenderness that threatens to liquefy your bones.

A breathless nod is all you can manage. Before you can fully grasp what is happening, Bucky is already taking control, wrapping you in his embrace and thrusting up into you like there is no tomorrow. Each snap of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, his name spilling from your lips over and over again like a prayer to the moon, the stars, and the universe.

“B-Bucky!” Your voice hitches. “P-Please, I want to—ahh.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on,” he urges, rough and terse, a drastic contrast to the kiss he presses to your forehead. “Give it to me.”

The pinnacle crashes over your whole being in an explosion of colors and light. A sharp cry tears from your throat as your walls tighten around him, your entire body convulsing while Bucky holds you through it, murmuring praises into your cheek and peppering soft kisses all over your face. You lose track of how long the two of you stay in that position—your face nestled safely in the crook of Bucky's neck, his hands skimming abstract patterns on the dimple of your spine. 

The room is still buzzing in the aftermath of your orgasm when Bucky gently maneuvers you onto your back, switching places with you so that he is now hovering on top of your spent body. A quiet whimper escapes your throat the moment you feel him nudge against your over-sensitive core, the aftershocks still humming through your nerves like the echo of a symphony’s final crescendo.

Bucky notices immediately, his lips curving into a smirk as he brushes a hand down your cheek. “Too much, sweetheart?”

You swallow an empty air, the heat returning to your belly at the way Bucky is looking at you, like he is not nearly done devouring your body, mind, and soul. Still, he waits, his breath warm against your lips as his vibranium fingers stroke slow circles along your outer thigh.

“I know you’ve got one more in you,” he coaxes, sprinkling teasing kisses to your jaw, your throat, and the curve of your shoulder. “But I need to hear you say it, Angel. You want this?”

Despite the delicious ache between your legs—the overstimulation still singing beneath numerous layers of your skin—you don’t hesitate. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him grunt.

“Yes,” you whisper, breath staggering when he moves his hips against yours. “Please, Bucky. I need you.”

Your confirmation is all he needs.

With a low, unruly sound, Bucky slams back into you, his restraint disintegrating as he buries himself to the hilt. This time, there is no leisure buildup—just raw, unadulterated need that ignites the blood coursing through your arteries. His rhythm is frantic and desperate, his hands bruising your waist like he needs to hold onto something real before he completely loses himself deeper in the bliss.

“Fuck. You're so tight, sweetheart. So warm and wet,” he groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “You feel perfect around me.”

You gasp at the thickness of him, the drag of each ridge of his length against your tender walls. Bucky is pounding relentlessly into you as he chases after his own release; the air between you thick with heat, with the sound of your bodies moving in an erotic, exquisite harmony.

“Oh, Bucky. Feels s-so good. So big.” You meet each of his thrusts eagerly, your body welcoming him as if the two of you were always meant to be one. “That's it. Ah, ah, t-take what you need, baby.”

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his movements turning erratic as he barrels toward the edge. Your walls shudder around him, making him stutter in his rhythm. 

“Grippin’ me like a vice, sweetheart.” Bucky's eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched as his gaze finds yours. “Can't last long. Gonna—fuck. Shit, shit, m’ gonna cum.”

You pull him down into a frenzied kiss, pouring every ounce of your need into him, letting him listen to the way your blood, your organs, and every other thing inside you chant his name like a prayer recited in reckless devotion.

Bucky trembles as he reaches his peak, spilling everything he has to give into the deepest crevice of your heat, his body tensing before melting into a pliable mass above you. A broken moan catches in your throat as the pleasure pummels into you once more, your limbs clinging to him with whatever bit of strength remains in the fragmented pieces of your body.

For a while, there are no words spoken between the two of you. Just the shared intakes of your breaths, the soft press of Bucky’s lips against your temple, and the grounding strokes of his fingers tracing along your skin. 

You shift slightly beneath him, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, and what you find there steals what little breath you have left—something reverent, something vulnerable. His thumb brushes over your cheek before he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle and profound, a stark polarity to the frantic passion that has consumed you moments prior.

Bucky exhales a quiet chuckle once he withdraws, resting his forehead on top of yours.

"Christ, Angel," he mutters hoarsely, his voice strained with exhaustion and something unguarded. "You're gonna be the death of me.”

You hum, an appeased smile decorating your lips as you thread your fingers through his damp hair.

When Bucky finally pulls out, the absence of him leaves you aching and remarkably empty. Your body, already boneless from exhaustion, instinctively reaches for him, fingers grazing over his flesh hand in an attempt to search more of the warmth he naturally emits. Bucky chuckles, low and affectionate, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the clammy skin of your forehead.

"Stay put, sweetheart. Gotta take care of you," he says before putting on his boxer and disappearing into the bathroom.

Bucky returns a moment later with a damp towel in hand. He goes to kneel beside you, his touch reposeful as he cleans you up with a forbearing care.  The first press of the cloth against your sensitive core has you sucking in a breath, a whimper slipping free before you have the mind to stop it from resonating in the air. Bucky’s gaze flicks up at the sound, concern knitting his eyebrows as his hand stills above your pelvis.

“Easy, Angel,” he soothes, trailing a hand up your thigh in a comforting caress. “I know what you're gonna say. But you took me so damn well. Gotta make sure you don’t wake up hating me in the morning.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes despite the fond smile wresting your lips. “Pretty sure I already hate you a little.”

Bucky's responding beam is radiant, his chest deflating in the assurance that you are okay—or at least, okay enough to still have the fire to put him in place—before tossing the used towel onto the floor where it lands with the other discarded fabrics of your clothes.

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head, flumping beside you on the bed and gathering you in his arms. “You love me.”

You sigh in contentment the second Bucky's arms surround you, keeping you pressed to his side and pulling the covers over both of your satiated bodies. You fit against him like two conjoined puzzle pieces, like you were always destined to lie in each other's arms and slot perfectly into the apertures of each other's lives. Bucky’s flesh hand finds your right palm on his chest, bringing it to his lips to fleck tiny kisses across each knuckle, the matching golden bands wrapped around your ring fingers glinting against one another.

Something in the cerulean blue of his eyes shifts. By the next time you blink, Bucky is already claiming your lips in a kiss so compassionate you fear your heart might burst from the sheer ferocity of it. 

When he pulls back, Bucky is grinning, utterly smitten as he nuzzles his nose to the apple of your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, Angel,” Bucky murmurs, his voice heavy with selfless devotion and helpless exaltation. “I love you.”

A slow smile spreads across your lips, your nose wrinkling in happiness as you return, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Your wedding bands catch the dim lighting of the bedside table lamp as Bucky laces his fingers through yours—sure and steady, a silent vow renewed without the necessity of spoken words. He exhales deeply, thoroughly at peace, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of his love, knowing with absolute certainty that there is nowhere else in the world you would rather be.

Nowhere but here, in the safety of your husband's arms, where your heart has always meant to stay.

[homeslices]

Husband! Kento x fem!reader

A/N: Sorry I dropped off the face of the Earth again lol. Also sorry if this isn’t amazing I’m a little rusty.

Pairings: Kento Nanami x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut

Mdni

Word Count: 600

Husband! Kento who absolutely adores when his wonderful wife brings his lunch to his office when he completely forgot it at home.

Husband! Kento who can’t help but give you a sweet kiss to show his appreciation, I mean you went all out of your way to bring it to him, why shouldn’t he make his thanks known?

Husband! Kento who turned that sweet kiss, into two, then into three, and that led to your current situation of being bent over his desk, paper scattered everywhere, and your very dear husband roughly fucking you from behind.

“Ken!” you squeal.

Kento’s body was almost crushing you, covering yours completely as his cock pistoned in and out of you so fast, you could barely comprehend anything other than the thought, the feeling of him.

His hand moved quickly, shoving his middle and ring fingers in your mouth effectively gagging you.

“Shhh sweetheart,” Kento's lips brush against your ear. “You have to be quiet or someone out there might hear.”

Your watery, unfocused eyes immediately travel towards the locked door, which was the only thing keeping what Kento and you were doing private. The thought of someone in your husbands’ office finding out about the two of you being intimate was terrifying, but at the same time you couldn’t help but clench around Kento.

His hips stutter and he couldn’t help but let out a satisfied groan.

“You’d like that? You like the idea of someone out there knowing your being fucked dumb on your husbands cock?”

All you could do is desperately nod as the sound of skin slapping skin grows louder.

“What was that honey? I couldn’t hear you.”

A gagged “mhm” miraculously made it out of your lips, to which your husband only chuckled. Kentos hips roughly roll and you let out a choked moan as his hits that spongy spot inside.

“Is that the spot?”

The tip of his cock begins to brush against your g-spot over and over again. You claw at the edge of the desk barely able to hold yourself together as muffled whines make it past your husband's fingers.

At this point Kento gave up on keeping you quiet and decided to hold both of your hips tight enough that you’ll probably have bruises afterwards.

You were so close, writhing beneath Kento you could feel it building, and building, and finally, it snapped.

Your eyes roll back in ecstasy and your jaw drops in a silent scream as you tighten around Kento’s cock, and when his hips stutter you knew that he was finished too.

Kento lets out a growl as he empties himself in you, slowing his movements as he pumped his release into you.

Your head felt light as you leisurely came back down from your orgasm and the feeling of Kentos lips pressing against the back of your neck made you shutter slightly.

“You alright sweetheart?”

His voice cuts through the now quiet office. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you try to formulate a response.

“Yeah,” voice horse, you take a moment to clear it. “Yeah I’m alright.”

Kento hums as he carefully reaches down and pulls up your panties, effectively trapping the cum that has started to drip out of your now drenched cunt.

You take a deep breath to finally stand up and fixing your clothes that had, in fact, gotten wrinkled during your activities. Your husband took the time to fix your hair while you did so and once you both finished, gave you another kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you for lunch, my dear wife.”

[kiwriteswords]

could we get hotch flirting with shy reader but hotch is rusty and out of the dating scene for so long so ultimately doesn't come across as fliriting to reader, so he has to eventually be bold about it?

Sweet Beginnings

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This sweetness got away from me!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Female Reader

Word Count: 16.6k

Tags/Warnings: Feminine Reader, Shy Reader, Soft and Romantic Smut, Mainly Fade to Black Smut, Romantic Hotch, Hotch in his Courting Masculine Energy, Non-BAU Reader, Bottle of Wine is Mentioned, Romance!! Fluff!!! Enamored Flirty Hotch!!

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner wasn’t one to indulge in leisurely distractions, but a small coffee shop called Sweet Beginnings—and its gentle, shy owner—quickly became a quiet escape from his chaotic life.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one to take advice on leisure activities—especially not from Penelope Garcia. But the way she raved about a little coffee and pastry shop downtown was difficult to ignore, even for someone as stoic as he was.

“It’s cozy, Hotch. The kind of place where you could breathe for a change,” she’d said with a bright smile. “And their pastries? To die for.”

He wasn’t someone particularly picky when it came to coffee or the sweet tooth he allowed himself to indulge in every now and then, but with Penelope Garcia’s dazzling review of this place, he figured he’d give it a try. 

So, one Friday morning, after dropping Jack off at school, Aaron found himself standing in front of the quaint café. The sign above the door read Sweet Beginnings in elegant, hand-painted script. The soft glow from inside beckoned him in, along with the faint smell of coffee and freshly baked goods.

The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The shop was warm, decorated with mismatched chairs and tables that gave it a homey feel. Aaron noted the shelves of books and plants along the walls the hum of soft music in the background. It was quiet but alive, much like the woman behind the counter.

You greeted him with a soft smile, barely meeting his eyes as you handed a cup of coffee to the customer ahead of him. Aaron noticed the delicate way you moved, the way your hands wrapped around the mug to steady it as you passed it over. When it was his turn, you offered him the same gentle smile, your voice barely above a murmur.

“Good morning. What can I get for you?”

Aaron had prepared to order the first thing on the menu, but something about you—your calm demeanor, the way your shyness didn’t feel like a wall but an invitation to be gentle—made him pause.

“What do you recommend?” he asked, his tone softer than usual.

You hesitated for a moment as though surprised he’d asked for your opinion. “Um, the vanilla latte is popular… and the lemon scones are fresh today.”

“Then I’ll have those,” Aaron replied, watching the way your face lit up just slightly, like you were proud of your recommendation but too modest to show it outright.

He didn’t expect to find himself at Sweet Beginnings again so soon, but the following Monday, Aaron walked in and ordered the same thing. Over time, his visits became routine—part of the rhythm of his mornings when he wasn’t rushing to a case.

Aaron learned small things about you through your brief conversations. You’d opened the shop a couple of years ago, pouring your heart into creating a space that felt warm and safe. You loved reading, often leaving books on the counter to mark your place. You had a quick wit, though you always seemed surprised when someone caught onto it. And you were so gentle, in a way that Aaron found himself appreciating more and more.

He’d never thought of himself as someone easily captivated, but there was something about you that lingered with him long after he left the shop. The soft way you said his name when you finally learned it, the way your shyness made you blush when he asked about your favorite book—it all stayed with him.

Aaron Hotchner had always been a man of precision. In the field, his words were measured, deliberate, carefully chosen to achieve the best outcome. Flirting, he realized, was a wholly different matter. It wasn’t long before he found himself trying, though, with you—if it could even be called flirting.

At first, it was subtle—so subtle he wondered if it even registered. The first time, he complimented your coffee.

“You’re making it hard to go anywhere else for coffee,” he said one morning, his tone uncharacteristically light. He stood at the counter, his jacket slung over his arm, his tie slightly loosened from the morning rush.

You blinked at him, clearly startled, and Aaron couldn’t help but notice the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh… thank you. I’m glad you like it,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Aaron thought he saw something flicker in your expression—a glimmer of flattered surprise, maybe—but it was gone in an instant. You handed him his cup, offering him the same gentle smile you gave every customer, and he realized you either hadn’t caught on or didn’t think much of it.

But he wasn’t one to give up easily.

A few days later, Aaron leaned casually against the counter, watching as you expertly filled a tray of pastries to restock the display. His gaze softened as he noticed the delicate precision in your movements, the way your hands handled each scone with care. When you finally turned to him, you offered your usual quiet smile, your voice tinged with curiosity.

“Same order as always?” you asked.

Aaron nodded but added, “Do you have any secrets to these scones, or are you just naturally this talented?”

You tilted your head at him, confused at first. Then your lips curled into a shy, almost bashful smile. “It’s the recipe,” you said, your tone light but modest. “I just follow it.”

He couldn’t help the faint chuckle that escaped him. “Somehow, I don’t believe that. There’s a level of care here you don’t find in most places.”

Again, your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, as if unsure how to respond. Aaron took his coffee with a quiet thanks and left, wondering if he’d ever get more than your polite deflections.

One morning, as you handed him his cup, Aaron noticed something different. Written on the sleeve was a simple, hand-drawn smiley face alongside the words, Have a great day! It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tug at something deep in his chest.

He looked up, catching your eyes. “A smiley face?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His lips quirked into a subtle smile.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard. “Oh, um… I’ve been doing little notes for regulars,” you said quickly, your words slightly rushed. “I thought it might brighten someone’s day.”

“It does,” Aaron said warmly. “Thank you.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip in a way that made his chest tighten. He thought he saw your shoulders relax slightly, but you quickly busied yourself with the next customer, leaving him to wonder if he was imagining things.

Over time, Aaron became bolder—or at least, as bold as he could manage within the confines of a café conversation. He tried humor one day, when you handed him a blueberry muffin instead of his usual lemon scone.

“A deviation from the usual?” he asked, lifting the bag and raising an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you looked panicked. “Oh! I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m joking,” Aaron said quickly, his voice warm. “I trust your judgment.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but genuine. “I just thought you might like to try something different,” you admitted, your fingers brushing nervously against the counter.

He smiled, noticing how your shyness made you fidget. “Then I’m sure I will,” he replied. “Thank you.”

The more he tried, the more he realized you weren’t picking up on his intentions. Or maybe you were, and you didn’t believe them. Either way, Aaron found himself at an impasse. 

It was a rare moment of stillness in the bullpen, the team gathering themselves after wrapping up a grueling case. Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, papers in front of him, though his focus had shifted to the cup of coffee in his hand. The familiar, comforting aroma wafted up as he took a sip.

“Alright, Aaron,” Rossi’s voice cut through the quiet, drawing Aaron’s gaze upward. The older man leaned casually against the doorframe to his office, arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been walking in here every morning with that same cup. It’s not just coffee, is it?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come on,” Rossi chuckled, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. “You’re not the type to spend almost ten bucks on a latte every day just for the caffeine. You’re going to that little shop downtown, aren’t you? Sweet Beginnings, or whatever it’s called?”

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’ve never been a hipster coffee shop kind of guy,” Rossi said matter-of-factly, gesturing toward the cup. “So unless they’re serving something laced with gold, I’m guessing it’s not about the coffee. Am I right?”

Hotch let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “You have too much time on your hands.”

Rossi grinned, pulling up a chair. “You’re deflecting. So, who is she?”

“Who says it’s about anyone?” Aaron countered, though his slight shift in posture betrayed him.

“Because I know you,” Rossi said, leaning forward. “And I know that look. You’ve got someone on your mind, and I’d bet a week’s salary it’s not the barista’s latte art skills.”

Aaron let the silence linger for a moment before finally relenting. “She’s the owner,” he admitted, his voice low. “She’s... shy, gentle. There’s something about her I can’t quite put into words.”

Rossi nodded knowingly. “Ah, and let me guess—you’ve been trying to make a move, but she’s not picking up on it?”

Aaron hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve tried to show interest. Compliments, humor, the usual... but either she doesn’t notice, or she’s just not interested.”

“Well, have you considered that she might just be too shy to believe you’re serious?” Rossi asked, leaning back in his chair. “If she’s as gentle as you say, she probably doesn’t think a guy like you would be interested in her.”

Aaron frowned slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Hotch. You’re smart, successful, and intimidating as hell when you want to be. A lot of women would think twice before assuming you’re flirting, especially someone shy,” Rossi explained with a knowing look. “You might need to be a little more... direct.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow. “Direct?”

“Yeah,” Rossi said, leaning forward. “Tell her how you feel. No games, no subtle hints. Women like her appreciate honesty. She’s probably too busy overthinking to pick up on your breadcrumbs.”

Aaron considered this, his gaze dropping to the cup in his hand. He’d been dancing around the idea for weeks now, unsure if it was the right move. But Rossi’s words carried weight—as they always did.

“And what if she’s not interested?” Aaron asked after a moment.

“Then you’ll know,” Rossi said simply. “But from the way you’re talking about her, I’d say it’s worth finding out.”

Hotch nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, Dave.”

Rossi stood, patting him on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Just don’t wait too long. Life’s short, my friend. And good coffee? Even shorter.”

Aaron Hotchner stood outside Sweet Beginnings, the cool morning air brushing against his face as he gathered his thoughts. The warm light spilling out of the café windows contrasted with the nervous energy he felt—a rare sensation for someone so used to control. Rossi’s words echoed in his mind: “Tell her how you feel. No games, no subtle hints.”

He stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. It was quieter than usual, with only one other patron seated by the window. You were behind the counter, carefully arranging a fresh tray of pastries on display. The sight of you—focused, gentle in your movements—was enough to ground him, if only slightly.

You looked up at the sound of the bell, offering your usual shy smile when you saw him. “Good morning,” you said softly. “The usual?”

Hotch approached the counter, his expression softer than usual. “Not just yet,” he said, his voice steady. “I was hoping to talk to you for a moment first.”

You blinked, surprised, and set down the tray you’d been holding. “Oh… sure,” you murmured, folding your hands nervously in front of you. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Aaron said quickly, shaking his head. “I just wanted to say something that I think I haven’t been clear about.”

You tilted your head slightly, your curiosity evident despite your shyness. Aaron took a breath, his hands resting lightly on the counter.

“I’ve been coming here for a while now,” he began, his voice calm but sincere. “And while I do enjoy the coffee—and the pastries—what really keeps me coming back is you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he saw the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your apron. “M-Me?” you stammered, clearly caught off guard.

“Yes, you,” Aaron said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and there’s a warmth about you that I’ve found myself looking forward to more than I expected. I realize I might not have made that clear before, and I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

Your blush deepened, and for a moment, you looked like you weren’t sure what to say. “I… I thought you were just being nice,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought…”

Aaron’s smile grew slightly. “I wasn’t just being nice,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m interested, and if you’d like, I’d love to take you out to dinner. No coffee shop counters between us, just… us.”

You blinked up at him, your shyness warring with a hesitant excitement. “I… I’d like that,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly but full of sincerity. “I’d really like that.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Aaron felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He nodded, his smile softening. “Good. How about tomorrow night?”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, your lips curving into a shy but genuine smile.

Of course, Aaron had the perfect place in mind. He shared that with you, and you both found a time that worked. He would do whatever it took to be here to pick you up for the date. 

As Aaron left the shop that morning, he felt a rare sense of anticipation blooming in his chest. Rossi was right—honesty had been the answer. And for the first time in years, he found himself looking forward to something beyond the next case.

Aaron Hotchner stood on the sidewalk in front of Sweet Beginnings, smoothing his tie as he glanced up at the windows above the shop. The lights in one of them were on—a warm, inviting glow spilling out onto the darkening street. It was where you lived, just above the place you’d built from scratch.

He took a steadying breath and checked his watch. It was still a few minutes before the time you’d agreed on, but he couldn’t resist being early. There was a quiet kind of excitement in him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

The door to the shop opened, and there you were. For a moment, Aaron froze.

You were stunning. The soft glow from the shop lights illuminated you as you stepped onto the sidewalk, your dress simple but elegant, perfectly complementing your natural beauty. Your hair fell just right, framing your face in a way that made his heart skip. He’d always thought there was something enchanting about you—your gentle demeanor, your shy smile—but seeing you like this, he was utterly captivated.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice almost tentative as you met his eyes.

Aaron blinked, recovering quickly, though his usual composure felt shaken. “Hi,” he replied, his tone warmer than usual. “You look… beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you glanced down, your fingers brushing against the strap of your small purse. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You look really nice too.”

Aaron smiled, his chest tightening slightly at your shy response. He stepped forward, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You nodded, slipping your hand lightly into the crook of his arm. As he led you toward his car, he couldn’t help but glance at you again. You had an air of grace about you, soft and unassuming, yet it commanded his full attention.

The restaurant he’d chosen was quiet and intimate, a small Italian place tucked away in a corner of the city. Candles flickered on the tables, casting a warm glow over the room. Aaron pulled out your chair for you before sitting across from you, marveling at how effortlessly you seemed to fit into the moment despite your shy nature.

His attention was entirely on you—the way you fidgeted lightly with the edge of your napkin, the faint blush on your cheeks every time his eyes lingered a moment too long.

“So,” he began, leaning slightly forward, his voice soft but steady, “what made you want to open a coffee shop?”

You looked down at your hands, hesitating for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I always loved baking,” you said, your voice quiet but laced with sincerity. “It’s… comforting. My grandmother used to bake with me when I was little. She’d always say there was nothing a warm pastry and a cup of coffee couldn’t fix.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a small smile. “Wise advice.”

You nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips. “When she passed, I just… I wanted to create a place that felt like her kitchen. A place where people could feel safe and welcome.”

“That’s exactly what you’ve done,” Aaron said, his tone warm. “Your shop has that kind of atmosphere. It’s different from anywhere else.”

Your blush deepened, and you ducked your head slightly. “Thank you,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. “I’m glad it comes across that way.”

Aaron couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He was quickly learning how much he enjoyed making you blush—how your shy responses revealed so much about the gentle person you were.

“What about you?” you asked suddenly, your voice a little hesitant. “What… what made you want to join the FBI?”

Aaron paused, his expression softening as he considered the question. “I’ve always wanted to help people,” he said after a moment. He briefly went on to share about following in his father’s footsteps but creating his own path along the way. The way you allowed a platform for him to share so easily, the words and his own story coming out of his mouth without second thought. Something normally so foreign to him.

You nodded, your eyes thoughtful. “It must be hard, though… seeing everything you see.”

“It is,” Aaron admitted, his gaze steady. “But it’s worth it. And moments like this… they remind me there’s still good in the world.”

Your cheeks flushed again, and you looked down, unable to hold his gaze. “I don’t know if I’m really… good,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Aaron leaned forward slightly, his voice firm but gentle. “You are. You have a way of making people feel seen, even in small ways. That’s a rare gift.”

You looked up at him, your lips parting slightly in surprise. “I… I’ve never thought of it that way,” you admitted, your blush deepening.

“Maybe you should,” Aaron replied with a faint smile.

Later in the evening, as the waiter cleared your plates, Aaron took a sip of his wine, watching the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do you always blush this much?” he teased lightly, his tone warm and playful.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked down, your fingers brushing nervously against the tablecloth. “I—I can’t help it,” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and soothing. “I think it’s charming,” he said, leaning back slightly. “Though I’ll admit, I might be trying to make it happen more often.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and bashfulness. “That’s not fair,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your obvious embarrassment.

Aaron’s smile widened. “Life’s not always fair,” he said, his voice teasing. “But I’d say this moment is one of the better ones.”

You laughed quietly; the sound light and genuine, and Aaron felt a warmth spread through his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed moments like this—a simple, honest connection.

By the time the evening wound down and Aaron walked you back to your apartment, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm. Standing at your door, he couldn’t resist one last attempt to see that beautiful blush of yours.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told you, his voice low and sincere. “You’re incredible. I feel… lucky to have spent tonight with you.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep pink, and you smiled shyly, looking down at your hands. “I feel lucky too,” you said softly.

Aaron chuckled lightly, his heart swelling at your words. “Goodnight,” he said gently, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer.

“Goodnight,” you replied, your voice as soft as the warm light spilling from your doorway.

As he walked back to his car, Aaron felt something rare and undeniable. For the first time in years, he felt like he was stepping into something real, something special. And he couldn’t wait to see where it might lead.

The next morning at Sweet Beginnings began like any other for you. The familiar rhythm of grinding coffee beans, the hum of the espresso machine, and the gentle murmur of early-morning customers filled the space. But today, there was something unexpected—a delivery that arrived just before the rush.

The bouquet was stunning. Soft pink peonies, delicate white roses, and sprigs of lavender were arranged with care, their sweet fragrance filling the air as you stared at them in disbelief. Tucked among the blooms was a small card, the handwriting neat and precise.

Thank you for a wonderful evening. Looking forward to seeing you again soon. - Aaron

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you found yourself pressing the card to your chest as if the gesture could steady your racing heart. Flowers. For you. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent you flowers, much less something so thoughtful and beautiful. 

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. You tried to focus on your work, but every time you glanced at the bouquet—now proudly displayed on the counter—you couldn’t help but blush.

When Aaron walked in later that morning, his usual confident stride was accompanied by a small flicker of uncertainty. He spotted the flowers immediately, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he approached the counter.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice warm.

You turned toward him, your eyes lighting up as you smiled shyly. “Good morning,” you replied softly. “Thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

Aaron’s smile widened, and he leaned slightly against the counter. “I’m glad you like them,” he said. “I thought you deserved something as lovely as you are.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep pink, and you looked down, fiddling nervously with the edge of your apron. “I don’t… I mean, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Aaron interrupted gently, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Last night reminded me of something I haven’t felt in a long time. Romance should be… intentional. Thoughtful. And you inspire me to want to do that.”

You glanced up at him, your wide eyes filled with something between surprise and bashful gratitude. “I don’t even know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aaron replied, his gaze steady and sincere. “Just let me keep doing this—showing you how much I enjoy being with you.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, the sincerity in his expression rendering you speechless. Finally, you nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you whispered.

Aaron’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. He could feel the warmth in his chest spreading as he reached for his usual order. But today, when you handed him his coffee, your hands lingered just a moment longer than usual.

“Thank you,” you said again, your voice gentle but filled with meaning.

As Aaron left the shop, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. You’d awakened something in him—a desire to court you properly, to show you just how much you meant to him. And he couldn’t wait to see where this journey would lead.

The BAU jet cruised quietly through the night sky, the hum of the engines a familiar backdrop to the subdued conversations and occasional shuffling of papers. Aaron Hotchner sat at the small table, ostensibly reviewing case files, but his mind was elsewhere. The faint glow of his phone screen on the table seemed to taunt him as he thought about you.

The first date had gone so well—better than he had expected, even. You had been soft-spoken but so genuine, your sweetness and warmth drawing him in like a balm to the chaos he so often faced. He wanted to see you again, to plan the next date, but the timing of this case had whisked him away before he could make it happen.

“Hotch, you good?” JJ’s voice broke through his thoughts, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

He glanced up, meeting her knowing smile with a faint raise of his brow. “I’m fine,” he replied evenly, though he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“Uh-huh,” Rossi chimed in from across the aisle, his smirk already in place. “Fine enough to be lost in thought for the last hour? Let me guess, you’re not still running through case details.”

Aaron exhaled through his nose, not irritated but resigned. “Rossi, I don’t—”

“Let me guess,” Rossi interrupted with a teasing grin. “It’s got something to do with Sweet Beginnings and a certain someone who runs it.”

JJ’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, her curiosity piqued. “Wait, the coffee shop? The one with the owner Penelope’s been raving about?”

At the sound of her name, Penelope’s voice crackled through the laptop perched nearby, her face appearing on the video call. “Are we talking about her? Hotch, please tell me we’re talking about her.”

Aaron leaned back in his seat, clearly outnumbered, though a faint smile betrayed his amusement. “Yes, we went on a date,” he admitted, his voice calm but tinged with warmth.

The reaction was immediate. Penelope squealed so loudly that Spencer visibly flinched, while Rossi chuckled, clearly enjoying Aaron’s discomfort. JJ, however, leaned in slightly, her expression soft and encouraging.

“And?” JJ prompted gently.

“And it was… wonderful,” Aaron admitted after a pause. “But we didn’t make plans for a second date before I left for this case. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

“That’s an easy fix,” Rossi said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Shoot her a message. Let her know you’re thinking about her and that you want to see her again. Simple.”

“Penelope?” JJ interjected, turning to the laptop.

“Oh, he doesn’t need my help,” Penelope said, waving her hand dramatically. “Hotch has his own kind of charm—direct and a little broody, but it works. Just don’t overthink it, sir. She’ll swoon no matter what.”

Aaron shook his head with a faint chuckle, pulling his phone closer. He didn’t need much convincing. The thought of reaching out to you felt natural, not something to agonize over.

As the team’s chatter faded into the background, Aaron composed the message, keeping it simple but meaningful:

Hi. I’ve been thinking about you and how much I enjoyed our evening together. When I’m back, I’d love to take you out again—if you’re free, of course.

After rereading it once, he hit send, the faint hum of anticipation settling in his chest. He placed the phone face down on the table, not wanting to watch it, but his thoughts were already with you.

“Done?” Rossi asked, smirking as Aaron met his gaze.

“Done,” Aaron replied with a faint nod.

JJ smiled, nudging Rossi with her elbow. “Told you he didn’t need our help.”

Penelope’s delighted laugh echoed through the call. “Oh, he’s got this, JJ. We just like to cheer him on!”

Aaron rolled his eyes fondly, shaking his head. Despite the teasing, he appreciated their support. For the first time in years, the prospect of romance felt like more than just an indulgence—it felt like something real, something worth pursuing. And he couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

Aaron Hotchner spent the day chasing leads, directing the team, and piecing together profiles—but now, with the case temporarily at a lull, his thoughts had inevitably drifted back to you.

The gentle buzz of his phone pulled his attention, and he felt an inexplicable flicker of anticipation. Picking it up, he saw your name at the top of the screen, along with your response:

Hi, Aaron. I’ve been thinking about you too. I’d love to go on another date when you’re back. Just let me know when, and I’ll make sure I’m free.

Aaron exhaled slowly, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Relief? Gratitude? No—something softer. Something that warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He read the message again, letting the simplicity of your words settle over him. You’d been thinking about him. It was such a small thing, but it held so much weight. He could picture you shyly typing the message, your soft smile as you hesitated over every word. The thought brought a rare, genuine smile to his face.

He began typing his reply:

That’s perfect. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.

He paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. It wasn’t enough—not for what he wanted to convey. He deleted the last sentence and replaced it with:

That’s perfect. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

It was bold, direct—words he wouldn’t normally allow himself to say. But you weren’t like anyone else. You brought out a softness in him, a desire to be open, to let you see the man behind the stoic facade.

After hitting send, Aaron set the phone down and leaned back in his chair. The faint hum of the air conditioner in the hotel room filled the silence, but his mind was anything but quiet. He thought of your gentle smile, the way your blush deepened when he complimented you, the quiet humility in everything you did. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and intensity of his world, and yet, it felt like exactly what he needed.

A moment later, his phone buzzed again. He reached for it, his heart inexplicably light as he read your reply:

I’ve been thinking about you too. I’ve never met anyone like you, Aaron. Take your time with the case—I’ll be here when you get back.

Aaron let out a quiet breath, his lips curving into another faint smile. He allowed himself a moment to simply sit there, phone in hand, savoring the thought of you waiting for him. It was a rare feeling for him—a sense of connection, of something good waiting for him beyond the cases, the paperwork, the endless responsibilities.

He typed one final response:

Thank you. That means more to me than you know. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. Sleep well, and take care.

After hitting send, Aaron placed his phone on the nightstand and leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying until now, when the thought of you seemed to lighten the weight. For the first time in years, he felt something entirely his own to look forward to. Something real. Something good.

Aaron Hotchner stood outside your coffee shop, his hand brushing the small bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on the way over. They weren’t as grand as the first ones he’d sent you—just a handful of simple daisies and lavender tied with a ribbon—but they felt right. Thoughtful, unassuming, like you.

He exhaled a slow breath, running his fingers through his hair before stepping inside. The soft chime of the bell announced his arrival, and his gaze immediately found you behind the counter.

You looked up at the sound, your eyes lighting up when they met his. A warm, shy smile spread across your face, and Aaron felt that familiar tightening in his chest, the one that had been there since your first date.

“Aaron,” you greeted softly, wiping your hands on your apron before stepping closer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied, his voice softening in a way it rarely did. He extended the flowers toward you, his lips curving into a faint smile. “For you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush crept up your cheeks as you took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the petals. “Thank you.”

Aaron watched as you carefully set the flowers in a vase behind the counter, your touch so gentle it almost made him smile again. He’d spent years in a world where gentleness felt like a luxury, and yet, with you, it seemed so effortless.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady but warm.

You nodded, untying your apron and grabbing your bag. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Aaron said, his tone light but firm, and he was rewarded with the smallest laugh from you as you followed him out the door.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. Aaron had chosen a quiet spot just outside the city—a garden restaurant with fairy lights strung across trellises and the soft sound of live acoustic music in the background. He led you to a secluded table near the fountain, the glow of the lights reflecting in your wide, curious eyes.

“This is… beautiful,” you said softly, your gaze sweeping over the setting before landing back on him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” Aaron replied simply, his gaze steady on yours.

Throughout the meal, the conversation flowed easily. You talked about your day, about the customers at the coffee shop, and how you’d been experimenting with new pastry recipes. Aaron listened intently, his expression softening as he watched you.

“And what about you?” you asked at one point, tilting your head slightly. “How was the case?”

“It went well,” Aaron said, his tone measured. “But it’s nice to be back. To be here with you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down at your plate, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really good at making me blush,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve noticed,” he said, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “I think I enjoy it.”

You laughed lightly, the sound like music to his ears, and for a moment, he reveled in how at ease you made him feel.

Aaron walked you to your apartment door, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a warm hue over the quiet street. The evening had been perfect—dinner, conversation, and the kind of connection he hadn’t felt in years. Now, standing outside your door, he found himself reluctant to let the night end.

You turned to face him; your bag clutched lightly in one hand as you offered him a shy smile. “I really had a wonderful time tonight,” you said softly, your voice carrying the same gentle warmth that had captivated him since the moment he met you.

“So did I,” Aaron replied, his voice low but steady. He took a small step closer, his hands tucked into his coat pockets as his gaze softened. “Thank you for letting me take you out again.”

Your blush deepened, and you glanced down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I… I really like spending time with you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you know that.”

Aaron’s chest tightened at your words, and for a moment, all he could do was take in the sight of you—the way the faint pink in your cheeks mirrored the soft glow of the lights, the way your fingers fidgeted nervously with the strap of your bag.

“I do,” he said softly, his voice holding an honesty that surprised even himself. “And I feel the same way.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something else, but no words came. Instead, your gaze flickered to his lips for the briefest of moments before darting away, your shyness making you retreat a half-step.

Aaron caught the hesitation and knew he had to be the one to bridge the gap. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, his movements careful and measured, giving you every chance to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

Your breath hitched as the space between you closed, and then his lips met yours—soft, warm, and full of unspoken promises.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he were afraid to shatter the quiet intimacy of the moment. But when he felt you lean into him, your fingers brushing lightly against his coat sleeve, he allowed himself to deepen it just slightly, his hand coming up to rest lightly on your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, his thumb brushing softly along your jawline. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“For what?” you asked softly, your voice still trembling slightly from the kiss.

“For trusting me,” Aaron replied, his gaze meeting yours. “And for letting me be here with you.”

Your shy smile returned, and you shook your head lightly. “I should be thanking you,” you whispered.

Aaron’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back, his hand lingering on yours for just a moment longer. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice warm but steady.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” you replied, your cheeks still flushed as you opened the door and disappeared inside.

Aaron stood there for a moment, the faint hint of your perfume lingering in the air. As he turned to walk back to his car, a rare sense of contentment settled over him. The kiss had been more than just a moment—it was a beginning. And he couldn’t wait to see where it would take them.

Aaron sat in his office late into the evening, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls. His tie was loosened, his jacket draped over the back of his chair. The day’s paperwork sat in a neat stack on his desk, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

He thought about you—the shy way you smiled, the soft cadence of your voice, the way you seemed to bring warmth and light into even the simplest moments. There was something about your gentle, sweet demeanor that drew him in, and made him want to do more, be more. 

Aaron had always been a man of action, of logic and order. But with you, he found himself wanting to lean into something softer, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: the romance of it all. Your femininity—delicate but unshakable—called to a side of him he hadn’t tapped into in a long time, the part that wanted to court you properly, to show you how deeply he cared.

Closing the last file of the night, Aaron leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips as an idea began to take shape. He wanted to do something special for you—something that would make you feel cherished. Not because you needed grand gestures but because you deserved to be celebrated.

He stood in the quiet bookstore, the scent of paper and leather-bound spines enveloping him as he carefully ran his fingers over the titles lining the shelves. He’d spent the day thinking about you—about the way your shy smile had lingered in his mind, about how you seemed to carry a quiet strength wrapped in gentleness. He wanted to give you something that reflected that—something meaningful, but not overwhelming.

As his fingers brushed over the spine of a beautiful, hardcover edition of one of his favorite novels, he paused. The cover was embossed with intricate details, and the pages were gilded with gold edges. He smiled to himself, knowing it was perfect. The book was a classic, timeless and heartfelt, just like you.

Later that evening, as you were tidying up Sweet Beginnings, the familiar chime of the bell startled you. You looked up to see Aaron stepping inside, his tall frame silhouetted by the glow of the streetlights behind him.

“Aaron,” you greeted, your voice soft but surprised. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he approached the counter. In his hands was a small, wrapped package.

Your eyes flicked to the gift, curiosity sparkling in your expression. “What’s this?”

Aaron placed it gently on the counter, his gaze steady but warm. “It’s for you,” he said simply. “Something I thought you might like.”

You blinked, your cheeks tinged with a faint blush as you reached for the package. Carefully unwrapping it, you gasped softly when the book came into view.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the gold edges of the pages. “Aaron, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted gently, his voice firm but kind. “It reminded me of you. Thoughtful, timeless, and more meaningful than you probably realize.”

Your blush deepened, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. Finally, you looked up at him, your shy smile softening your features. “Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “This is… perfect.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a faint smile, his chest tightening at the sight of your happiness. “I know how much you love your coffee shop and the comfort it brings people,” he said, his voice low. “This felt like something you could enjoy during those rare quiet moments.”

Your fingers clutched the book a little tighter, and you looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re… incredibly thoughtful,” you murmured, your voice almost trembling.

Aaron stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you make it easy to be,” he said softly.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the shop wrapping around you both like a warm blanket.

“I’ll let you get back to closing up,” Aaron said after a moment, his voice gentle. “But… maybe we could plan that third date soon?”

Your shy smile widened, and you nodded, the book still cradled in your hands. “I’d love that.”

Aaron left the shop that night feeling lighter than he had in years. You inspired something in him—something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. And with every step forward, he found himself wanting to match your sweetness with a depth of care and romance that felt entirely natural, entirely right.

 Aaron Hotchner turned to leave, but before he could take a step toward the door, your voice stopped him.

“Wait,” you said softly, almost hesitant.

He turned back, his eyes meeting yours, the shy smile still on your lips but now tinged with something he couldn’t quite place.

“I was just about to have a little treat before I finished up here,” you said, your voice gentle. “I was going to eat it alone, but… would you like to stay and share it with me?”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he took a step closer, his eyes warm. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your blush deepening slightly as you glanced down at the book still in your hands. “I think it’d be nice,” you murmured.

He hesitated only for a moment before pulling off his coat and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. “Then I’d love to stay.”

You disappeared into the back of the shop for a moment, leaving Aaron to settle into a chair by the counter. When you returned, you carried a small plate with two slices of pie, the golden crust gleaming under the soft light.

“It’s just apple pie,” you said, setting the plate down between you. “Nothing fancy, but it’s one of my favorites.”

Aaron picked up the fork you handed him, his gaze lingering on you as you slid into the seat across from him. “Apple pie happens to be one of my favorites, too,” he said, his tone light but warm.

You smiled, your blush deepening as you took a small bite. “Then I guess it’s perfect.”

As the two of you ate, the conversation flowed easily, though Aaron couldn’t help but watch the way you moved—so soft, so unassuming. He found himself leaning into the moment, his tone growing warmer, more teasing.

“You’re a hard person to say no to,” he said at one point, his gaze steady on yours.

You paused mid-bite, your eyes widening slightly as you glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

Aaron’s lips curved into a faint smile. “The way you asked me to stay just now. I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to something so… sweet. How could I say no to that?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down at your plate, fiddling with your fork. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” you murmured.

“You didn’t,” Aaron assured you, his voice low but firm. “In fact, I’m glad you did. Spending time with you—it’s the best part of my day.”

You froze for a moment, your fork clattering lightly against the plate as you looked up at him, your wide eyes shimmering with emotion. “You… really mean that?”

Aaron leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I do,” he said softly. “You’re… remarkable. And I don’t just mean because of how kind and thoughtful you are. It’s not something I’ve experienced in a long time.”

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. “I don’t even know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aaron replied, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “But I hope you know how much I enjoy being here with you.”

The two of you sat there for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the shop wrapping around you both. Aaron could see the way your blush deepened, how your fingers nervously brushed against the edge of the table. It was endearing, and he found himself wanting to put you at ease in the only way he knew how.

“By the way,” he said, his tone turning playful, “if this is how you usually spend your evenings, I might have to make a habit of stopping by after hours.”

You laughed softly; the sound light and genuine, and Aaron felt a rare warmth spread through his chest. “I wouldn’t mind that,” you said shyly, your eyes meeting his again.

Aaron’s smile widened, and as he took another bite of pie, he realized that this moment—simple, unassuming, and shared with you—was everything he’d been looking for without even knowing it. For the first time in years, he felt completely at ease, entirely himself. And he couldn’t wait to see where this quiet, growing connection would take them.

Aaron took his last bite of pie, savoring the sweetness, but his attention was fully on you—the way your smile lingered, your cheeks still faintly flushed from his earlier words. You glanced at him shyly, your fork toying with the crumbs on your plate.

“I think you might be dangerous,” Aaron said suddenly, his voice low and teasing.

You looked up at him, startled. “Dangerous?”

He leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yes. You’ve got me sitting here in a coffee shop at the end of a long day, forgetting entirely about the rest of the world.” His dark eyes softened as they lingered on yours. “I think I could get used to this.”

Your blush deepened, and you bit your bottom lip, unsure how to respond. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a nervous laugh.

Aaron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he lowered his voice. “It’s a very good thing. You make everything feel… easier. Brighter.”

You blinked, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before,” you admitted, your tone almost too soft to hear.

“Well, someone should have,” Aaron said gently. His voice was steady, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made you look up again. “Because it’s true. And you deserve to hear it.”

The quiet weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, the air seemed charged with something unspoken. You fidgeted slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the plate before you finally gathered the courage to speak.

“You’re… different than I thought you’d be,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re so serious at first, but then… you say things like that, and I don’t know what to do.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’m still serious,” he said, leaning a little closer, his eyes crinkling with a rare smile. “But you make it hard to keep my guard up.”

Your breath hitched, and you felt the heat rising to your cheeks again. “I… don’t know what to say to that,” you whispered.

“Then don’t say anything,” Aaron replied softly. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression shifting slightly—something warmer, more vulnerable. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll keep saying these things. Because I want you to know how I feel.”

You blinked at him, your heart racing at his words. “Aaron, I—”

Before you could finish, the sharp chime of your shop’s clock broke the moment, announcing the late hour. You glanced at it, startled. “Oh, it’s so late… I didn’t even realize.”

Aaron smiled, standing and grabbing his coat. “It is late,” he agreed, his tone still warm. “I should let you finish closing up.”

You stood as well, walking him toward the door, your hands twisting nervously in front of you.

Aaron paused at the door of the shop, his coat draped over his arm, his hand lingering on the handle. He didn’t want to leave—not yet. Not when the air between you felt so charged, so full of something unspoken.

“Thank you again,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edges of your sleeves as if to steady yourself.

Aaron turned back to face you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he said gently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m the one who should be thanking you—for tonight, for letting me see this side of you.”

Your cheeks flushed, but instead of looking away as you usually did, you stepped a little closer. There was a flicker of resolve in your gaze, something shy but daring, and it caught Aaron off guard.

“Aaron,��� you began, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking about this all night—about you.”

His breath hitched slightly, his posture straightening as he watched you, waiting.

“You’re kind and thoughtful and… everything I didn’t think someone like you would be,” you continued, your blush deepening. “And it’s making it really hard to not want to kiss you right now.”

Aaron blinked, stunned for a moment by your boldness. His lips parted slightly, and then a warm, genuine smile spread across his face—a rarity for him, but one that felt entirely natural in this moment.

“Then don’t stop yourself,” he said softly, his voice low and inviting.

Your breath caught, but before your nerves could take over, Aaron closed the space between you, his hand brushing gently against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was soft at first, tentative—like he was memorizing every small detail. But when he felt you relax into him, your hands lightly gripping the front of his shirt, he let himself deepen it just slightly, his other hand settling lightly on your waist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his dark eyes searching yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that tonight,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty.

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers still clutching his shirt. “I thought I was imagining it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You… being interested in me.”

Aaron shook his head slightly, his thumb brushing along your jawline. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he confessed. 

Your cheeks flushed again, but this time, you didn’t look away. Instead, you surprised him again, your boldness returning. “Well, if that’s the case, you should probably kiss me again,” you said, your tone soft but teasing.

Aaron chuckled, the sound low and warm, and his smile widened as he leaned in once more. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured before his lips found yours again.

This time, the kiss lingered, filled with a quiet intensity that made the world outside the shop disappear. When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your face, he smiled at you—genuine, warm, and entirely captivated.

“I’ll see you soon?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, your smile shy but glowing. “You’d better,” you teased lightly.

Aaron chuckled again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back toward the door. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice laced with quiet promise.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” you replied, your voice filled with something hopeful and certain.

As Aaron walked out into the night, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. You had surprised him, challenged him, and made him feel something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in far too long. And he couldn’t wait to see where this path with you would lead.

Days later, Aaron Hotchner stood at the door of Sweet Beginnings once again, the soft glow from the shop's windows spilling out onto the quiet street. In his hand, he carried a bottle of wine he’d picked up on his way—a thoughtful gesture for what you’d described as a more casual date tonight. You had insisted he didn’t need to bring anything, but Aaron couldn’t help himself. He wanted to show you how much he cared and how much he valued this time with you.

When you opened the door, you were already smiling, your cheeks faintly flushed from the lingering warmth of the shop’s ovens. You were dressed comfortably—a soft sweater and jeans—but to Aaron, you looked as stunning as ever.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hi,” Aaron replied, his voice warm. He handed you the bottle, and his lips quirked into a faint smile. “I thought this might pair well with dessert.”

You looked at the bottle and then back at him, “You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice grateful.

“I wanted to,” Aaron said simply, his dark eyes steady on yours.

You smiled again, setting the bottle on the counter before turning back to him. “I was thinking,” you began, your voice tinged with nervousness, “instead of staying down here… maybe we could go upstairs? It’s more comfortable.”

Aaron blinked, momentarily surprised by the invitation. He hadn’t expected you to suggest something so intimate, but the idea of seeing more of your world—of being closer to you—was one he couldn’t resist.

“If you’re comfortable with that,” he said gently, his tone leaving the decision entirely up to you.

You nodded, your smile shy but certain. “I am,” you said softly, turning toward the back staircase. “Come on.”

Your apartment was as warm and inviting as the shop below, filled with soft colors, cozy textures, and personal touches. Aaron took it all in as you gestured for him to sit on the couch, your nervous energy evident as you moved about the small space.

“I thought we could have dessert up here,” you said, your voice light but a little rushed. “I made a tart earlier, and—”

“Take your time,” Aaron said gently, cutting through your flustered tone. “It’s perfect.”

You paused, looking at him as he settled onto the couch, his expression soft and encouraging. His presence had a way of grounding you, even as the tension between you began to build.

You busied yourself in the kitchen for a moment, retrieving the tart and plates before joining him on the couch. Your hands trembled slightly as you handed him a plate, and you avoided his gaze, afraid he’d see the way your shyness warred with the growing tension between you.

“This looks amazing,” Aaron said, his voice sincere as he took a bite. “You really do have a gift.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you,” you murmured. “It’s just something I’ve always loved doing.”

Aaron watched you as you spoke, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. You could feel it—his intensity, the way he seemed to be taking in every detail. It made your heart race, the room feeling suddenly smaller.

After a few bites, Aaron set his plate down, leaning back slightly as he looked at you. “I wasn’t expecting to be invited up here,” he said softly, his tone measured but warm. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You laughed nervously, setting your own plate down. “I just thought… I don’t know. I wanted to share this part of me with you,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I know it’s not much, but it’s… mine.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aaron said, his voice low. “Like everything about you.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the tension in the room becoming palpable. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the space between you that seemed to shrink with every passing second.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you said suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” Aaron asked, his tone soft but curious.

“Say things like that,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing deeper. “You make me feel like I’m… someone else. Someone braver than I am.”

Aaron leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t need to be anyone else,” he said firmly. “You’re already more than enough.”

The air between you felt electric, the pull undeniable. Your shyness kept you rooted in place, but the growing tension was impossible to ignore. Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the edge of your sweater, your eyes darting to his lips before you quickly looked away.

Aaron noticed, his sharp instincts picking up on every subtle movement, every unspoken thought. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving you space while his own restraint was tested by the sheer pull he felt toward you.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

His words broke something in you—the careful wall you’d been holding up against the intensity of your feelings. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him, your voice trembling but bold.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. “I just don’t know how to… do this.”

Aaron’s expression softened, and he reached out slowly, his hand brushing against yours. “You don’t have to know,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The tension between you was unbearable now, your shyness colliding with the desire blooming in your chest. Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward, your lips brushing softly against his.

Aaron froze for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden boldness, but then his hand came up to cup your cheek, his lips moving against yours in a kiss that was tender but filled with unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven. Aaron’s dark eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“Was that brave enough for you?” you asked softly, your voice trembling but teasing.

Aaron chuckled, the sound low and warm, and leaned in to kiss you again. His answer was clear without needing words.

The space between you small but charged. His arm rested on the back of the couch, and though he wasn’t touching you, the closeness of his presence made your skin tingle.

You had leaned back after the kiss, trying to calm your racing heart, but Aaron’s eyes hadn’t left you. His steady, dark gaze followed every nervous movement of your hands as they fiddled with the edge of your sweater, every flutter of your lashes as you avoided his intense look.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded quickly, though your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “It’s just… you.”

Aaron tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Me?”

You exhaled a shaky breath, finally daring to glance up at him. His eyes softened as they met yours, and the warmth in them gave you just enough courage to speak.

“You make me so flustered,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing even deeper. “The way you look at me… like right now. It’s… it’s overwhelming sometimes.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a faint smile, his head dipping slightly as if to meet your eyes more fully. “Overwhelming in a bad way?” he asked, his tone teasing but still gentle.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not bad. Just… I don’t know how to handle it. You make me feel like I’m about to melt when you look at me like that.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. His hand moved from the back of the couch to rest lightly on your knee, the weight of it grounding you even as your heart raced faster.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. “The way you get flustered, the way you blush when I say something—it’s… charming. Sexy, even.”

Your eyes widened, and you froze for a moment before looking away again, your fingers brushing nervously against your lap. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me sexy before,” you whispered, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Well,” Aaron said, leaning in slightly, his lips quirking into a small smile, “they should have. Because you are.”

Your breath caught, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks again. “Aaron…”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on yours. “You can tell me,” he said softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

You hesitated, the words stuck in your throat, but his patience and warmth made it impossible to hold back. “I want you,” you blurted out, your voice trembling but honest. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding… I don’t know. But I do. I really, really want you.”

Aaron’s expression shifted, his eyes darkening slightly, though his smile remained. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about that,” he said, his tone low but full of reassurance. “Hearing you say that? Knowing you feel that way? It’s… everything.”

You bit your lip, your fingers gripping your sweater tightly as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You just make me so nervous,” you admitted, your voice still trembling. “But I don’t want to be nervous. I want to be… confident. I want to be the kind of woman who can look at you and not completely fall apart.”

Aaron leaned closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “Just be you,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing lightly along your skin. “I like that you get nervous. I like that you’re shy. It makes every moment with you feel… real.”

Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching at the sincerity in his voice. “You mean that?”

“I mean it,” he said, his gaze steady. “You’re perfect just as you are. And if I’m making you melt just by looking at you…” His lips curved into a faint smirk, and his tone dropped slightly, “I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

You laughed softly, the sound breaking through your nervousness, and Aaron smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. This time, you didn’t pull away or shy away from his intensity. Instead, you let yourself lean into it, into him, feeling the tension between you shift into something warm and electric.

When the kiss ended, you rested your forehead against his, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Dangerous?” Aaron echoed, his voice filled with playful curiosity.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice tinged with teasing. “For my heart.”

Aaron chuckled again, the sound low and rich as he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I’ll have to handle it with care,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet promise.

Aaron’s forehead remained lightly pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of his hand on your cheek felt grounding, yet the tension between you still simmered, charged with an unspoken pull that neither of you could ignore.

“I mean it,” Aaron said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was low but steady, filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You don’t have to hide how you feel. Not with me.”

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against his shirt, gripping lightly as though to steady yourself. “It’s just… it’s so new,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone.”

Aaron pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His dark gaze was steady, reassuring, but there was something else in it now—a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. “Neither have I,” he admitted, his words honest and deliberate. “Not like this.”

Your eyes searched his, the sincerity in his voice making you feel both exposed and comforted all at once. “You… you make it feel easy,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Even when I’m nervous, even when I feel like I’m going to fall apart… you make it okay.”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a faint smile, his hand brushing softly along your cheek. “That’s how you make me feel, too,” he said, his voice low and warm.

The air between you thickened, the tension growing as his thumb traced slow, gentle circles against your skin. You leaned into his touch, your breath hitching as your body betrayed the restraint you were trying to hold onto.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want you to kiss me again.”

His gaze darkened slightly, and his smile softened, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he leaned in. “I’d be lying if I said I’ve wanted anything else all night,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

The kiss that followed was deeper this time, more purposeful. Aaron’s other hand rested lightly on your waist, his touch firm but not demanding. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pressing for more, but his presence alone made your skin tingle and your heart race.

You felt your shyness melting away under his attention, replaced by a slow-burning confidence that you hadn’t realized was there. Your hands moved from gripping his shirt to sliding up toward his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his sweater.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathing heavily, the silence filled with the sound of your shared breaths. Aaron’s forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes closed for a moment as though he were steadying himself.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he said softly, his voice rough with restraint. “But I can’t lie—it’s taking everything in me not to lose myself in you right now.”

Your blush deepened, but instead of retreating, you surprised yourself by speaking boldly. “I don’t want to rush either,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “But… I don’t want you to hold back, either. I want to feel this. I want to feel you.”

Aaron’s eyes snapped open, his dark gaze locking onto yours as though he were searching for any sign of doubt. But when he saw none, his lips curved into a small, almost reverent smile.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone low but steady.

You nodded, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered.

Aaron leaned in again, his kiss slower this time, more deliberate. His hands moved gently, one brushing along your back while the other cradled your face. Every touch felt like a question, and every response from you—whether it was a sigh, a soft touch, or the way you leaned into him—was an answer.

The tension between you no longer felt like a battle but a dance, one that neither of you wanted to end. For the first time, you felt yourself fully surrendering to the moment, to him, letting go of the nervousness that had always held you back.

The warmth of Aaron’s touch grounded you, even as the tension between you spiraled into something electric. His hands, steady yet gentle, moved with purpose—one cradling your cheek, the other brushing down your back, pulling you closer. Every kiss seemed to deepen the connection, erasing the space between you both physically and emotionally.

You leaned into him fully, your hands sliding over his chest and up to his shoulders, clutching him like he was the only thing tethering you to the ground. Your nervousness was still there, but it was drowned out by the intensity of the moment, by the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world.

Aaron pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing uneven as he searched your eyes. “You can tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Anytime. I need you to know that.”

You shook your head quickly, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

His gaze softened, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smile. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his tone laced with admiration. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your shyness battling with the growing desire blooming in your chest. “I… I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and pressed a kiss to your forehead before capturing your lips again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, filled with unspoken promises. His hands began to roam, exploring cautiously but with intent, and every touch sent a new wave of heat through your body.

You let out a soft gasp as his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and to the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your hands slid into his hair, your fingers curling as you tilted your head, giving him better access. The sound of your sighs, soft and breathy, seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more confident.

“Aaron,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours once again. “Say the word,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you met his gaze. “I want you,” you said softly but firmly, your hands sliding down to his chest. “All of you.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a faint smile, one filled with warmth and desire. He leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before standing, effortlessly lifting you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. The sudden motion made you laugh softly, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carried you toward your bedroom.

The tension between you reached its peak as he laid you down gently, his touch careful but sure. His gaze lingered on you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of admiration and desire that made your heart race. You reached for him, pulling him closer, and as his lips found yours again, the world around you seemed to melt away.

And then, as the night deepened, the rest was lost to the soft whispers of your names and the quiet, shared discovery of one another, every barrier between you finally falling away.

Time seemed to slow as Aaron’s lips pressed against yours, each kiss deeper, more tender than the last. His touch was reverent, like he was memorizing every curve, every sigh, every part of you that made you uniquely you. The tension between you wasn’t rushed or frenzied but deliberate, a dance of unspoken words and shared longing.

His hands, warm and steady, mapped your body like a treasured discovery. Every brush of his fingers was gentle but purposeful, igniting a warmth in you that spread like the soft glow of dawn breaking over the horizon. He treated you with a care you’d never known, as though you were something precious he’d been entrusted to protect.

Aaron’s gaze, dark and full of emotion, never left yours. Even as his lips traveled down your skin, leaving a trail of kisses that made your breath hitch, he watched you, his eyes seeking your every reaction. You felt seen in a way that made you both shy and emboldened, your body arching instinctively toward his touch.

The connection between you was unspoken but undeniable, every movement a reflection of the care and trust you’d built together. His whispered words, soft and low against your ear, sent shivers down your spine, and when he murmured your name, it sounded like a prayer.

You gave yourself to him completely, your hands exploring his strong, steady frame, marveling at the way his body responded to your touch. Each sigh, each quiet moan that escaped his lips, felt like an answer to the questions you didn’t know you were asking.

The way he held you, the way his touch lingered as though savoring every moment, made your heart swell. You’d never felt so adored, so cherished. The tenderness in his movements spoke of more than desire—it was devotion, a quiet declaration of everything he couldn’t yet put into words.

As the night deepened, you found yourself lost in him, and he in you. The world outside your small apartment faded into nothingness, leaving only the quiet rhythm of your shared breaths and the gentle hum of something deeper—something neither of you could deny.

And when the crescendo came, it wasn’t with fireworks or grand gestures but with a soft, shared sigh that spoke of contentment and connection. His forehead rested against yours, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he whispered your name one more time, his voice filled with a quiet awe that made your heart ache.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt safe, seen, and completely loved. It wasn’t just a joining of bodies—it was the start of something bigger, something that neither of you could deny. And as the night gave way to the quiet stillness of early morning, you knew that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

The first thing you noticed was the warmth—the kind that wasn’t just from the heavy quilt draped over you but from the solid presence beside you. Aaron’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand resting gently against your stomach. The steady rhythm of his breathing brushed softly against the back of your neck, grounding you in a way that felt almost surreal.

The faint golden light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Everything felt still, suspended in a quiet kind of intimacy that made you hesitant to move. For a moment, you simply lay there, your fingers brushing lightly over Aaron’s hand where it rested against you.

“You’re awake,” his voice came, low and rough from sleep.

You turned slightly, your cheeks warming at the realization that he’d caught you watching the way his fingers curled against your stomach. “I… didn’t want to wake you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “I’ve been awake for a while,” he admitted, his arm tightening slightly around you. “I didn’t want to move and risk waking you.”

The tenderness in his words made your chest ache in the best way. You turned in his arms so you could face him, your eyes meeting his. His dark hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and the faint stubble on his jaw only added to the softness in his expression.

“Hi,” you said shyly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Hi,” he replied, his own lips curving into a faint smile. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch slow and deliberate.

You looked down for a moment, your cheeks flushing under his gaze. “Last night…” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “It was… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Aaron’s thumb brushed lightly along your jawline, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. “It was perfect,” he said simply, his tone filled with quiet conviction. “Because it was you.”

Your breath hitched at the honesty in his voice, and you felt the familiar heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re too good at saying things like that,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his chest.

“I only say what I mean,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was warm, filled with the unspoken connection that had grown steadily between you. You reached up tentatively, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” you admitted softly. “Not with anyone.”

Aaron leaned into your touch, his eyes softening as he covered your hand with his. “Neither have I,” he said, his voice low but certain. “And I don’t want it to stop.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you met his gaze. “It scares me,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. “How much I feel for you. How much I… want this.”

Aaron’s hand slid down to rest against your waist, his grip firm but comforting. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice rough with honesty. “But I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time, the fear that had been lurking at the edges of your mind seemed to fade. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and when he pulled you closer, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the quiet morning light, the world outside your small apartment seeming far away. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel it fully—the hope, the joy, and the undeniable certainty that you had found something worth holding onto.

“Time for me to get up and open the shop,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “And for you to get to work.”

Aaron sighed, his grip on you loosening reluctantly. “I suppose we can’t stay here all day.”

As you slipped out of bed and began to get ready, Aaron remained stretched out, watching you with a quiet intensity. You moved around the room with a blend of shyness and ease, glancing back at him occasionally, your cheeks flushing each time you caught his gaze.

“You’re staring,” you teased softly as you tied your apron over your casual dress.

“I am,” Aaron admitted unapologetically, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. “You make it hard not to.”

Your blush deepened, but you didn’t shy away this time.

At the BAU, Aaron Hotchner checked his watch as he sifted through a mountain of case files on his desk. He was already late for a briefing with the team, his morning a whirlwind of calls and paperwork. As he stood to leave, the familiar voice of Penelope Garcia carried across the bullpen.

“Hotch! Your favorite person is here—and no, it’s not me this time!”

He glanced up, eyebrows raised, and froze for a brief moment when he saw you standing beside Garcia, a tray of coffee in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. The sight of you in his office, your shy smile softening your features, made his heart tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

You. Here. For him.

Aaron crossed the room in quick strides, his expression softening as he approached. “You didn’t have to come all the way here,” he said gently, his voice dropping to a private tone meant just for you.

“I wanted to,” you replied softly, holding out the tray. “I know you’re busy, and I thought… maybe this could make your day a little easier.”

The sincerity in your voice, the quiet thoughtfulness of the gesture, struck something deep within him. Taking the tray, his fingers brushed yours briefly, and he allowed himself a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm. “This means more than you know.”

Before he could say more, Penelope stepped in, her enthusiasm uncontainable. “And a pastry? Hotch, you’ve got a keeper!”

Aaron sighed lightly, glancing at Garcia with a faint shake of his head. “Garcia,” he said, his tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“What?” she said innocently, gesturing toward the tray. “I’m just stating facts.”

By now, JJ and Spencer had noticed the commotion and approached, curiosity evident in their expressions. JJ gave him a knowing look before turning her attention to you.

“You must be the owner of Sweet Beginnings,” JJ said warmly, extending a hand.

Aaron watched as you took the handshake, your shy smile making an appearance again. “I am,” you said softly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’ve got good taste, Hotch,” JJ teased, her gaze flickering back to him with a grin.

Aaron felt a faint warmth creep up his neck, but he kept his expression composed. “Let’s not make this a spectacle,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge.

Spencer stepped forward next, his natural awkwardness on full display. “I’ve read about coffee shops like yours,” he began, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. “They act as community hubs, reducing isolation and fostering social interaction. It’s a fascinating model.”

Aaron’s gaze shifted to you, watching as you smiled gently at Reid’s rambling. “That’s one of the reasons I started it,” you said, your voice soft but genuine. “I wanted it to feel like a place where people could feel at home.”

Hearing you speak about your passion made Aaron’s chest tighten. He’d always admired your gentleness, but seeing you hold your own in the midst of his team—your shyness balanced by quiet confidence—made him feel something deeper, something solid.

Penelope, never one to let a moment pass without commentary, clapped her hands together. “You have no idea how much joy this brings me. Hotch hasn’t smiled this much in years, and now you’re here with coffee? You’re a saint--Hotch, can we keep her?”

Aaron gave her a sharp look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s enough, Garcia.”

You laughed softly, your blush deepening as you glanced at him. “I should probably let you get back to work,” you said, your voice still tinged with nervousness.

Aaron stepped forward slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I’ll walk you out.”

He led you toward the elevator, the rest of the team’s chatter fading into the background. When you reached the doors, Aaron turned to face you fully, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you—your shy smile, the faint blush still lingering on your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “For coming here. For this.” He gestured toward the coffee tray still in his hand.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, though your smile told him otherwise.

“It’s not,” Aaron replied firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve made my day better in more ways than one.”

The elevator doors opened, and you hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. “I’ll see you soon?” you asked softly, your eyes meeting his.

“You will,” Aaron said, his voice steady but warm.

As the doors closed and you disappeared from view, Aaron stood there for a moment, the coffee tray still in his hands. His morning had started as chaos, but now, with the simple gift of your presence, everything felt lighter.

He returned to his desk, Penelope’s teasing grin already waiting for him. But as he sipped the coffee you’d brought, Aaron couldn’t help but think about how seamlessly you’d begun to fit into his life—and how much he wanted to keep it that way.

The weeks that followed were a blur of quiet mornings, shared laughter, and the slow, steady building of something undeniable between Aaron Hotchner and you. Each date felt like peeling back another layer, revealing more of who you both were beneath the carefully constructed walls life had required you to build.

Aaron found himself drawn to your world—the warm, comforting atmosphere of your coffee shop, the way you spoke about your love for creating a place where people could feel at home. He loved the way your cheeks flushed when he surprised you with flowers or when he praised your baking. You, in turn, found yourself mesmerized by the way Aaron balanced his intensity with softness, his protectiveness with vulnerability. He opened up to you in ways you knew were rare, sharing pieces of his past, his fears, and his hopes for the future.

The intimate moments between you grew, each one deepening the connection. There were stolen kisses in the quiet of your apartment, his hands gentle but firm as he pulled you closer. There were late-night phone calls when his cases kept him away, his voice low and soothing as he talked to you about everything and nothing. There were mornings where he lingered at your shop before work, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of you bustling behind the counter.

Your shyness began to ease in his presence, replaced by a quiet confidence that bloomed under his care. Aaron, in turn, found himself leaning into the romance of it all—bringing you small gifts that reminded him of you, planning thoughtful dates where he could watch your eyes light up, and holding you close as though afraid to let go.

It wasn’t long before you both realized the depth of what was forming between you. Love, quiet and sure, began to weave its way into your lives. And while neither of you said the words out loud just yet, it was clear in the way he looked at you, in the way you reached for him, and in the way you both felt when you were together: like you had finally found a home in each other.

The day you met Jack was unassuming but transformative for Aaron. He had been nervous, more than he cared to admit, as he brought his son to your coffee shop one sunny Saturday morning. Jack, curious and wide-eyed, had taken to you immediately, charmed by your gentle demeanor and the way you spoke to him with such genuine care. 

You had knelt to his level, offering him a cookie you’d saved for him and asking about his favorite games with such ease that it made Aaron’s heart ache. Watching the two of you laugh together over a shared joke—or seeing Jack cling to your hand as you guided him behind the counter to show him the “secret bakery magic”—solidified something deep within Aaron. 

In that moment, he saw not only how naturally you fit into his world but how much joy you brought to his son’s life as well. It was as if a missing piece he hadn’t realized he was searching for had finally clicked into place, and for the first time in years, Aaron allowed himself to hope for a future filled with the love and warmth you brought so effortlessly into their lives.

The soft hum of the heater filled the quiet of your apartment as Aaron sat on your couch, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up after a long day. The scent of tea lingered in the air, the steam curling lazily from the cup you’d placed in front of him. He felt the weight of the day still on his shoulders, but the warmth of your home—and your presence—was already easing it away.

“You wouldn’t believe the guesses I got today about the ‘secret ingredient’ in my apple tarts,” you said with a small laugh, sitting across from him in the armchair. “Cinnamon, nutmeg… someone even suggested lavender.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Lavender? In an apple tart?”

“I know,” you said, laughing as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I couldn’t tell her the truth. It’d ruin the mystery.”

Aaron watched you as you spoke, your laughter soft and genuine, the way your hands moved expressively when you got caught up in a story. It was the kind of moment he never thought he’d have again—simple, comforting, and entirely yours.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

You looked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “At what?”

“Making things feel lighter,” he replied, his gaze steady. “Easier.”

You blushed, a shy smile playing on your lips. “I think you just need more nights off.”

Aaron shook his head, his eyes not leaving yours. “It’s not about nights off,” he said quietly. “It’s you.”

The words came so easily, so naturally, that they surprised even him. He hadn’t planned to say them, but now that they were out there, he realized just how deeply he meant them.

Your blush deepened, and you ducked your head, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sweater. “Aaron…”

“Come here,” he said softly, patting the seat beside him.

You hesitated for only a moment before moving to sit next to him, leaning into his side. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was filled only with the soft ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the heater. Aaron’s fingers traced absent patterns along your arm, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he began, his voice low but steady. “But I need to tell you something.”

You turned your head slightly, your wide eyes meeting his. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his hand stilling on your arm as he searched for the right words. But then, as he looked at you—your shy smile, your gentle eyes, the quiet strength in the way you leaned into him—he realized there was no point in holding back.

“I love you,” he said, the words quiet but firm. There was no hesitation in his tone now, no doubt. “I didn’t plan to say it, not tonight, but it’s true. And I need you to know that.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you stared at him, your cheeks flushed with emotion. “You… you do?”

“I do,” Aaron said, his voice softening as his hand moved to cup your cheek. “I know it’s fast, and I don’t want to overwhelm you. But you’ve brought something into my life I didn’t think I’d ever have again. And I mean it—every word.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and a radiant smile spread across your face as you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Aaron exhaled, relief and something deeper flooding through him. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and tender, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled—a rare, genuine smile that you knew was just for you. “You make me feel like myself again,” he murmured. “Like I’m not just… getting through the day.”

“You make me feel the same way,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his jaw.

In the quiet warmth of your apartment, with your heartbeats steady and aligned, Aaron realized that he hadn’t just fallen in love with you—he had found a future he hadn’t dared to hope for. And with you in his arms, it felt as though everything in his world had finally fallen into place.

The months that followed were filled with a quiet joy that neither of you had anticipated but both of you cherished. Aaron found himself carving out moments of calm amidst the chaos of his work, prioritizing time with you in a way that felt natural, even necessary. You, in turn, opened up in ways you never thought possible, letting him see every piece of you—your dreams, your fears, your past—and finding that he met each one with unwavering patience and care.

One evening, after a long day for both of you, Aaron arrived at your apartment with Jack in tow. The boy had insisted on bringing you a drawing he’d made—two stick figures holding hands, standing in front of a coffee shop with the words “Y/N and Dad” scrawled in his careful handwriting. The look on Aaron’s face as Jack handed it to you, beaming with pride, spoke volumes. He was proud of the life you were all building together, the way you had seamlessly become a part of his and Jack’s world.

Later that evening, as Jack dozed off on your couch, Aaron helped you clean up after dinner. The domesticity of the moment struck him—his sleeves rolled up, you at the sink rinsing dishes, both of you working in quiet harmony. It wasn’t just comfortable; it was home.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Aaron asked suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You glanced over your shoulder, your brow furrowing slightly at the question. “I do,” you said softly, drying your hands on a towel. “Why?”

Aaron turned to face you, his dark eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Because I see it. With you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parting as you struggled to find the words to respond. Before you could speak, Aaron stepped closer, his hands settling lightly on your waist.

“I never thought I’d have this again,” he admitted, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “A home. A partner. Someone who makes me want to be better every single day.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, and you reached up to rest your hands on his chest. “Aaron…”

“I love you,” he said firmly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “I’ve loved you since I walked into your shop for the first time, even if I didn’t realize it then. And I’ll keep loving you—for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your tears spilled over, and you let out a soft, breathy laugh as you nodded. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I always will.”

Aaron leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The challenges of his job, the weight of his past—they didn’t disappear, but they no longer defined him. You were his future, and he was yours.

As Jack stirred on the couch, mumbling something about cookies in his sleep, Aaron pulled back with a soft chuckle. “I should probably put him to bed,” he said, his forehead resting against yours for a moment longer.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “Stay,” you said softly. “Both of you. Stay tonight.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he nodded, his heart swelling with a quiet certainty. “We’d like that,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

That night, as the three of you settled into the cozy rhythm of your home, Aaron couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something new. Not just a chapter, but an entirely different book—one filled with love, laughter, and a life he hadn’t dared to dream of until he met you. And as he held you close, with Jack asleep nearby, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[rafedarling]

can you do the puppy interview with drew starkey x actress reader plss

𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader ft rustyn starkey

summary: you and drew, and your son rustyn participate in a puppy interview, creating heartwarming chaos on set.

warning(s): english is not my native language. none, fluff and family fun.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

You start with a smile at the camera.

“I’m Drew Starkey,”

Drew adds, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as a playful corgi tugs at his shoelace.

“And I’m Rustyn Starkey!”

Rustyn proudly chimes in, his little voice filling the room.

The way he says it, with a mixture of excitement and confidence, makes the crew chuckle.

“And we’re here for…”

“A puppy interview!” you and Drew announce together while Rustyn claps his hands, his energy infectious.

Rustyn immediately gets distracted by a wiggly golden retriever puppy climbing into his lap.

“Hi, puppy!” he says, giggling as the pup licks his cheek.

Drew picks up the first card, holding it in front of him dramatically.

“Alright, first question… Who is the biggest dog lover? Drew or Y/N?”

He pauses for a second before answering with a grin.

“I’ll say both because we all love puppies!”

You nod, laughing as a dachshund pup curls up by your side.

“Okay, fair answer. But Rustyn might be the biggest dog lover here.”

Rustyn looks up from petting his puppy.

“I love them sooooo much!” he declares, making everyone on set melt.

The next card is passed to you, and you read aloud,

“What would you name this puppy if you could take it home?”

You hold up a fluffy Bernese mountain dog sitting near Rustyn.

“This one feels like a Charlie to me, big and sweet.”

Rustyn thinks for a moment before pointing to the golden retriever still snuggled in his lap.

“I’d name mine Buddy, ‘cause he’s my buddy now!”

Drew laughs, ruffling Rustyn’s hair.

“Buddy’s a solid name. I’d name this little guy Rufus,” he says, gesturing to a dachshund sniffing around his lap.

“He looks like he’s up to something.”

“Dada, can we take them all home?” Rustyn asks, his big eyes looking up at Drew.

You and Drew exchange a knowing glance, both trying not to laugh.

“We’ll see, buddy,” Drew says, grinning.

“But let’s finish the interview first, okay?”

The next question is read by Drew.

“Who’s more likely to sneak the puppy treats?”

“Dada,” Rustyn answers immediately, giggling.

Drew raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, guilty. But you’d sneak them, too, wouldn’t you, Rusty?”

Rustyn looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, but only if the puppies are really good.”

“That’s my boy,” Drew says, laughing as a corgi puppy climbs onto his lap.

The crew brings out more puppies, creating a delightful chaos as they run around the set. One pup grabs a squeaky toy, making Rustyn laugh so hard he falls back onto the couch.

“Alright, next question!” you say, trying to regain focus.

“Who’s more likely to cry if the puppy gets hurt or sick?”

You, Drew, and Rustyn all point at each other simultaneously, which sends everyone into fits of laughter.

“No way, it’s Dada,” Rustyn insists, his tiny finger pointing directly at Drew.

“You cried when we saw the movie about the dog!”

Drew laughs, trying to defend himself.

“It was an emotional movie! And don’t act like you didn’t cry too, bud.”

Rustyn shrugs, giggling. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Let’s just agree that we’d all be emotional wrecks if anything happened to these little guys.”

The final question comes up, and you hand the card to Drew. He reads it aloud.

“What’s one quality in each other that would make you amazing dog parents?”

Drew pauses, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“You’re so patient and loving. You make everything, whether it’s taking care of Rustyn, the dogs, or me, feel effortless. And I know you’d raise the most well-behaved dogs in the world… somehow.”

You feel your heart swell but quickly focus on him.

“And you’re the most hands-on dad and partner I’ve ever seen. You’d be out there training the dogs, playing with them, and making sure they’re spoiled with love. They’d be the happiest pups ever.”

Rustyn looks between the two of you.

“And I’d give them hugs and kisses every day!”

“We know you would,” you say, pulling him close for a quick kiss on the head.

As the interview wraps up, Rustyn is lying on the floor with three puppies cuddling around him, his giggles filling the set. You and Drew watch, smiling at each other.

“Mommy, Dada can we take Buddy home, please?” Rustyn pleads, his eyes shining with hope.

Drew looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think, Mama?”

You laugh, knowing the answer was already decided the moment Rustyn named the puppy.

“Alright, Buddy can come home with us.”

Rustyn cheers, throwing his arms around the golden retriever.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Drew leans over to kiss your cheek, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re the best.”

As the scene fades, Rustyn’s voice rings out

“This is the best day ever!”

[bunnyhugs77]

High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

[thelastofme-l]

A 7/11 full of weed?

(Jesse x f!reader)

Word count: 7815

Summary: You and Jesse end up seeking shelter from the snow storm in a 7/11.

Warnings: fluff, dangerous temperatures, mentions of scars, friends to lovers, weed, mention of sexual abuse/trauma, yearning, smut 18+, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, happy ending, angel baby!jesse, golden boy!jesse

A/n: I need more Jesse fics and appreciation so I decided to type this up to sooth myself until I find more LOL Enjoy :)

"I thought you said the storm was gonna pass right over us?" You groaned from your horse as she trotted beside Jesse's. What started as a light snow fall turned into a blizzard in the matter of a couple hours as the two of traveled further on the patrol.

"I was being optimistic" He calls back, tucking his face further into his coat in an effort to shield himself from the weather.

"Yeah well—,” You shouted up to him over the howling wind, “Your optimism is gonna cost me my fingers"

You weren't lying. Your fingers were completely numb. The gloves you had been wearing stood no chance against the negative temperatures.

Jesse looked back at you then and you tried to make out his expression, but you could hardly see him in the white out.

He pulled his radio from his thick coat and spoke into it. You were struggling to hear him over the wind but knew he was calling back to Jackson.

"I know a place we can hold up" He yelled over, this time turning his reigns off the main path where the patrol usually stayed. "Follow me"

You didn't have to be told twice. After a couple more minutes of riding and snow hitting you in the face, buildings appeared in the distance. One that looked to be a brick building under all the snow with faded green and what looked like a 7 on the roof. The other some sort of garage, just across the way.

You watched as Jesse slid off his horse and moved toward what looked to be a garage door. You followed suit, feeling like needles were shooting through your body as you landed on the ground. Fuck.

You stood next you him, watching as he brushed the fresh fallen snow away to expose a rusty handle. You gripped the cold metal next to his hands and attempted to open it with your combined strength. It wouldn’t budge.

"Fuck" He groaned, standing at full height and smacking at the door in frustration, “It's frozen shut"

You glanced at the horses, knowing they were just as cold and could freeze to death if they didn’t get out of the weather soon, "Jesse, what are we gonna do?"

The snow whipped around between to the two of you, swirling white dust clouding your line of sight.

He thought quickly, kicking hard at the latch of the door before moving along the left side and doing the same. It seemed to be working, you could hear the ice cracking.

You copied him on the opposite side of the door, trying to kick hard despite the cold, shooting pain. When he tried the door again, it slid up with ease, exposing a small garage with concrete floors and bales of straw in the corner. It was bare and still cold but it would have to do.

You grabbed the reigns of both horses and ushered them inside as Jesse ripped at a square bale and tossing chunks in front of the animals. Once there was a generous amount left out he was rushing again.

"Follow me" He called again, pulling you away from the horses and back out into the snow. He pulled the door down, closing it tightly before running straight for the other building. Once at the door he moved a large piece of wood before pushing you inside.

You could've never prepared for the sight before you, no matter how distracted by the cold. Marijuana plants lined the inside. To the right of the door hung dried leaves and jars on shelves. There was supplies everywhere for the plants and just pass them in the back of the building was a wood burner that Jesse was already squatted in front of, trying to get it up and running.

All of the once clear windows were painted black and faded, however still preventing anyone from looking in.

"Am I fuckin' hallucinating?"

"Maybe–" Jesse was rushing around the room, moving pass you to the door you'd come in and locking it with another piece of wood that was sat off to the side. He set it in place and pushed on the door insuring it was locked before walking pass you again, "Do you see a 7/11 full of weed?"

"Uh huh" You mumbled, nodding your head as you reached out and touch one of the dry leaves.

"Then no" He said simply.

"Are we safe in here?" You asked, snapping out of your utter surprise as an overgrown tree scratched against one of the windows. Jesse moved back in front of the wood burner, fiddling with the knob again before it ignited.

"Never had an issue with raiders or infected, no one knows this place," He explained, sighing when he felt the small amount of warmth radiating from the box. He glanced over his shoulder at you, "So yeah, it's safe"

You nodded, shivering in your spot still by the door.

"Get over here before you freeze to death" He added, holding his hands out in front of him, absorbing the heat, "It's not a lot, but it'll do"

You did as he said, moving into the back of the room and sitting in front of the heat source on the ground beside him. He was right, it wasn’t doing much but it was better than nothing.

Jesse stood from his spot and moved behind the couch. He had stripped his coat, hat and gloves off, hanging them to dry much like the weed near the front.

After a moment he came back and stood in front of you. When you looked up at him from the ground you noticed he held his hand out expectantly, "Give me your stuff"

"No way, I'm freezing" You argued crossing your arms over the wet coat.

"If you keep them on you'll definitely freeze to death" He argued, taking it upon himself to pull your knit hat off. "They're soaked. If we hang them they'll be dry by the time we leave here"

You huffed, knowing he was right. He always seemed to be. You stood in front of him unzipping the coat and shrugging it off before peeling off your gloves. You hissed at the numbness that was still plaguing your fingers.

You turned just enough so Jesse couldn't see them as he hung your things up next to his. When he was done he pulled the small couch over in front of the heater and shook the dust off the old blankets that were thrown onto it.

You shivered involuntarily, with the coat removed you were left in only a thin blue long sleeved shirt and jeans. The ends of your hair were wet across your back from the snow that had gathered as you rode.

"You know in case of emergencies, such as this, you should be wearing more layers" He reprimanded behind you, seeing you holding yourself in an effort to get warm.

"Thanks captain obvious" You tried to stop the chattering of your teeth to prove a point but you couldn't. He instructed you to sit down on the couch and when you did he placed one of the blankets over your shoulders. It was thin, but provided a way to lock in the heat that would hopefully be coming back soon. "I-I'll r-remember that if we s-survive this"

"We'll be fine" He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and blew hot hair into them. He paced for a minute as if he were thinking, "As long as this heater does its job"

"Is this your place?" You asked, changing the subject as you watched him walk to a box on a shelf on the other side of the room, "Your little hide out?"

"Something like that" He said, digging around. You could see his back muscles flex under his black long sleeve shirt. When he found what he was looking for he turned back to face you and you snapped your attention back to the fire inside of the burner, as if you weren't just staring at him. "It was Eugene's place, he'd found it a couple years back, decided to keep the plants going and harvest them. He showed me once while we were on patrol and swore me to secrecy. Now that Eugene is gone, I come by and harvest what I can"

"Jesse the stoner" You quipped, watching the orange flames dance in the box. He walked back toward you with a package, small enough that it fit in just one of his hands. He was fiddling with the wrapping when you laughed, "Never pegged you as that guy"

"Not a stoner" He defended, finally opening the package that said Hostess on the front. "Just when I need to take the edge off or something"

"I knew it" You breathed, legs bouncing up and down as you sat, "Your sunny disposition makes so much sense now"

"Shut up" He laughed as he held out one of the cakes, waiting for you to take it. When you quirked an eyebrow at it, he added, "Whoever set this place up had a stash of these under the floor board. Eugene said they were popular back before, said they could last through a nuclear apocalypse and still be edible—they're called Twinkie's"

"Oh I've heard of those. Kevin had a whole speech about them a little while back, talking about things he missed from before," You moved the blanket so you could reach out and grab it from him, "—and something called Oreos"

The second he saw your hand he cursed under his breath. The skin was red and swollen, spreading up to your wrist with a waxy like sheen.

"Fuck—let me see your other hand" He revoked the Twinkie, sitting it back down in the plastic and moving to sit beside you on the couch.

You held your other hand out; it was just as red and waxy. Jesse immediately enveloped your hands, cupping them with his own. "Can you feel this?"

"Kinda" You shook your head slowly, teeth still chattering, "They're pretty numb"

You really weren't worried until you saw the look on Jesse's face. He brought the cupped hands to his mouth, blowing hot air directly into them and rubbing his hands over them, creating friction.

He could see that you were still shivering, legs bouncing rapidly against the concrete floor. He dropped one of his hands, pushing the blanket to the side and touching your arm through the fabric.

"We need to get your warm quick" He sighed, suddenly dropping your hands and moving to grab more blankets. He draped another blanket over your shoulders and motioned for you to lie down. Again, you did as he said, trusting that he knew what to do in the situation.

You watched him, face now against the couch cushion with the blanket pulled up to your chin. You were still shivering as he put two more logs into the burner and closed the grate door again.

"This sucks" You said in an attempt to joke about the situation, but you stuttered on the words. Jesse snapped his head to you, seeing your lips were tinged purple.

He was standing again and you watched him kick his snowy boots off before moving to the end of the couch. You could feel him lift your feet and tug carefully before your boots and socks were removed, leaving them bare.

"Even your socks are soaked" He muttered pulling the blanket back down over your feet and hanging your socks up next to the gloves and coats. "You really should get some new boots if you're gonna keep patrolling out here"

You laughed quietly, "I don't think I'm fond of patrols anyway, maybe I'll try again in the s-summer"

"Scoot over" He instructed, standing back in your field of vision.

If you could feel your cheeks, you're sure they would be blushing, "W-what?"

"Relax, I just want to share some of my body heat with you" He explained, watching your wide eyes before adding, "You're going to become hypothermic if we don't bring up your body temperature"

Before you could speak again he was reaching down and physically moving you over, not taking no for an answer.

He laid back with his head against the arm of the couch, next to you and lifted the blankets so he could get under them with you. You held your breath, already feeling warmth radiating from him. Luckily, the couch was long and wide, enough for you both to fit fairly comfortably.

"I don't bite" He chuckled when he noticed how far you were pressed into the back of the couch trying not to touch him. When you didn't laugh, he cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm just trying to help—"

"I know" You responded quietly, body involuntarily shaking from the cold or from the fact that he was laying so close next you, you honestly weren't sure.

He'd heard about your time on the outside before you were taken into Jackson. You'd told him how you were a drifter between different groups as you traveled from the Cleveland QZ. You never went into detail about your time on the outside but he knew that it placed you in less-than-ideal situations. He also knew you didn't like to be touched; that much he'd learned watching you recoil from hugs or any physical contact from others in Jackson.

"Just try to relax. You should warm up soon" He suddenly said, adjusting against the worn-out cushions.

“What are you doing?” You asked, as you watched his eyes flutter close, moving to sit up off the couch.

"Stay,” He said calmly, before looking at you once more. You were still not touching him, staring at him with bewildered eyes, “You need to stay under the blanket, I’m just resting my eyes until you’re warm again, okay?”

He waited for you to nod and slowly sink back into the cushions before he closed his eyes again, still lying on his back. You watched him for a while, until his breathing evened out and you were sure he was sleeping. His lips were parted slightly and quiet snores were escaping. His hands were intertwined loosely on his chest. You appreciated that he had kept his hands to himself.

But you hated the fact that you could feel the space between the two of you, under the blanket, become an oven. Of course, he was right, again.

Over the course of about thirty minutes, you had moved closer to him, making sure he was still asleep as you did. You were starting to get the feeling in your hands and feet back, the numbness slowly dissipating.

Before you knew it, you were tucking your hands against him, sliding them around his bicep so they were pressed against his side. Careful not to wake him you moved closer to rest your cheek against his shoulder. After about an hour you were asleep too, feeling content as the shivering subsided.

*

When you opened your eyes the light through the painted windows was completely gone. The only light was the orange glow from the burner, lighting up the room.

For a moment you forgot where you were, feeling hazy from sleep until you felt hot breath against your hair. You could feel the weight of an arm wrapped around your shoulder and the hard plane of a chest.

At some point the two of you must've adjusted because he had his arm under you and you were now nestled into his side with your head fully on his chest and the blanket pulled up to your face. You wanted to recoil at the feeling of him holding you in place but you didn't. You felt warm down to your feet that had managed to find their way under his legs for warmth.

The wind whistled outside of the thin windows telling you the storm was still raging outside of the building. You briefly thought about the horses but knew the garage across the way was the safest place for them. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt Jesse shift under you, turning ever so slightly in your direction and tightening his hold on you. You knew it had to have been a reflex but it still made your stomach jump.

With him facing you more now you could see his peaceful expression and feel his breaths escape and fan over your forehead.

It'd been a while since you had let a person get this physically close to you and it surprised you that you didn't mind it. Instead, you moved closer to him, if it were even possible.

"How do you feel?" His voice came out groggy and thick, eyes still closed.

Fuck.

"Uh—better”

"That's good" He said lazily, moving to yawn before realizing his arms were around you. It was his turn to go stiff and panic, "Shit, I-I didn-"

"It's okay—really, I don't mind" You interrupted stopping him from removing himself from you, "You're like a heater"

A deep chuckle erupted from his chest as he relaxed at your words, sinking back into the cushions. "I'm glad I could offer the service"

A silence fell over the two of you now that you were both awake. Neither of you moved from your spots, just listened to the wind howling outside and watching the flames dance in the burner.

"Guess we won't be back in Jackson tonight"

"Guess not" You replied, trying to ignore the way his muscles felt under the fabric of his shirt.

"How do your hands feel?" He asked, remembering that they were on the borderline of frostbite earlier.

You removed them from his arm and out from under the blanket knowing it would be easier for him to look at them and see if you should still be concerned or not.

He took his free hand and grabbed your palm moving it around in the lowlight and examining it. His calloused fingers brushing your skin. "They look a lot better, might make it back with all your fingers and toes after all"

"You thought I was gonna lose my fingers?" You asked, biting at the inside of your cheek as he continued to play with your fingers even after he'd examined them. When he realized what he was doing he dropped your hand and cleared his throat.

"It crossed my mind" He teased, moving his legs under the blanket before turning to look over at you. Your gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips, before flickering back to meet his gaze. You hadn't realized how close he was until you heard his breath hitch in his throat. He sat up suddenly, knocking you off of him in the process.

"You hungry?" He asked, standing from the couch completely and walking over to grab the Twinkie from the counter. You hated that you immediately missed the warmth of his body next to you. "We can heat these over the burner"

"Uh— yeah sure, thanks" You mumbled, sitting up and bringing the blanket with you. The air in the garage was warmer than before but nothing compared to the heat you were just feeling.

He removed the pastry from the plastic again, this time setting them on an old glass plate and positioning them right in front of the heat.

"Is there anything to drink here?" You asked, not really thirsty but attempting to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, over in the file cabinet there" He instructed using his free hand to point over to the corner of the room. You lifted yourself off the couch immediately regretting it as your bare feet made contact with the cold concrete. When you opened the file cabinet you found a dusty bottle of brown liquor.

"Oh fancy" You hummed, grabbing the bottle and moving back over to the couch. "Some whiskey should keep the cold away"

After a minute he moved the plate away from the heater and sat next to you on the couch.

You twisted the cap off the bottle of whiskey and taking a small sip. The liquor burned your throat as you swallowed but it was good, well good in your standards.

"Those things look gross" You admitted watching him flip them over as they cooled down. You set the bottle between the two of you on the couch.

"Ye of little faith" He retorted, shaking his head at you and handing you one of the cakes. You took it in your hand and watched as he picked his up. It was golden in color, thick and spongey. "Trust me, you'll like it"

You weren't sure when you started this habit of trusting people, especially men. You assumed when you got to Jackson that it would be the same as everywhere else. You weren't to keen on trusting anyone again. But here you were picking up the likely expired dessert.

You mirrored his movements as he brought the cake to his mouth and took a bite. The texture confused you at first until you tasted the creamy filling inside. It was sweet and heavy yet light, like a whipped cream.

He watched your eyes go wide and you cover your mouth as you spoke, "I've never tasted anything like this"

"It's good right?" He urged, swallowing his bite before taking another.

You did the same and after just a couple of bites it was gone. You cursed yourself for not savoring every bite.

"No wonder the dude had these stockpiled" You squealed, tucking your legs up on the couch and turning to face Jesse. "I'm not kidding—I think that just changed my life"

He took a swig of the whiskey, offering you another sip, which you took before closing it back up. He nodded, amused at your reaction, "And think about how they would taste fresh and not expired"

"Why would you do this to me?" You whined throwing your head back before smacking his arm.

"Hey–" He held his hands up in surrender on the other side of the couch. "You can just say ‘thank you Jesse for introducing my palate to this delicious old world delicacy’"

You rolled your eyes at him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and taking another swig, feeling the liquid settle in your stomach.

"How about thank you Jesse for keeping me warm"

That caught his attention, something in the way you said it. He shifted on the couch, taking the bottle and sitting it on the table near the couch.

He stood up from his spot and moved to the doors where the two of you had come in. He moved the board and opened the door just enough to look outside. A gust of wind and snow came barreling through the opening, feeling like it slapped you in the face. He closed it again, putting the board back in a locking position.

"I think we should try to head back at first light, I have a feeling this storm is only going to get worse"

You nodded, standing from the couch, this time not caring how cold the floor was. You kept the blanket around your shoulders and let it drag across the ground behind you as you walked. "We've got a couple hours to kill"

He caught you looking at him and moved his attention to the leaves hanging up. He was tall enough that he could reach them easily. "I think I'm going to do up some jars, maybe take some back to town with us"

You moved to the part of the building where the plants were, a lot of them looked dried up and dead, most likely from the cold months and the loss of sun.

"I still can't believe you are Jacksons weed dealer" You laughed, watching him work. You opted for sitting on the counter to the left of him to get your feet off the concrete. Once up you tightened the blanket around your shoulders.

"Why is it so hard to believe?" He ponders, meticulously handling the buds.

"I dunno" You sighed, picking at the loose threads of the blanket and kicking your feet back and forth. "I guess because you're the golden boy of Jackson"

He made a sound, looking over to you. "I am not the golden boy"

You bit your lip to stifle your laugh, but you couldn't contain it. He definitely was. Everyone in town knew they could depend on Jesse. He always kept his word and was nice, sometimes too nice, getting himself roped into helping the elderly in the community or playing with the kids. But was also strong and well versed in combat. Tommy and Joel trusted him like a son.

"What's so funny?" He asked, incredulously. He closed the lid on the 1st jar before turning to look at you.

"Oh nothing" You smiled, clearing your throat to cover the laughing again, "I just think it's funny that you can't see how much of a golden boy you are"

He rolled his eyes at you, crossing him arms over his chest and leaning against the counter that you were sat on. "Has anyone ever told you how infuriating you can be?"

"Hm— infuriating? No" You made a motion in the air while you thought, "Hilarious, yes"

"Now that I think of it annoying would be a better description" He teased, his eyes fixed on you.

You rolled your eyes back at him, glancing around the large room. You weren't sure if it was the liquid courage talking or the silence of the room but you felt the need to speak again.

"You know you're like the only guy around our age who didn't come onto me when I first got to Jackson," The smirk he wore faltered as he pressed him lips in a straight line. He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't say anything at all. When you were meant with silence you pressed, leaning forward on the counter, "Why is that?"

When he realized you were waiting for an answer he shrugged, moving back to his workstation and filling another jar.

You were intrigued by his change in demeanor, so again you pressed, "Was I just that repulsive?"

"Jesus, Y/N—come on" He sighed, not finding the conversation amusing in the way you did. He had remembered how broken you looked when Tommy first introduced him to you and the way you flinched when he held his hand out to you. "Of course, not"

You'd been found by a patrol from Jackson during the warmer months after you had been traveling with a group of four guys. Over the years you'd learned to steer clear of men in general, but they had managed to earn your trust when they saved you from a heard of infected. You were cornered and accepting your death when they came rolling in. They took care of you for a couple of days as you passed through the mountains. They were nice enough until you refused to give them the one thing they wanted. The one thing they saved you for. When you wouldn't put out they decided they would take you by force.

They had beat you half to death and left you for dead afterward.

You distinctly remembered the first time you had seen yourself in the mirror of the infirmary once inside the walls of Jackson. You barely even recognized the woman who looked back at you. Swollen and mangled face with cuts and bruises scattered down your neck. When you were healed enough, with just subtle bruising and healing cuts you were introduced to the town. In the first couple of days, you were approached by many of the eligible bachelors, except the one that had caught your eye.

When you opened your mouth ready to make another sarcastic comment, he spoke again. "You were so different back then, like if the wind blew too hard you would fall over or somethin’”

That wiped the smirk right off your face.

He screwed the lid onto another jar before turning to face you again, seeing the expression on your features, before continuing, "The last thing you needed was those assholes trying to get with you"

You nodded, puffing your cheeks awkwardly and tapping your fingers on the surface of the counter beside your thighs. He was right. It was the last thing you needed or wanted at the time, which is why you avoided and turned down anyone who pursued you in the weeks that followed. Instead, you focused on getting stronger, never wanting to be in a situation where you couldn't defend yourself again.

That's how you became closer with Jesse. He would spend time sparing in the barn with you, teaching you different techniques for hand-to-hand combat and self defense. Soon enough you came out of your shell, especially around him.

You always wondered why he never made a move on you, even after months of training together every day.

He moved beside you to grab another jar down from the shelf behind your head, "Well—uh what about now?"

He froze at the question, arm lingering close your head before he set the jar next you on the counter, turning slowly to look at you. His gaze lingered on your eyes a little too long before he made himself look at the hand that you had moved to fiddle with the jar. "Yeah, things are different now"

"Different how?"

"You ask a lot of questions" He spoke in a low voice, one that he reserved for when the two of you entered abandoned buildings or there were infected around.

"I'm a curious person" You quipped back, meeting his eyes again. This time he didn't look away.

"I've noticed that" He said again, quiet enough that you could hear the wind just outside of the window howling again and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You didn't speak again, instead reaching out and grabbing his sleeve, tugging it ever so slightly toward you. From your spot on the counter top you were easily his same height, something you only experienced on horseback.

Your finger hooked into his belt loop before glancing at his lips again. He's so close now that you feel the heat radiating from him again. Before you let yourself overthink, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

His lips part ever so slightly, but he doesn't reciprocate, instead pulling away after a couple of seconds and blinking at you.

"What's wrong?" This time you were whispering, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of him not wanting this, "Sorry, I thought—I shouldn't have—"

"No, fuck—no that's not it. I don't want to pressure you or anything just because we are trapped here for the night and–"

"Damn," You giggle at him, now moving your hands up his arms and intertwining them behind his neck. "You're such a respectful, golden boy you won't even kiss me after all this time"

"I'm serious" He whispers but still places his hands on either side of the of you, trapping you against the counter.

"So am I" You whisper back, using your leverage on his neck to pull him closer to you. As you do a strand of his black hair falls into his face and you tuck it back behind his ear, catching a glimpse of his stressed expression, "Do you see anyone holding a gun to my head? Holding me against my will?"

He searched your eyes, eyes dropping to your lips as you leaned closer, your eyes closing as you anticipated the touch of his lips against yours again. His breath was hot, his lips gently touching your own, a soft and teasing caress.

As your lips met again he melted against you, hands moving to hold your waist. His kisses were slow and sensual, as if he was testing the waters, still hesitant and holding back. Instead of letting him overthink you moved your thumb against the nape of his neck soothingly and smiled against his lips, shrugging the blanket from around your shoulders.

He pulled back briefly, searching your face again before capturing your lips once more in a deeper, more passionate kiss. His hands moved to cradle your face as you deepened the kiss, thumbs tracing soothingly across your skin. Slowly, he parted your lips, his tongue running along the soft skin of your bottom lip, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, drawing you closer to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, consuming you.

He angled your head back giving him better access to explore with his tongue as you let a low moan escape your lips. He made a sound in response and you opened your legs to him needing him closer to you.

He settled between your legs and you pulled back just enough to mutter, "You smell like marijuana"

His laugh vibrates your lips making butterflies erupt in your stomach. Those butterflies only got worse when you felt him nip at your bottom lip.

You smirked, pulling away and pushing his head back, exposing his neck to you as your lips trailed down the skin. You heard his breath catch in his throat as his hands gripped at your thighs, "Fuck," he muttered.

Before you let him kiss you again you were reaching for the hem of his shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked into the waistband of his pants. He got the idea and reached for it, pulling it all the way off leaving his chest bare and exposed to your touch. He shivered slightly as the cool air hit his skin, eyes locking onto yours as you took in the sight of him.

You'd seen him shirtless before, in the hotter months working or building around town when it was entirely too hot to wear a shirt, but never like this. Never this close. He pulled you closer once again, his chest pressed against you as his mouth sought out yours.

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, you could feel the strength and solidity of his body beneath your thighs. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as he lifted you effortlessly off the counter, carrying you as if you weighed nothing. His grip was firm, secure, and you felt a sense of safety as he held you tight against him.

His footsteps faltered slightly as he continued to kiss you, his attention fully focused on the taste of your lips and the feel of your body in his arms. He was wrapped up in the moment, intoxicated by your touch and the way your body responded to his. Unaware of his surroundings, he stumbled slightly, almost tripping over a box of tools on the floor.

Startled by your sudden gasp, Jesse quickly steadied himself, holding you tightly against him. He could feel your face buried in his shoulder, your body laughing slightly from the near fall.

"Please don't drop me" You whined, peppering light kisses along his collarbone.

"Don't worry, I've got you" He let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear, amused at your reaction and grip on him.

He focused on walking now, moving his thumb against your thigh as he did. You had to bite your lip at the sheer strength he had. You knew he was strong and, well— jacked, but you were not prepared for this.

Jesse carefully lowered himself onto the couch, positioning himself so that you were straddling his lap, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His hands moved back to your thighs, his grip firm yet gentle as he held you close to him.

Now safely settled, you kissed him again, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and hips moving against him. Your tongues fought for dominance against each other and he kept his hands on your waist, like the golden boy he was.

You rolled your hips lightly against him and smirked when his body jerked. You moved one of your hands from their place, blindly reaching for his hand on your waist. When you did you captured it, dragging it up and under your shirt on your back.

You hissed at how cold his fingers were but quickly recovered when you felt his calloused touch against your skin. You felt the corners of his mouth turn upward as he spread his fingers, moving them carefully.

His other hand found its way under the shirt and on your back soon after, moving up toward your shoulder blades to bring you closer to him.

You pulled back, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head in a quick motion, tossing it somewhere near the wood burner.

He gaped at you, not for your boobs or exposed skin, but for the scar that ran from your collarbone straight in a diagonal line and stopping at the top of your left breast. 

He'd seen you in low cut tops in the warmer months but he'd only ever gotten glances when it peeked through, it never occurred to him that it continued on.

You moved your hair to the side, fingers falling to fiddle with the button of his pants, hoping it would move the moment along, but it didn't.

Instead he took his index finger and traced the scar, leaving goosebumps in his wake, "What's this from?"

"Knife" You said simply, leaning in and capturing his lips with your own; a plea to shut him up.

He kissed you back but only for a minute before he turned his head to the side, breaking the seal of your lips, "What happened?"

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention to his neck, sucking and kissing at the skin. He seemed to stiffen, so you huffed, moving back to sit up straight, "Remember the story I told you about the group I was with before Jackson?" You didn't wait for him to answer, you knew he remembered, he always remembered stories you told him, "They did it"

"It was deep" He said, examining it again before looking up at you when you let out a dry laugh. "You never said what happened"

You moved your hands from his pants because it clearly wasn't helping you change the subject, and instead settled them on his shoulders.

When you thought about being half naked with Jesse this is not what you had in mind.

You looked at the space behind him, where you two had started this whole thing, biting at your cheek. You didn't want to sugar coat it for him, the way you did the others who had the nerve to ask. You liked Jesse, you really liked him. You wanted to be honest. "I—uh, thought they were good men– they got me out of a sticky situation with some infected…"

While you spoke Jesse played with your hair, twisting the ends gently between his fingers. "I didn't plan on staying with them, I preferred to be alone out there. But they told me they had families; wives and daughters—said they were about a four day trek away, talked me into it. About a day later they came on to me around the fire after they set up camp—"

You hated that you had his full attention, feeling nervous under his gaze suddenly while you spoke, "I thought it was a joke at first, told them I wasn't interested but they—uh didn't like that"

"So when George and the others found you, that was—" He trailed off, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You nodded, finger nails absentmindedly pressing into his skin, "They beat me, cut me— afterwards they held me down, took their turns and left me for dead"

You felt like you were floating outside of your body, seeing yourself on Jesses lap from the side, shirts missing and an uncomfortable silence.

"I didn't know" Jesse said, hands on your thighs, rubbing them soothingly, bringing you back to your body.

"It's not exactly something I tell a lot of people—or well anyone" You were the most vulnerable you'd been right there in that moment and you hated it, "At least I got a cool scar from it"

Jesse didn't laugh, instead he moved his hand up to your face, cupping your cheek. The gesture and expression on his features instantly made you feel the same way you'd felt the day you were saved. Broken.

And he must've realized because before you knew it he had moved his hand to the back of your neck and was pulling you against him. You let him, body curling into him and face burying into his neck. His hands moved to rub your back soothingly.

You hadn't hugged someone for longer than you'd like to admit, and after that incident you avoided being touched all together.

"Jesse" You mumbled, voice muffled against his skin. When he hummed you continued, "Does all that—uh bother you? I know it's a lot and the—"

He didn't let you finish, moving his head and catching your lips in a soft kiss. He pulled back then kissed you again before pressing his forehead to yours "Does that answer your question?"

You couldn't hide the way the corners of your mouth twitched in a small smile as you nudged his nose against yours.

You moved from his lap, throwing yourself to the other side of the couch and lying on your back. He watched you amused at the sudden movement.

"C'here" You requested quietly, propping yourself up on your elbows.

He raised an eyebrow at you, intrigued by your request. He obeyed, moving on the couch before crawling toward you, stopping when he could hover above you. One of his legs found its spot between your legs and your hands moved over his biceps.

You leaned up, desperate for him. He met you halfway, tongues tangling together almost immediately. His hand held your face before dragging down to your bra, where it stopped momentarily on the scar again, before massaging your breast, squeezing it gently.

You shifted underneath him so you could reach for his button and zipper again but he stopped you, grabbing your hand, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, biting your lip at the sight of him above you.

"Use your words" He instructed, "I need to know"

"Jesse" You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion, "I've been sure for a long time"

He smiled at that, leaning down and kissing you before sitting up on the couch, hands finding your zipper and tugging your jeans down your legs.

You sat up, eager to take his pants off for him, unzipping them and pulling them down his thighs. His bulge was prominent and when no longer restricted it sprung under his boxers.

You reached around your back, contorting slightly to un-zap the clasp of your bra before tossing it.

You threw yourself back down, eager to have him back on-top of you. Luckily he didn't want to waste time either because you were barely able to shimmy off your underwear before he was coming back above you.

His mouth came to your neck, nipping at the skin there as he moved down. His lips found your scar and he took his time pressing gentle kisses along the length of it. That gesture alone could have made you ascend from your body. Just the idea of him taking care of you, the feeling of respect that you had been denied the last time a man was on top of you. He moved further down to your breasts, sucking at your nipples.

At some point he had moved his hand down between your thighs and when his calloused fingers grazed your folds you nearly fell apart. You held your breath as his fingers found your clit and his mouth came back to you, kissing you sloppy.

"Jesse" You moaned, feeling him against your thigh, "Please"

"Listen" He whispered in your ear, fingers halting on the sensitive spot between your legs, "You say the word and I'll stop —I won't ask any questions"

Yep. That was the hottest thing you'd heard.

"I know" You breathed, unable to hide how desperate you were, "I trust you"

That was all the reassurance he needed as he lined himself up with your entrance. As he pushed into you he caught your lips, kissing you hard.

You gasped into his mouth at the sudden sensation as he gave you moment to adjust to his size before rolling his hips into you.

He developed a rhythm as you moved your hands from his neck, spreading them across the plane of his back and dragging your nails against his skin. He moaned, making you feel weak, "You okay?"

You couldn't speak, not when you were this close, so instead you hummed, nodding and gripping him harder. He picked up his speed, using the back of the couch as a brace as he moved in and out of you, faster and faster. He was biting into your shoulder, trying to control himself.

"I'm close–" You whined, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jess—“

"I know, babygirl," His voice alone nearly pushed you over the edge. You felt him lift one of your thighs, the position unlocking a whole new pleasure as you reached the edge clutching onto his arm and biting slightly to muffle your screams.

The sight of you desperately clinging onto him and riding the wave of your orgasm is what sent him over the edge as he pulled out of you turning to the side and releasing his seed on one of the blankets in the ground. Neither of you had anything close to birth control or condoms, so the pull out method was the only option.

When he came back to you, he laid his head on your chest, his hand finding yours on your stomach. The two of you lie there, breathing rapidly with sheen of sweat across your foreheads.

"You're shaking again" He whispered, reaching for a different blanket from earlier. "Are you cold?"

"N-not cold" You muttered, moving to face him, brushing the hair that stuck to his forehead back, "Just happy"

"You're sure?" He asked, still pulling the blanket up and over the both of your bodies.

You nodded, feeling content and nuzzling into his side, "Was that uh–good for you?"

Jesse nodded, his breath coming in ragged breaths as he laughed against your skin. "Are you kiddin'," He lifted his head and kissed you again, feeling dazed. "I've never been so thankful for snow storm"

You smiled against him, feeling pure bliss. You sat up slightly, trying to untangle the mess of limbs under the blanket before cuddling into his side, your leg thrown over his legs.

"Are your feet always this cold?" He muttered against your hair, fingers tracing your naked arm, leaving goosebumps.

"You'll get used to it" You teased tracing his chest, eyes flickering closed to the sound of his heartbeat, not even a small part of you worried that you insinuated this happening again.

You wanted it to. You wanted him like this, forever. 

"We'll see about that" He quipped, using both his arms around you to keep you tight against him as your breath began to even out, "Just wait til I get you those new boots, you'll have the warmest feet in Wyoming"

For the first time in a long time you felt loved. You wouldn't be letting this feeling go anytime soon.

[brvans]

Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

 From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

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It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

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It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

[raewritesfiction]

Backseat Heat [Daryl Dixon]

A/N: thank you @dixondisease for tagging me in this idea! I hope you like what I’ve done with it!

Plot: Daryl and female reader have fun in the back of a broken down car that Daryl is trying to fix up. Semi-established situationship - they meet up for stress relief but they aren’t an item.

Pairing: F!Reader X Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Smut - fingering, oral (M receiving), unsafe sex (use a condom!!

[[ Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed from tags; no questions asked ♥️ likes are amazing however I really appreciate Reblogs to help spread my writing further! Thank you 🌈😘]]

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You’d been watching Daryl from your spot under a large tree for a while now; the sun was hot in the sky as he worked relentlessly on a car that had been brought back to the prison. Rick wanted it fixed as soon as possible and so Daryl had been devoting his time to sorting it out. Things seemed to be going well so far but you could tell by Daryl’s strong language that the engine just wasn’t doing what he wanted or needed.

Daryl kicked a bench as the car, once again, didn’t start. You didn’t know cars well enough to be able to figure out what was wrong with it but you knew the sweaty, dirty covered man was getting to the end of his rope.

Looking around, you note that there’s few people outside right now and you get up, heading over to the makeshift garage where Daryl grumbled angrily about the “fuckin piece of junk”.

You don’t speak but instead just run your hands around his waist from behind. Daryl doesn’t jump and turns his head with a smirk “wha’ you think you’re doin’ woman?” You smile “you looked stressed… can’t be having that.”

Daryl huffs and shakes his head a little before sighing “dunno wha’s fuckin’ wrong with this thing.. replaced ever’thin with what we can find that works an’ still nothin’..”

You nod against the back of his shoulder and listen as he lists off everything he’s replaced or fixed, as if he’s trying to figure out if there’s something he’s missed but at the end of it he turns in your arms, pins you against the side of the rusty vehicle and kisses you passionately.

“Maybe some stress relief will help clear my head..” he smirks and opens the back door for you to get in, then climbs in after you.

The man kisses you like nobody has ever kissed you before; he knows how to take your breath away and get you worked up without putting his hands anywhere south of the border and this time is no different to the last or the first.

Everyone in the prison knew you two were hooking up as often as possible, but nobody said anything because they were probably hooking up with each other too. You find comfort anyway and anywhere you can in this apocalypse. You were surprised when Merle bit his tongue and didn’t say anything after he had walked in on Daryl railing you in the library - you and Daryl were expecting the worst from him but he’d never said anything to you and if he’d said anything to Daryl it was in private.

Daryl’s hands were up under your tee, groping over your skin and leaving oily marks when someone started yelling his name from outside.

“For fuck…” Daryl grumbles and looks out the broken window to see Andrew calling for him. “I’ll be right back… stay here…”

You huff and nod as Daryl clambers out the car and calls over “Wussup?”

You listen from the back seat as Andrew starts going off about how his small group are being treated by some of Rick’s group, you hear him ask Daryl to talk to his friend about it and see if he can sort it out. There’s other stuff that seems less important and you can tell by Daryl’s short replies that he just wants Andrew to leave so he gives the answers the man wants to hear and assures him when he sees Rick he’ll talk to him and no it’s absolutely unfair, we’re all in the same position and yes of course we’re a team now and we need to be able to trust one another.

It seems to take forever before Andrew walks off, happy with his discussion outcome. As soon as he’s out of sight Daryl crawls back into the back seat and kisses you again. You don’t care about what Andrew wanted so you don’t ask.

“I’m really not finished with you yet..” Daryl grins and quickly unbuttons your pants, pushing them down your legs while his hand slips between your legs to tease over your already soaking core.

The way he kissed and touched you was the biggest turn on you’d ever had and he loved to tease you about it.

“Already so wet… just from kissin’?” He sucks on your neck as his fingers work over you. “You always been this easy to work up?”

You swallow thickly and shake your head, “only by you..” Daryl chuckles low and pushes two fingers inside you, curling them as he thrusts into you. You rock and lift your hips to his fingers as he speeds them up the sound of your arousal fills the car making Daryl growl low. It never took him long to get you where you needed to be and as his thumb barely brushes your clit you arch and grip his biceps as you cum on his fingers, letting out a silent scream of pleasure.

“Good girl..” he whispers and watches you “you gon’ be a real good girl and take care of me?”

You nod and kiss him as you both awkwardly switch positions in the small space afforded to you. Your hands quickly unzip his pants and pull the material down, Daryl’s semi hard cock already straining against his boxers.

“If i’dda known this would happen… I wouldn’ta worn any..” he grins as you pull them down to free his length.

You waste no time and easily take him in your mouth; Daryl was still insanely proud that he had been the one to teach you how to give head and enjoyed praising how much of a fast learner you are.

You bob your head and swirl your tongue around his cock as you suck him fully, your hand massaging his balls firmly as you work on him. Daryl’s breathing is rough as you tease the head of his cock with your tongue.

“Woman…. Not yet! Stop…!” He gasps and pants as you pull away. “Get on me…”

You move and crawl over him, positioning yourself over his member and guiding him inside you. You both let out moans and start moving to one another causing the car to rock and creak. Daryl wraps an arm around you and helps you move your hips to him, his other hand moves to the back of your hair and tugs lightly as he kisses you.

Moans are swallowed as you speed up your hips, switching up your technique to keep him guessing as to what would come next.

“Woman I swear t’ god…” he grunts and moves his feet so he can thrust up into you. As his hips piston you can only hold onto him and whine his name close to his ear. Your eyes shut tightly and the way he pants, grunts, moans and whispers in your ear makes everything all too much.

“You gonna cum? You gonna cum that fast? You want it so bad you can’t hold back?”

You call out against his neck, your hips grinding down onto him as the waves of pleasure wash over you.

“I’m close..” Daryl grunts “move….”

You climb off him and lean down, taking him in your mouth again and sucking hard. His hips buck up into you and the hand in your hair grips tighter, holding your head in place as he grunts roughly with his release - his head falls back against the seat rest and he groans as he relaxes.

Daryl watches you swallow his load and smirks as you wipe the corners of your mouth. “Thassa good girl…”

You wink and both of you redress before climbing out the car and looking around; if anyone had seen or heard they hadn’t come looking.

Daryl looks at the driver’s seat and slides in, trying the ignition again and sitting surprised as it starts on the first try.

“Maybe it needed a good bang..” you remark, making Daryl huff out a laugh.

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. MAYBE ROMANCE IS A PLACE

Summary: Rafe is still angry at Sarah and you are his loving girlfriend.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff.

A/n: This is my first fic in a long time lol, so It will probably be a bit rusty. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback!

Winter had arrived. As the air got crispier and the winter hibernation loomed upon the Outer Banks, the chaos and trivialness of the Outer Banks began to simmer away.

As Rafe's girlfriend, you were rather thankful that Rafe would be distracted from his ongoing conflict with his sister's friends and now-husband. You did not undervalue the few months you would have Rafe to yourself, him already planning a city break to New York over Christmas. Yet the bliss you had become accustomed to by November soon disappeared.

As a student at Elizabeth City State University, winter took a toll on every aspect of your life. Studying in the final year of your college degree meant your work was piling up more and more by the day.

Sitting in Rafe's estate home you had spent the last 4 hours hunched over the desk in his office while he was off on 'business'- as he described. You were far too occupied to even consider for a moment what he was up to, even this morning you had begun studying before he had even woken up. So when he stormed into the office, his face raw red as he clutched his phone in his hand before he flung it on the sofa to your left along with his jacket, you were startled, to say the least.

After a few moments of stunned silence, you placed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boyfriend. Despite being together for several months now and finding ways to navigate his often erratic moods, sometimes you still felt as if you were on eggshells on how to approach him in moments like this. Rafe appreciated your often brutal honesty but also your sensitivity to his moods- without words spoken on it you both knew his unstable behaviours and outbursts weren't purely learned behaviours.

"What happened, Rafe?" He was still pacing the room, the way he was when he entered the room when you asked him the question. Yet without stopping, he huffed out a reply. "Fucking Sarah and her fucking games. I swear to fuck-" He began his more than common rant about his sister and presumably her friends if you hadn't interrupted. Sarah had grown a soft spot in your heart, you saw a lot of you in her. A young girl who had gone against what everyone in her life wanted for her in the name of love, as you did with Rafe. So when he began to ramble on about her you already knew she was unlikely to be in the wrong, especially when it came to her brother.

"Okay, let's calm down. Sit down for a second and breathe, you're practically burning up." You stood up, walking over to him unfortunately realising that your work would have to be put off for at least half an hour when he was in such a mood. "I don't want to fucking sit down, I can't believe she has done this shit again." Walking away from you back over towards the door before pacing back towards you.

"And what exactly has she done?" You questioned your boyfriend, glancing towards your phone that was bound to soon be bombarded with texts from Sarah regarding this exact problem. Sighing you look back over to him to see him staring at you, rage burning in his eyes. You obviously knew this anger was for Sarah but you weren't in the mood to get into an argument with a temperamental Rafe.

"I was minding my business trying to get some shit done with the estate over in Charleston when I saw- her with her stupid pogue friends. It's like she's rubbing it in my face y/n, does she even fucking care that her friends got our dad killed? I mean they probably fucking did it." Your face scrunched up in confusion, Rafe was upset that Sarah was hanging around her friends? Not to point out the obvious but that was a pretty commonplace that Sarah would be in, maybe not years ago when she had first hung out with the pogues- but now definitely. "Not to be Sherlock here Rafe, but just to check. You are angry that Sarah is hanging around with the same people she has been hanging around for 2 years now?"

His face dropped as if you had asked if the sky was blue. "Yes." An uncomfortable silence settled over the office. You were apprehensive about how to approach him now, sometimes you could sympathise with the oldest Cameron child who had a lot of unresolved trauma thanks to his late father Ward but this wasn't one of those times. You and Rafe had had this conversation years ago when you were only friends, and since you started dating- numerous times after. "Rafe, seriously? You need to stop worrying about this honestly. It has been years now."

He huffed in response, his features hardening and stare glazing over. Were you actually serious? His father had died only a few months ago now and he had been given the burden of not only figuring out everything that would happen with the family estates scattered across the East Coast but also working through Ward's will, a large portion of it which had been left to Sarah who couldn't care less clearly. He couldn't fathom why his loving girlfriend couldn't see what he could- a scheming sister who abandoned her family in favour of pogues. Huffing out a breath, he avoided your gaze knowing if he looked at you you would see the anger rising once more in his face. "That's the problem, you don't get it at all. Why would you get how much of a slap in the face this fucking is? All you do all day is sit here doing fuck all, whilst I'm out there making a future for us and deal with all the shit that comes with it."

Mouth wide open, you stare at your boyfriend as if he'd slapped you in the face- even though it damn well felt like he had. "Are you serious? Doing fuck all Rafe I sit here every day working my ass off for a degree so I don't spend the rest of my life living off your money. Something you complained Rose did to your fath-"

"Don't bring him into this, y/n." He interrupted, completely overruling your thoughts on his words- like he often did when overwhelmed by his emotions. "Rafe, I'm not bringing him into anything. All I'm saying is that I'm sitting here fucking studying to get a job- so god forbid I don't drop at your call to talk shit about Sarah." The room lingered in silence. Both of you refusing to concede to the other- why would you? You were well in your right to call him out on his bullshit.

"Look I don't expect you to get it. It's more than you'd ever understand- too complex" He muttered, walking off towards the door, undoubtedly planning to call up Barry for drugs until his anger faded. "Too complex? Please, Rafe, you don't understand how much work I do. I think the petty fights you and your sister have, that could be figured out if you just fucking sat down and spoke about it, are too complex for me."

Stunned at your words, he paused in his stride towards the door. Petty fights? What was petty about his sister being a raging bitch? "Whatever, I don't have time for this y/n. You're being completely ignorant of my issues."

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that talking down to me will get you nowhere. I've stood by your side for years, even when we were just friends. Defended you to everyone who called you crazy because I knew, and I still know, that deep down you are just conflicted. I love you, and I will defend you to anyone outside this house. But when it's you and I, I will tell you when you're overreacting and need to think twice about what you are going to do. And that's exactly what you need to do now Rafe. I know you're grieving still and yes, seeing Sarah with the Pogues after all that happened may hurt you. But she is grieving in her own way too. And if that is with John B and his friends then so be it. Don't burn the bridge you have any more than you already have, in the face of something that has been in your knowledge for years."

He knew you were right. You were the one person he trusted. Not Topper. Not Kelce. Especially not Rose. You had been with him through everything, and when he looked back you often gave him advice that didn't always swing in your favour- but always his. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to be in love with, so the fact you stood by his side for all those years was a testament to your honesty and faithfulness. "I'm sorry."

And although his words were short and concise, you knew below the surface level they meant a whole lot more. He struggled with showing any emotion that wasn't frustration. But his harmful words aimed at you doing 'fuck all', wasn't going to fly by under your radar.

"And what in particular are you sorry for?" You asked, leaning your back against his desk. If he wasn't in such a rage when he walked in he would have realised how tired you looked. Your hair was still undone from when you had woken up this morning, drowned in his sweatpants and hoodie he had given you years ago when you were drunk out of your mind at a High School party. Tired- but beautiful. Walking over to you, suddenly sheepish at his uncalled-for anger towards you, he slipped his hands around your waist, slightly pressing his fingers into the delicate dip in your back. "I know you do so much work for us baby, I'm sorry for undermining everything you have done for me. You're working so hard every day, and I'm so proud of you." He admitted, looking lovingly into your eyes. His eyes full of pure love for a girl he had chased all his life.

And although there was so much more to come for you both as you faced the future of your relationship but also the future of the island. You knew that right now, this was enough for you. Standing with the man you love as he moved his hand up and down your back, content.

"Down talk my degree again and you're on the couch for a week."

[gghostwriter]

Hold Onto You

Spencer ruminates about his relationship—their past, present, and hopefully future

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Tags: Fluff w.c: 1.49k a/n: Feeling highly rusty but the only way out of a writer’s block is through. A huge thank you to emme (@thegloryofliterature) for being my draft reader and for being one of the few moots i run to when a fic idea comes. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The grandfather clock tucked in the little corner of the newly renovated living space struck 1 am. Candles littered in various table tops, its’ wick flickering close to exhaustion, wax melted all around.

Its’ occupants, the owners and their guests, were murmuring their goodbyes, some slurring their words compared to the others. Penelope Garcia, a fine example, was flushed from the copious red wine and with her kitten heels dangling from her fingertips, leaned against the protective arms of one sober Derek Morgan. 

“We had a great time,” JJ smiled at the couple, her cheeks a shade of strawberry pink from the alcohol consumed. 

“The new place also looks great,” Emily nodded before one corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. “Which we all know is mainly due to your taste rather than Spencer’s.” 

You giggled as Spencer let his indignation known. 

“You’re all welcome back anytime, truly,” your left bare hand finding solace on your boyfriend’s chest.

Morgan chuckled. “We might just take you up—”

Penelope squirmed in his arms, her manicured hands reaching across the threshold to squeeze yours once more.

“You’re so so—” she lengthened the vowel, hiccuping in between. “—sweet. I could just eat you up—”

“Garcia!” Spencer groaned. 

“—but I won’t cause boy genius won’t allow me to,” she pouted.

“And that’s our cue. Good night you two and thanks again for tonight,” Morgan tilted his head to address the youngest member of the team in jest. “Reid, don’t do anything I won’t do, alright?”

They all laughed at his reddening cheeks.

Saying their farewells, the couple watched as the four step onto the awaiting elevator. Once the lift started their descend down, they shut their own door and settled into the abrupt silence of the apartment. 

Spencer watched as his girlfriend of four years burst into giggles, shoulders shaking from the act.

With shiny eyes meeting his, “I had fun tonight, really.”

Any remnants of trepidation from tonight flushed clean from his system, as if the elation shone on your face was all he need to feel all was right in the world.

It was an emotion he wrangled with still, no matter how many years had passed. Spencer knew the statistics of FBI agents in correlation to keeping a relationship alive, the odds were stacked against their favor. 

He didn’t need to look far, his supervisor was an illustrious example of flourishing in his career but floundering in his personal.

So when Spencer started this relationship, his shoulders would tense up from every phone call that took him away from you, as if this case would be the one to break the camel’s back. Or as if this one or the next coming would cause him to turn from being a partner for an incredible woman to being a single entity, alone, missing what he once had. 

He hadn’t told you his worst dreams while away for a case. How he’d hear your melodic laughter in a hazy crowded room, familiar but no longer his, eyes tracking your beauty and smiles in the arms of another man. 

Spencer would wake up drenched from sweat and heart trying to beat out of his chest to the sweet reality where you’re still his and not once well-known stranger just inches out of his orbit.

He vividly remembers the first time he merged his world with yours at an annual gathering at Rossi’s mansion where he meekly asked, in private of course, if he could bring a plus one. 

The senior agent squinted his eyes in return, possibly analyzing any signs that could have pointed to this moment, before breaking into a smile, nodding, and patting his back with a warm chuckle. 

But for tonight, he had felt nervous and if he was being honest with himself, afraid that this moment would finally scare you away from the chaotic fold of his life. 

A fold he was on the verge of including you in for longer—for as long as you’d allow him to. 

“I had fun too,” he breathed out, a soft smile settling on his face. “Even when I had to listen to Morgan detail how much of a klutz I was during the early days.”

You took his hand into yours, rhythmically squeezing as you pulled him to the messy dining table. “Well, I for one thought it was cute—” the tips of your nose scrunching adorably. “—falling into a pool and getting kissed by a celebrity, just wow Spence, not everyone has that type of first kiss.”

The tips of his ears turned a brighter shade of red, mind desperately trying to string along words for defense.

Not waiting for his feeble attempt to contradict your teasing, you flitted around the table, gathering a series of plates as you went, skipping and side-stepping as if you were dancing to your own music.

He watched as the hem of your floral skirt softly swayed, entrancing him to blindly follow your lead. A moth to an ever bright burning flame.

He hovered behind you, caging you in, and the little space in between your bodies turning into static.

Spencer placed his warm hands your waist, the soft fabric and the skin underneath giving way to his grip, thumb running circles on the sliver of exposed skin beneath your blouse.

You giggled, sending vibrations to his chest and tingles to his ears, as he placed a constellation of kisses on your cheeks, trailing down to the soft arch on your neck.

“If I could consider our first kiss as my first, I would,” he whispered against your skin.

“Your eidetic memory begs to differ, love.”

He huffed, lips quirking to a pout. “It’s the thought that counts, wouldn’t it?”

You hummed under your breath, agreeing with his sentiment. 

His fingertips slowly traced its way to your own, caressing a trail that pebbled the skin underneath his feather light touch. Running your intertwined fingers under the streaming water before turning it off, Spencer gently tugged you towards the center of the kitchen.

Unobscured by any furniture, he tucked you safely under his chin, softly humming a song ever so familiar and swayed with you under the dimming orange glow of candlelights. 

The silence, heady from emotion, cocooned the two lovers in its embrace. Your choice of perfume, reminding him of rain against a night pavement, wafted through his sense, lulling his heartbeat to a baseline.

Spencer had spent numerous nights, watching you in deep sleep beside him, wondering if all the roads he hadn’t taken would still lead him to this—to you.

Were you the absolute destination of his otherwise convoluted life? The crystal clear pond at the end of a sweltering desert or an angel sent down by the heavens to one of its heavily wounded soldier or perhaps the absolute answer to his own mathematical and theoretical question called purpose?

If he had made just one mistake, would he still be here, waltzing with you at early in the morning, surrounded by dirty dishes and empty wine bottles on the counter top and no soul awake to watch their phantoms dance as one?

He squeezed your waist three times reassuringly, reminiscing the highs, middles, and lows you had stuck through beside him. 

His recovery from a gunshot wound, how you took time away from work just to make sure he got back to his own two feet. Mundane runs to the grocery store with a golden tint in his memory, making him feel like a little kid experiencing a taste of freedom and Emily’s death on the hands of Doyle, regardless of how untrue it was and the almost relapse from his festering emotions of being called a genius, for being too smart but still being too late to save her.

He wanted everything life would throw at him with your presence right beside him. The warmth of you, your steady hand clutching his, and your eyes sparkling from trust and belief you both would make it through.

Spencer wanted the connection with you to never be severed and for your story to continue on like an epic revisited by generations to come.

When he was young and still naive, he’d wonder if happily ever after truly existed or if was just a jaded author’s hopeful wish to create one in this bleak struggle of life. 

But here, with you in his arms, the neurons in his brain all echo an affirmative, that it does exist.

And it exists right here with you.

A definite ending.

A happy ever after.

So when he closes his eyes and places a litany of kisses on you forehead, he imagines your left hand, enclosed in his, wearing two rings—one of them now still safely hidden in his sock drawer and the other, a simple gold band linking to his own imaginary, and a white picket fence with high pitched squeals and laughter echoing from its’ ever green backyard.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[dubina-dawkins]

WINCHESTER'S PICKUP, INJURIES AND CLUMSY KISSES

~1k words

>you get hurt while hunting with your uncle, John Winchester and his son. Dean can't help but help.

pairing:teen! dean winchester x teen! reader

warnings/notes: basically a really tooth rotting fluff, first love and first kiss trope, vague descriptions of reader's past (like death of their family), few but subtle descriptions of injuries, john winchester mentioned (and i mean he's a real trigger so that's important), gn reader, no usage of y/n

REPOSTS WILL BE APPRECIATED

Minnesota. A werewolf hunt. Ordinary case-- boring, in a way. Just had to catch the bastard and shoot it through the heart with silver.

It seemed normal even to you, even though you weren't even an adult yet. Had to grow up early, huh? God, you hated that phrase. It sounded like you were feeling sorry for yourself. And self-pity is weak, very weak! At least that's what your uncle, the hunter who raised you since your family died in a vampire attack taught you.

And besides, you and your uncle weren't alone on this case, but with "family friends" - the Winchesters. Were they considered family friends if every time John needed help hunting and Dean was busy, your youngest son, Sam, was left at your and your uncle's house? Hell if I know! But at least you got a good memory of that family. And the older son's face, his cocky grin, his brilliant green eyes, his perfect nose and distinct freckles...it was all getting to your throat.

But damn it, it had to be some old, abandoned house. Protruding nails, scattered things, wood that left splinters in fingers - it would be dangerous here, even in daylight, without the risk of having your heart eaten...and when there was that risk, every step was tense.

Especially when the "hunted object" - you tried not to think of them as people, or else it became too hard to hunt - had run right into your path. The rumble of falling things, the pop of missed shots. This werewolf was physically strong and dexterous, so it was hard.

Like when he threw you into the wall and some protruding, crooked, rusty nail pierced your shoulder. It's okay, we've been through worse injuries, you'd think. Until Dean ran up to you, completely ignoring his father's scolding.

"Hey, are you okay? Ooh..." He seemed to swear, but it was quiet, a whisper he didn't want his father to hear. Dean sharply threw your arm, whose shoulder wasn't injured, over his neck and lifted you up, not listening to any of your complaints about not needing help.

"Dad's gonna kill you- sshhiit..." You hissed as he pressed his shirt, previously hanging over his black T-shirt, against your shoulder, treating the wound. The fabric was soaked with whiskey.

Hearing your sounds of pain, Dean lifts his emerald eyes from your wound to your face. His gaze is piteous, concerned, and his thick lashes glisten in the moonlight.

He was too handsome. Objectively, of course.

"Like the first time I'm going to get a punch from him... All right?" He squeezes your healthy shoulder in the palm of his hand, then puts his hand on the collar of your t-shirt, and...stops. "I... Can you slip your arm out of your sleeve?"

All his arrogance evaporated, there wasn't a particle of it in the air. And it was cute.

"You want me to take my clothes off? Pervert," you laugh, but your face immediately frowns as you raise your arm. Dean doesn't waste a second and starts helping you.

And God, the touch of his somehow warm fingers - there was a cool breeze outside, by the way - send shivers down your spine, making you dizzy. But you don't think about it. At least you're trying.

A low whimper escaped your lips as he tightened a piece of cloth, torn from your shirt and soaked in alcohol, on your wound. Maybe it wasn't unusual, but it still hurt.

"You're gonna stay here, you hear me? There's no way in hell you're going to go fight that big guy again right now. I won't let you," Dean said, glancing outside his dad's pickup window. His dad and your uncle were still in the house with a werewolf, apparently. You two could have been alone...for a little while. But of course that didn't excite you at all. You and Dean were just friends, right? Hunting bros. Nothing more.

And the fact that your gaze fell to his lips, then to his cheeks, covered with freckles, sharp cheekbones, ash-black long lashes, brilliant green eyes.... It meant nothing. At all.

"Whatever you say, sir," you quipped, rubbing the wound under the piece of cloth with your hand. Dean just gently pulled your hand away, "Don't make it worse for yourself, buddy." And oh, his tone is so gravelly. You're absolutely done.

But he won't let go of your hand. And you don't want to pull away.

His green eyes came up to your face, and he suddenly just froze, as if he couldn't look away. Dean stared at you as if you were the most brilliant and expensive gem, as if you were a living angel he hadn't believed in for a long time.... Like something unearthly. It would be foolish not to admit that you looked at him the same way.

Dean squeezed your hand lightly, and slowly - yes, very unusual for Dean Winchester to do something slowly - moved closer, but in a friendly way for now. In the same second, however, he remembered who he was, and his hand went up to your neck - still tentatively, of course... "Listen, buddy-..."

"Dean, please..."

And that did it. Dean's one word was enough for him to press his lips lightly against yours. He wasn't pushy, he wasn't rough, he didn't even let himself try to deepen the kiss. His lips only phantomly touched yours, guiding you, somehow even mentoring you, gently (still unusual for Dean Winchester himself!). His lips were matte, a little dry, but damn it, you liked it better than the sweetest meals of your life.

He pulls back, takes a deep breath and leans into you again. You're so cooked.

Dean can't help but marvel at your ineptitude at kissing- God, he could have sworn it made it the best kiss of his life. His lips move hotter, feistier, more needy, but still tentative, dipping down a little to leave a few quick nibbles on your chin and on your jaw--

Until you start hearing John and your uncle's voices outside. Oh, God, not now!

"Sorry, baby, sorry-" the nickname slides off his tongue so tenderly, lovingly, as he quickly pulls moves away from you.

Because after today, the chance of Winchester allowing you to see Dean earlier than after few months was close to zero.

a/n: i needed to think about little dean that haven't experienced hell already (on s4 currently yaaay). young jensen on header only because i can't think of teen dean looking as original cast actor for this role. and because i love young jensen. like really much. think im starting to get a lil' bit too much obsessed with dean

[sanchosgf]

gentle reminders

in which jude can’t seem to understand the weight his injuries have on his girlfriend

word count: 1.2k!

warnings: none i think! this isn’t proofread and i’m a little rusty so go easy on me please

heat tricked down your spine as you observed jude, his hand clasped in the medics as they moved his shoulder around. you knew he’d still play, they could tell him his arm had fallen off and even then you knew he’d be determined to continue the game.

your heart remained in your throat for the remaining minutes, unable to appreciate your boyfriends game as your whole body shook with nerves anticipating the weight of his injury that he seemingly was unable to grasp.

this wasn’t the first time you were left worried as jude played through an injury, each time ending in an inevitable argument as you pleaded for him to rest and take care of himself, and you were sure this time would be much the same. however thoughts of fighting were lost upon you as you finally spotted jude walking down the tunnel, his eyes lacking their usual post game spark as he pulled you in for a tight hug, his head nestled comfortably in the crook of your neck.

the hug was short lived, as you pulled back swiftly, hands settling on his cheeks as you inspected every inch of him, noticeable worry swirling your eyes.

“i’m okay baby, promise, just a little hit yeah?” jude comforted, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead a gentle reminder of his love for you. his attempt to console you however was futile, shaking your head back and forth as you peered up at him - now standing back at his full height as your fingers slipped from his cheeks.

“but it wasn’t a little hit jude, you shouldn’t of played on it!” you tried to keep your voice down as you admonished him, arms crossed over your chest, his missing warmth and the physical disconnection making your heart twist.

jude sighed, shoulders slumping as he looked at you before swiftly looking around. “let’s not do this here, please.” his eyes bore into yours, pleading almost as his hand rose to stroke your cheek, catching a tear you didn’t even know had slipped from your eye.

hesitantly you nodded, leaning into his hand and kissing it gently as a silent apology, one he swiftly accepted, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leading you to the car. no words were shared between the two of you. the silence filled with small glances and shaky breaths, neither of you willing to address the impending argument.

silence followed the two of you into the house, the air tense as you actively held your tongue, wanting nothing more than to get cosy in jude’s arms and forget about the game - jude however had other plans.

“are you going to say what’s on your mind, or continue trying to knock my head off with your mind each time you look at me?” judes voice was heavy, sleep coating ever syllable as he looked at you with hooded eyes.

“it doesn’t really matter if i say what’s on my mind, we know you never listen to me when it comes to your injuries. it’s like teaching a baby to drive jude, can we just go to bed?”

jude’s eyes widened significantly at your sudden admission, all sleep leaving his body as he stared at you, mouth agape. though it wasn’t an unwarranted statement, jude knew he dragged you through hell and back with stress each injury, continuously playing on each injury despite your incessant pleas for him to rest. each time ended much the same - you being right and jude being out longer than necessary.

despite the truth jude scoffed “tell me how you really feel babe” his tone was snarky, sending daggers straight to your heart as you finally looked up at him.

“j you know i didn’t mean it like that, but you also know that each time we end up in this situation i end up being right! i’m sick of watching you exhaust yourself and play on injuries which only leaves you out for longer. i hate seeing you hurt and i hate that you can’t see how much it hurts me. i’m tired of it jude.” your voice wobbled slightly as you spoke, desperate to feel jude’s warmth against you, however all you were met with was his icy glare.

“maybe i should sleep in the guest room tonight, let us both cool off.”

his suggestion saw another bout of tears gather in your lash line, eyes searching his own for any trace of a joke.

“if that’s what you want” you choked out, defeated and too tired to argue further. jude’s facade cracked at your defeated expression, however with a lingering kiss to your forehead he left you for the guest room, leaving you with a cold bed and tear stained cheeks.

neither of you could sleep, and as the clock hit 2 jude finally got up, desperate to make amends with you and let you know how much he truly cared for and loved you, disappointed that he failed to do so earlier.

his cold hands met your cheeks softly, thumbs rubbing comforting circles under your eyes as they opened slowly.

“hi baby…” jude’s gentle whisper cut through the silence of the room, as you sat up slowly pulling jude beside you and placing your head right against his heart. it was shameful how quickly you folded at the smallest of touches, however you’d been craving his touch for hours and close now was not close enough.

jude’s lips pressed small kisses to your forehead, knowing how much you adored the small action, and making a note to shower you in an abundance of forehead kisses the next day. “im so so sorry my love… i hate putting you through this, and i don’t show you enough how grateful i am for all you do for me, especially when im injured. i hate that im the reason for you tears tonight sweetheart.”

your eyes fluttered open at his admissions, head tilting ever so slightly to catch his gaze, moonlight illuminating his features. “it’s okay, i get that it’s hard and you just want to play, but you deserve to rest as well y’know? i just wish you’d give yourself a break”

jude nodded at your words, one of his large hands coming up to cradle your cheek, tilting your face up until his lips hovered over yours. impatient with his slow movements, your hand wove to the back of his neck, pressing his lips onto yours as you relished in the warmth the provided, a gentle caress of his own over yours that sent your heart into overdrive.

the kiss spoke volumes for the two of you, as you both lost yourself in it, basking in the intimate connection after hours without any touch.

jude was the first to pull away, forehead leaning against yours as he looked at you intently.

“i love you, y’know? more than anything.”

his words were solidified as he placed his lips against your forehead once more, not faltering as you spoke the same words back, voice slurred as you felt your body succumbing to sleep.

“can we sleep now? i’m tired and i’ve finally got my favorite body pillow back.”

jude let out a tired laugh at your statement, nodding his head as he guided the two of you to lay down, your head nestled right over his heart and under his chin as his arms wrapped securely around you - your small fight long forgotten. his lips provided a gentle pressure against your forehead, a small reminder that even though you two fought, you truly were his best girl, and he’d do all he could tomorrow to show you just how much he loved you.

[ervotica]

loved up?

pairing; fred weasley x fem!reader

series; the bestfriendverse NEW! (ongoing)

warnings; allusions to self harm (reader), pining, idiots in love (but they don't know it yet), a lil sad but also fluffy

synopsis; fred gives you - his obviously platonic best friend - a cuddle in the common room. an interrogation ensues.

a/n; i'm veeeery rusty but i'm back bitches!! and proud to present.... the bestfriendverse. turning this into a lil series of drabbles (& hopefully longer chapters) if my brain keeps braining for long enough. so requests are muchly appreciated and my inbox is always open. cannot wait to explore these two in more depth!!! missed you all </3

You're halfway into Fred's lap when George and Lee round the corner to the common room, melty soft and warm with your legs over his thighs, eyes closed and lashes brushing at the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

He smells lovely.

He feels even lovelier – that soft rumble of his chest that lazily pushes its way through you, his hand at the side of your neck, keeping you nuzzling against him like a needy kitten. He hikes you further up and you preen, eyes still closed, half asleep and well on your way to drooling on his shoulder.

You stretch and wheedle your arms underneath his own until your shoulder is squeezed beneath his armpit. He makes room for you, as expected.

"Oi! They're having a love-fest in here!" Lee says. You groan and dig your head further into Fred's neck. Your heartbeat ticks up when he scrubs a sweeping circle over your back with his palm outstretched –you don't even mind when he rucks up your t-shirt.

You diligently ignore the hammering in your own ears.

The other end of the settee dips and George's weight settles at your back, knuckles brushing at the back of your neck in a way he knows makes you bristle and squirm. You squeak and make to dive behind Fred.

"Leave her be, Georgie," Fred says, mock offence dripping from his every syllable. His arm lifts instinctively and he ushers you right under until you're well and truly squashed, your whole body curled inward against his chest. It's endearing how seriously he takes defending your honour. "We were very comfortable before you interrupted, you silly sod."

"I resent that comment."

"You resemble it, more like."

George gasps in faux horror. You tip your head upwards just in time to watch Lee throw his arms around the pair of you, a devious grin on his face.

You know what he's going to say, no matter how much you wish he wouldn't.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you two looked proper loved up. Wouldn't you agree, George?"

"Absolutely."

If Fred feels you deflate, he's gracious enough not to mention it. Your lips purse and you busy yourself picking at your cuticles.

"Shut up," Fred snorts as though the thought alone is utterly ridiculous. Your heart does this awful sort of flip-flop that knocks the breath right out of you– it leaves an ache that carries right down to your toes.

You try to disentangle yourself from him as smoothly as possible. You want to run and hide from this conversation, the very conversation you've been rehearsing over and over in your head for months.

Being in love with your best friend isn't for the faint of heart.

Fred clings when you attempt to slide out of his grip, tugging you right back into his side. Heat rises to your cheeks so fast you feel faint.

Honestly, you might pass out right now.

Lee's already distracted, animatedly discussing the next upcoming prank with almost concerning fervour. Fred absentmindedly fiddles with the hem of your t-shirt as he listens.

Godric, you're burning up.

You can feel George's eyes on you. You know what he wants to say – can picture it right down to the pitying look in his eyes. He's always been the more observant twin.

You don't want to hear it.

Fred won't let go no matter how much you fidget. You pick at your nails until red pools at the edges of your cuticles. The sting prickles at your eyes.

"Hey." Fred's attention snaps to you suddenly. "What's the matter, lovie? You feeling alright?"

Fucking hell. He must be doing it on purpose, surely. Your throat burns.

"Nothing," you croak. "I'm okay."

It's just convincing enough for him to leave it, though you're half sure you'll be questioned later.

He smears a kiss to the crown of your head before he stands and it almost finishes you off.

That boy is going to be the death of you.

[222low]

clingy/needy yushi...😵‍💫😵‍💫

clingy yushi thoughts ₊˚⊹

content: fluff, gn reader, not proofread (lmk if u spot any mistakes!)

not a huge fan of physical touch in public, but when you guys are going out with friends he INSISTS he has to sit next to you in the booth, making sure he's holding your hand at all times under the table except when he has to let go

views you as royalty..you're so important to him and he loves to show it silently. always staring at you with awe when you're explaining things to him, being patient with you always, exchanging quiet smiles with you

i feel like he'd love to be little spoon when you guys are cuddling but never wants to say it out loud. he always drops subtle hints and when you finally give in he feels like the luckiest man in the world

lovesss receiving massages after a long day (and giving them of course). he just wants you in his embrace and running your hands through his hair, or gently across his back

loves going on late night walks with you. he loves when he can just hold you close to him while getting a breath of fresh air together, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. you feel like home to him.

i miss you texts..like a lot. just leaving home to go to practice? he'll send u a text. during practice? he'll make an excuse to go to the "bathroom" just so he can text u to see what you're up to. during breaks, best believe hes gonna be calling you the whole time.

he always makes sure to document when he leaves too, taking selfies with members at practice, himself. letting you know what he's doing, etc.

carries your things without you having to ask. he sees this as a quiet way of showing his love and being close to you when you guys are out together, wanting to show you that he's always there for you.

when the day is over, be prepared for him to attack you with kisses all over, his way of showing he missed you before you fall asleep in each others arms

a/n: hey yallll.....its been quite a bit!!! hopefully this will suffice as i slowly try to hack away at the drafts i have..i love yushi so hopefully i did him justice, bear with me as i get back into the groove of things, im a bit rusty <3 feedback always appreciated