#it's not cheating to use stabilization

[aurantiumred]

the lost trio is currently well-known throughout the camp as major rulebreakers. its not like they break every rule, or major rules, but it is so goddamn consistent. all the cabin 10 and 9 kids are fully aware that if they get up at night theres a decent chance theyll see piper, jason, and leo sitting in a circle on the floor clutching some uno cards. they hide in the alcove that the statue cant see whenever they visit jasons cabin and chiron has given up on trying to stop them because they ALWAYS have an excuse as to why they're playing board games in places they are NOT supposed to be at three in the morning.

[holeforzenin]

TOJI N MEGUMI’S SWEET GIRLFRIEND!!!

Tw - Cheating, breeding kink, forbidden relationship. Megumi is 20 n reader is a bit older, Brief Toji x reader. Not proofread

★彡

Imagine Megumi walking around the house shirtless, exposing every inch of his skin from his hips up, His smooth skin glistening under the warn-toned light as he walked into the kitchen for a snack but then Toji spots the fresh series of red, angry lines scattered across his upper back. He’s not dumb, he’s a grown man in his early 40s, he’s basically an expert at that shit considering the fact that he has them too. He knows exactly what it is and what caused it.

He starts teasing Megumi about it, about how his boring, grumpy ass is actually getting some pussy—not knowing that the pussy he’s getting is his sweet little girlfriend’s while he’s away on missions, absolutely oblivious to what happens between his son and girlfriend while he’s not there. The harsh markings from your sharp manicured nails mauling his son’s toned back as he fucked your slutty brains out and digs his cock deep into your insides while giving you one of the best dicking of your life, right on top of you and Toji’s bed.

–––

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend of his that wakes up at 5am sharp to make breakfast and see him off to his 3-day mission just to have his son’s throbbing hard dick nestled deep into your greedy cunt—stuffing you full to the brim while his tip nudges against the deepest part of your pussy just a few hours later.

Megumi was three years younger than you, never had a girlfriend before and you felt bad for the poor boy and was soo tired and annoyed of having to keep buying new panties since the old ones were used to wrap around his preverted cock to jerk off, staining it with his seed instead of doing you and his father’s laundry so you had to find a way to deal with it…

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend he calls every evening while he's away to make sure you’re alright and if you’ve eaten dinner, not knowing that his son is eating dinner right now—behind you, on this knees as his rough hands spreads your soft cheeks apart, nose pressed deep into your creamy folds while he sucks on your twitching little clit with fervor and intensity, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

Your juices drips down his chin disgustingly as he devours you like a homeless man eating his favorite meal for the first time in years, groaning vibrantly against your twitching core as he tastes your sweet pussy—desperately lapping up every bit of pussy juice he can suck out of you, making you audibly stutter but Toji doesn’t question it, maybe you’re just tired and miss him too much or something. You bit your lips, moving a hand down to push Megumi’s eager face further into your horny pussy as you teasingly wiggled your cheeks in his face. Your eyes roll back when you felt Megumi’s sly tongue dragging flat against your asshole, licking a long stripe at the fluttery hole before attempting to pry it open with the tip of his tongue, “Mmm, don’t worry baby I’m fine—just have a sore throat that’s all” you reassumed your older boyfriend on the other end, reasoning why you’re making odd noises.

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend he calls Megumi for—to check up and make sure you’re safe and okay. After all, while Toji is away, Megumi is the man of the house, not knowing that you’re on your knees as they speak, both hands digging into his muscular legs for stability as he fucks his thick cock deep into your skull, his leaking tip oozing with pre-cum, dripping at the back of your throat as you look up at him with pleading eyes as your mascara mixed with tears drips down your pretty face while he just smiles down at you darkly—reassuring Toji that his girlfriend is well taken care of.

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend who he promises to breed, babbling about how much he wants to give Megumi a sibling and watch your belly swell with his kid as he’s pounding you deep and hard in full Nelson, his huge tip nudging against your bruised cervix, brutally splitting apart your cunt while whispering into your ear. “Hah—fuckkk doll, your tight pussy is swallowing my dick so good, fuckk imagine if I fill you up and breed this pretty little pussy with my seed, How does that sound darling? Wanna give lonely Megumi a sibling to take care of?” He questions your fucked out self as he licks away the trail of salty tears lingering on your face. Not knowing that Megumi is just like him. Their minds are sooo alike. “Shitshitshit—such a good little horny slut, this pussy’s taking my cock sooo well baby. Whaddya say we make old man Toji a grandpa? Fuck he wouldn’t even have a clue it’s not his” he laughs into your ears as he licks your earlobe while drilling his swollen cock into your soppy cunt from behind, against the kitchen counter just 20 minutes before toji gets home.

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend who gets her sweet cunt and tight asshole stuffed full with his son’s seed almost every other day. Megumi would brutally fucked your tight pussy against the bathroom sink while he’s taking a nap, your panties bearly hanging around the sides of your ankles as Megumi manhandles your body back onto his cock—forcing you to meet his thrust halfway as he pounds it into you, he's so girthy and big, definitely not as big as Toji’s but it’s definitely a lot more stiff and eager, his tip bullyingly grazes against your g-spot as you cried out, making him grunt before quickly slapping a hand over your mouth to shut you up. “Can’t a nasty whore shut the fuck up? Or do you want him to wake up and see you creaming on his son’s cock? Is that what you want? Such a cock-hungry little slut.”

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend that he buys sexy lingerie for, to wear and model them for him and he finishes off the show by ripping them to shreds off of you and fucking you into a brainless whore—but like father, like son, Megumi does the exact same when he’s not there. It’s like they both think alike when it comes to certain things—that being sex. No wonder sometimes some of them tend to go “missing” leading him to buy you even more for his son Megumi to fuck you in. He loves seeing you all dolled up with your matching pink panties and bra. It makes both of them absolutely feral.

જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the adoring girlfriend who he fucks absolutely stupid and good, to the point where your toes curled as your eyes roll back to your skull—a moaning mess as he forces out orgasms after orgasms out to you till the whole mattress is drenched and soaked with cum. The only (downside?) would be Megumi hearing everything from the next room, brows furred together has he angrily fist fuck his pulsating cock, imagining he was the one drilling deep into you instead. The next day he’d corner you while your sitting on the couch and manhandle your body so you’ll be face down and ass up—stuffing three thick, long fingers into your tight asshole, stretching it apart while he snakes his tongue deep into your hungry pussy—exploring your insides. Your asshole taking in his fingers with pure pleasure as you buckle your hips back onto his face, like a whore—eagered for more.

[caitlynsrighteye]

Ex!Girlfriend Caitlyn Misses you

G!P Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

Contains: SMUT, wlw, g!p, nsfw, toxic!cait, fem!reader, lots of cum, masturbation, fleshlight, delusional sex, dis fic nasty (need that), your ex Cait milks herself thinking of you

wc: 2.5k

Masterlist Drabble

She's an idiot. A fucking idiot. She had you and fucked around. Unfaithful, disloyal. Now look at the so-called great Kiramman heiress, in bed, moon at its highest peak, jerking herself off with all the toys her money could buy.

Laid flat on her back, head propped with one of the multiple pillows that were now scattered all over. Comforter and blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed, hanging off the mattress. Sweat dampened her forehead as if the air conditioning wasn't currently blasting throughout her elegant room that began to smell of deep musk.

Her piercing blue eyes stare at her groin, where her hand moves a toy up and down her throbbing erection.

A fleshlight is what she strokes her cock with. She had used her stroker, yet it couldn't fully engulf her length. A pocket pussy with an artificial silicone ass, too flimsy. But oh this was the one. The fleshlight was stiff in her hand, easy to grip, took her deep just like you have so many times before. The gummy insides feel almost as perfect as your wet cunt, like you were the mold model to make the toy, and if she really focused, it sounded like you too with the way it squelches and gulps with every stroke.

While she lays alone in her bed, her mind is lost in the imprinted images of you.

When she was still dating you.

You found out about the cheating. How she would say she's “working”, yet find her drunk on some random's story, making out with a girl at a house party which of course lead to sleeping together. So you left her.

The navy-haired girl is petty, proud, and has ego like she's above all else. So, when you ghosted her, ignored all of her calls and texts, it was like a stab to her gut, her pride.

“Fuck-” she groans angrily under her breath. How could you have left her so easily? Nobody gets to walk away from her, a Kiramman of all sorts.

Caitlyn breathes heavily through her nose, a few escaping groans of frustration leaving her lips every time her cock twitches in sensitivity. She shuts her eyes closed, focusing on the way your cunt felt around her.

“Oh~ fuck– I can’t,” your words come out mumbled, too fucked from how long you’ve been bouncing yourself on her stiff pipe. Your thighs burnt and cramped, soft hands pressed against her abdomen to stabilize yourself. She held onto your hip with one hand, barely assisting your movements, while her other held caressed your thigh, feeling the flexing muscle whenever you lifted yourself.

“Yes, you can, baby. Keep going,” this motivates you and you pick up the pace. Her hand leaves your thigh to join the other on your hips, helping you with your momentum and making sure to slam you down onto her, making you yell with moans.

She feels your body tremble, you’ll collapse any moment, but she isn’t finished. You stay squatted above her as she moves her hands from your hips to cupping under your thighs, where she then digs her heels into the bed and begins to thrust upwards. You straighten your back, your own hands coming up to your bouncing tits and pinching your nipples.

The faster she goes the closer she is too cumming, so you take your fingers and rub your clit while she ruts. Her thighs slapping against your ass. “Hmph! Fuuuck,” her mouth agape as she watches your pretty pussy take her entire length, strings of arousal sticking to her pelvis that's groomed with trimmed navy pubes.

Your insides throb when they’re abused like this. You feel her deep inside, thick tip kissing the spots that make you crumble. When her harsh thrusts come to a stop she keeps it all inside. Timing it just right when she feels your walls tighten. Your moans are prolonged when you feel her hot seed fill you. The knot deep within your tummy bursts, causing you to shake and squirt all over her.

Her fleshlight is full. White creamy release seeping out from the silicone hole. She lifts the toy off of her. When her tip pops out, waves of her sweet cum pour out of it and onto her lower stomach.

“Fuck yes baby, cum all over me,” she says. Eye rolling from the amount of heavy slick coating her hips. Her body jerks, twitching just slightly. A noticeable vulnerability she rarely, almost never showed to you. The power and dominance she had over you was something she kept dear, but now with you gone, she can't help but give herself to you, even if it’s just in her imagination.

She rests her head on her forearm, eyes closed as if she were sleeping. The twitch of her eyebrow and the wet gulping sound of her toy gave away the peaceful atmosphere she looked succumbed to.

Her sharp facial features would tense every now and then. Her ears listen to the saturated squelch of her fleshlight. Taking it slow and deep till her tip hits the back, as if it was you deep throating her length. Your soft lips wrapped around her and massaging her shaft.

She loved how easily you would fall to your knees when she grabbed your face, puffing out your lips when she squeezed your cheeks. Followed with the words, “Use that mouth correctly,” in a low-toned voice that made your bones go weak after you’ve said something that pissed her off.

Her toes curl when the artificial pussy takes her cock so well. She bottoms it out. The fake clit of the toy rubbing into her skin. She lifts it slowly, feeling every gummy curve of its insides till it’s only her aching tip. Thrusting the fleshlight on her tip, pulling it off and having the wet entrance circle around her hole that dripped with cum. Sliding it up and down the sides of her dick as if it were your lips, feeling and memorizing every vein that pumped plasma. She stroked herself once more with it, her free hand reaching down to her sack and pinching gently on the sensitive skin.

Your lips would suck and stretch the skin of her nuts while your hand jerked her boner. Your beautiful, glossy eyes keep contact with her sky-blue ones. Her lip in between her teeth as she watches you give some of the best head she’ll never admit she had ever received.

You slurp at her skin till it slips from your grasp, the stretch of her sack retracting back, earning a little hum from the heiress. Your fist at her base, you come back up and suck on her tip that has grown red in color, bobbing your warm mouth on it before popping off and giving it gentle kitten licks, feeling her cock twitch and slap on your tongue.

Her face winces, stomach flexing as she cums again. Her load coming out in strings, landing on her abdomen. Fuck, she misses your pretty face. The perfect canvas to paint. How you would take and swallow everything so willingly.

Sweat glistened on her skin as she inhaled deeply. She rolls herself over and gathers a couple of pillows, placing them on top of each other and sandwiching the fleshlight in between.

She sits on her knees, catching a few more breaths before thumbing the squishy entrance of the toy, still completely coated in semen. The white splattered of her release drips down her toned skin, facing the two pillows with one hand slowly jerking her member.

She places one hand on top of the pillows and guides her cock inside. Sighing with a breathy groan as it takes her girth.

“Hmm… Cait–” she sushes you. Giving your ass a slap while the other rides up your spine till it reaches your hair on the back of your head, grabbing it at the scalp and pushing your face down into the pillow, balls deep inside of you. Unmoving, cockwarming.

You shudder around her, earning a low chuckle from her lips.

“So beautiful when you're desperate for my cock, huh?” Her hips move back, pulling out just a little to give you little to no satisfaction and thrusting it all back in. Repeatedly doing so, so her tip pulses and teases against your cervix.

You're groaning into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. Arching your back for her even more. Feeling both of her hands grab onto your hips where she then pulls out further and thrusts with a clap to your skin against hers.

Thrusting again and again. The feeling of your insides squeezing her so perfectly.

Her head falls back, long navy hair waving behind her. “Holy fucking shit,” she groans, pausing between each word. “Love this pussy.”

Caitlyn picks up her pace, fighting back the exhaustion of hours of jacking off and cumming till her balls ached. She brings one leg up from her kneel to plant onto the bed, her thigh at your side. Helping her go deeper than before, sack slapping your clit with each stroke of her cock.

Her eyes dart down in between your bodies, cursing when she finds thick white strings of cum connecting you both together. It was wet, messy sounding, like slapping a body of water. A creamy ring foaming at her base.

You were so full of her release, it gushed out whenever she rammed her thick length inside, splurting all over her pelvis.

“Baby– ah! Feels so good,” you whine. You control your pussy like it's a profession. Making sure to keep it tight for Caitlyn's pleasure.

Maybe it's the reason she missed you. You were the best sex she's experienced.

Deep down you wished she noticed you more for youself than just a fuck toy. What did you expect anyways? You were just a body to have at any time. Whenever and wherever.

She's a gentlewoman. She would take you out. Spend her money on you. Be with you physically, yet the emotional attachment was absent, but you were just too naive you see it until her recent affair.

Her cock ached. Breathing heavily, beads of sweat dripped down her forehead, dampening the blue side bangs that framed her face so nicely. She let go of your hips to scoop up your torso, making you prop yourself onto your hands. Taking a hand full of your tangled hair and bringing her lips close to your ear.

“Fuck yourself on it,” she lets go of your hair aggressively, pushing your head forward. A lengthy whine escapes your lips, head down, looking underneath your body as you ground back onto her. Rolling your hips for a while before thrusting backwards. The skin of your ass jiggled in waves when it came in contact with her body. A fucking sexy view for the Kiramman.

Every few moments your ass will receive a stinging slap. Handprint marks shown on your reddened skin. Your pussy swollen from the abuse of her cock ramming in and out of you repeatedly. Enduring a long night of paces from slow to fast, gentle to rough. Your insides felt like they were numbing from how stretched out you were.

Where your backwards thrusts began to slow, the tall heiress wasted no time in grabbing your hips again and thrusting with such speed, she struggled to breath. Your body jerks forward with each harsh stroke that pulls guttural moans from your throat with your stomach feeling so full of her rock hard girth shoves inside you repeatedly.

She rams her cock into you til she spills her release, filling your slutty hole to the brim. Cock on fire, but she's far from over.

-

You could hardly speak anymore. Hardly think. Even breathing became difficult. With each heavy-hipped force of her cock knocked the wind out of your lungs. Your mind was blurry and the only nerves that were working was your abused pussy.

She raspily moans into the crevice of your neck. Ear to ear, her body weight on top of you. Your legs completely spread that your knees were on the bed sheets, giving her full access to your soaked and cum-filled hole. Pussy bred with multiple loads and future generations wasted. Your lips, stomach, pussy and thighs were inked with white goo. Caitlyn Kiramman's cum dump.

Her legs at a bend as she sits in front of you. Tall frame covering and bear hugging your smaller body. Your tight pussy at her disposal. Her tits rubbing with yours with your fingernails digging in her back.

“Auh~ fuck fuck… gah!” Caitlyn's nuts squeeze when she feels you tighten. So many orgasms, your eyes were red and dripping with tears. Her face buried into the pillow on which your head rested. Her hands are holding and grabbing at your ass and under your thighs, keeping you in place as if her entire body wasn't already on you.

Close to one last bust, she kisses your sweat-damped neck softly while her hips continue their rough pounding.

“Fuck ah– come back to me, baby. Come back to me,” she begged. Her voice is harsh and breathy.

You wrap your arms around her neck. Same with your legs on her waist. You turn your head slowly to meet her ear with your lips, your soft skin skimming along it.

“I'm right here, Caitlyn.”

She gasps, body trembling, face pressing further into the pillow as the coil in her stomach springs and releases. Waves of curses leaving her lips as she pulses her thrusts, prolonging her orgasm.

She breathes heavily. A shaky exhale as she realizes the missing weight underneath her. The smell of her now musty sheets instead of something sweeter, more natural. Her back, free of scratch marks. Her hands no longer held onto soft flesh, but the grip of the toy.

The navy-haired girl sighs, rolling onto her back as her chest heaves. Wincing when she pulls the fake pussy off of her cock that falls to one side of her pelvis.

She reminisces about the long night she gave herself. The throbbing ache in her head.

The air hot and moist, her full body mirror fogged. The moon beaming through the dark of her room.

Blue-eyes stare up at her expensive patterned ceiling. Unfocused on anything as her thoughts wander.

The peace was interrupted by light. One not so bright, but enough to notice in the room.

Her phone.

She reaches for it, curious. Grabbing the phone that was settled near the edge of the mattress. Her eyes squinted from the blue light and to her surprise, a notification.

From you.

She quickly taps on it and unlocks her phone.

Your dm opened on her screen. Many unreplied chats from her trying to reach out to you for weeks.

She opens to find a picture. A picture of you laying on your bed, naked, nipples erect and fingers teasing your clit with a text saying, "i miss u,” how ironic.

With the phone in one hand, staring intently at the photo, her other takes her softening cock that flops in her grasp, pumping it gently to keep the blood flowing.

“Fuck.”

Even when you're no longer together she's still wrapped around your pretty little fingers.

Note: I'm back to writing, AGAIN! I've been working some crazy hrs lately and havent been able to write :,(

If you request! They are added to my masterlist for todo's!

I hope you enjoyed this fic! This is based from my smut drabble i posted which i got some insane feedback on, THANK YOU SM!!

Thanks for reading and have a good day♡♡♡

[4linos]

the letter pt. 2

han jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating breakup over the future you couldn't agree on, you and jisung are left unraveling in the aftermath. you wanted a family. he wanted freedom.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, (unplanned) pregnancy, jealousy & miscommunication, emotional cheating undertones.

wc: 8740

[the letter part. 1, the letter part. 3]

Acceptance didn’t come with a sudden epiphany.

It came slowly, quietly, like water wearing away at stone.

At first, the silence nearly destroyed you. The ache of waiting for a call that never came, the sting of every passing day that confirmed what you didn’t want to believe: Jisung wasn’t going to show up. He wasn’t going to reach out. He wasn’t going to be there. It was a hard truth, one that settled into your bones like winter, cold, heavy, impossible to ignore.

But slowly, with time, you began to understand something else: you didn’t need him to.

You didn’t need Jisung to make this real. You didn’t need his permission to move forward. You didn’t need his love or his regret to love this child growing inside of you.

That shift didn’t happen overnight. It took tears. Sleepless nights. A million conversations with Jia and Lana, where you said the same things again and again until the words lost their sting.

“He’s not coming back,” you had whispered one night, curled up on your couch, the blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders like armor. “He read it. I know he did. And if he wanted to be here, he would be.”

Jia nodded, her expression soft but steady. “And that’s on him.”

Lana, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of snacks in her lap, added, “You don’t owe him anything. He made his choice. And now you’re making yours.”

Their words didn’t fix everything, but they helped you breathe a little easier.

You started to remember all the things you used to dream about when you were younger. The things you whispered to yourself late at night when the world felt too loud. You’d always wanted a child. Always wanted a tiny person to love, to protect, to raise into someone kind and strong. Your reasons weren’t grand or poetic, they were simple and honest.

You wanted someone to call yours.

A little hand to hold. A sleepy head to kiss goodnight. A home that echoed with laughter and quiet footsteps. You had always dreamed of family. Of stability. Of unconditional love.

And Jisung had once felt like a part of that dream.

But dreams change.

And now, though it was different, though it wasn’t the picture-perfect family you’d envisioned, complete with a partner who held your hand through morning sickness and doctor appointments, you were still going to have that love. You were still going to have someone who would call you theirs.

A child who would look at you like you were their whole world.

You began talking to your baby more. Not out loud at first, but in thoughts. Little whispers as you lay in bed, hand splayed over your stomach. You imagined what they’d look like. What kind of laugh they’d have. Whether they’d like music like Jisung, or books like you. You tried not to think about him much, but sometimes the thought crept in of him holding your baby, of him realizing what he’d walked away from. It still hurt.

But the hurt wasn’t as sharp anymore.

More of a dull ache. A scar instead of an open wound.

Jia and Lana were your constants, showing up with groceries, dragging you out of bed when the nausea wasn’t too bad, helping you put together a list of things you’d need. They kept reminding you that this child was already loved. That you were loved. That you hadn’t done anything wrong by wanting something Jisung couldn’t give.

“You’ve wanted this your whole life,” Jia said one morning as she rubbed your back while you heaved over the toilet. “This baby? This is your dream. Maybe not how you pictured it, but it’s still yours. That matters.”

You cried after she said it, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sense of yes. Yes, this was yours. This life you were building, even if it was cracked around the edges, was real. It was happening. And it was going to be beautiful, even in its broken places.

Eventually, you stopped checking your phone for his name.

Eventually, you stopped wondering if he’d show up.

You started making lists, cribs, baby names, pediatricians. You started reading articles, watching videos, planning. You let yourself feel excited. Nervous. Hopeful. Because as lonely as it sometimes felt, there was something growing inside of you that had nothing to do with Jisung anymore.

This baby was yours.

And you were going to love them enough for the both of you.

At first, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The letter.

That goddamn letter.

It sat in his office desk drawer like it had claws, like it had buried itself deep into the wood, refusing to let go. Jisung had tried to forget it. He told himself it didn’t matter, that whatever you had to say was too late anyway. That if you really cared, you wouldn’t have walked out of his life like it was easy. Like he hadn’t fallen apart the moment the door shut behind you.

The drawer was closed, but his eyes kept drifting toward it.

Every time he sat down to write, to work, to practice, his gaze would flicker. Brief, but persistent. He told himself it was just curiosity, not hope. That it was normal to wonder. Normal to think about you. About the things you might’ve written.

Maybe it was an apology.

Maybe it was a desperate plea to get back together, to undo the fight, to rewrite the ending.

He convinced himself that’s all it could be. That you wanted him back, that you missed him like he missed you, except he wasn’t going to let himself believe you were sorry. Because then he’d have to forgive you. And Jisung didn’t want to forgive you.

He was angry.

Still heartbroken, sure. But underneath all that pain was anger, real, raw anger that scorched through his chest like wildfire every time he remembered how quickly you’d walked away. How you'd looked at him like he was the enemy for not wanting the same things. Like he was less because he hadn’t pictured the same white-picket-fence future you did.

So no, he didn’t open it.

He refused to.

The letter sat unopened for weeks, untouched but never fully ignored. It became part of his daily life, a silent weight in the back of his mind. A temptation. A wound. Something he both despised and felt tethered to.

He moved around it. Literally.

Every time he sat at the desk, his movements became sharper. He'd slam drawers harder, avoid resting anything near that one. He reorganized his workspace to make sure he wouldn’t have to reach near the envelope, as if proximity alone might make him cave.

Sometimes he’d linger there at night, just staring at the drawer. Fingers twitching. Wondering.

Not about you. He tried not to think about you anymore. But about what you thought you had to say. What gave you the nerve to write to him after leaving the way you did. After choosing a future without him.

Because that’s what it had felt like, hadn’t it? Like you’d made your choice. You wanted a family. A child. A life of stillness. And Jisung… Jisung wanted freedom. Music. The quiet, sacred simplicity of not being tied down, not yet. Not now. He hadn’t lied to you about that. He hadn’t pretended he wanted things he didn’t.

And yet, somehow, it still hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

So why write?

What could possibly be in that envelope that mattered now?

He started forgetting about it eventually. Or he told himself he did. The drawer stopped calling to him quite so loudly. He buried it beneath a stack of old receipts and tour paperwork. He told himself he didn’t care anymore.

And he didn’t.

Not until he started dreaming about you again.

Not until he walked into his apartment one night, bone tired, body aching from rehearsal and saw your old hoodie draped over the back of the couch. Something you must’ve left behind. He didn’t remember it being there before. Maybe it had fallen out of the closet. Maybe he’d just missed it. But the sight of it twisted something deep in his chest.

He sat down and held it for the first time in weeks.

Brought it to his nose, hoping for the faint trace of your perfume. The scent was long gone, but the memory of it was enough. He closed his eyes. Saw your face. Heard your voice.

“I just want something real, Jisung. Something stable. You don’t get it.”

He’d fought back that night. Screamed things he didn’t mean. Told you that stability wasn’t everything, that you were suffocating him with your picture-perfect expectations. He didn’t mean that either.

He never meant to lose you.

He just didn’t know how to give you what you wanted.

The dreams came harder after that.

Nights filled with half-remembered moments. You, crying. You, laughing. You, walking away. The drawer became heavier again. Not physically, but in the way it felt, in the way his chest grew tight every time he sat down at that desk.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if maybe the letter wasn’t what he thought it was.

If maybe you hadn’t written to beg, or plead, or apologize.

What if it was a goodbye?

What if it was closure?

The thought made him sick. And yet it stayed. Brewing. Spreading. Curling like smoke around the corners of his resolve.

Still, he didn’t open it.

Not yet.

Because once he did, there’d be no going back. Once he read what you had to say, whether it shattered him or made him ache to run back to you, it would mean something. It would change something. And he wasn’t ready.

Not to feel that kind of heartbreak all over again.

Not to face the truth of whatever words you'd left him with.

Not to know if the dream he’d been trying to forget… had already come true without him.

-

He hadn’t planned on checking his phone again that night.

It was late, past 1 a.m. and he should’ve been asleep. He was exhausted, not just in his body, but in a way that seemed to linger deep in his bones. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from long studio hours or back-to-back rehearsals. No, this was the kind of tired that came from missing something that used to feel like home.

But still, he scrolled.

A quiet habit now. Not for his fans or updates or even entertainment, just to feel connected to something, anything. Something that wasn’t the silence of his too-big apartment or the ache of everything you’d taken with you when you left.

His thumb stilled mid-scroll when he saw it.

Jia’s post.

A carousel of pictures, captioned with something casual, “good company, good weather, good wine.” But he didn’t read it right away. He couldn’t. Not when he saw you.

Laughing.

Head thrown back, leaned gently against someone’s shoulder, a guy, unfamiliar, laughing just as openly. It was a candid shot, clearly taken without warning, but it was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.

You looked happy.

And it hit him like a punch to the ribs.

He stared at the picture, unmoving. It was the first time he’d seen you in months. Jia and Lana hadn’t posted you in so long that he’d started to wonder if they were keeping your face off on purpose. Maybe they knew he still looked. Maybe you had asked them not to.

And yet, here you were. In the open. In color.

Smiling.

And not at him.

Jisung dropped his phone like it burned. It landed screen-down on the desk in front of him, but the image was already scorched behind his eyes. You, in that cream-colored cardigan he always liked. The same soft one you’d throw over your shoulders when it got cold, even inside. Your laugh, he could hear it in his mind even if he hadn’t heard it in months.

The drawer creaked.

That drawer.

He didn’t mean to open it, but suddenly, it was. His hand moved before his mind could catch up. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. The envelope was still sealed, still clean, untouched despite all the time it had spent hidden beneath ignored things.

He stared at it. Again. For the hundredth time.

You’d written his name on the front in your handwriting, he’d always liked your handwriting. Neat, but a little messy in that cute way. It was the kind of thing you didn’t think people noticed, but Jisung had noticed everything.

He lifted it slowly, as if even that movement required more strength than he had left.

The letter rested in his hands.

And then the picture came back to him again that guy, the way your eyes crinkled at something he said, how natural it looked, like it had always been him and not Jisung. Like Jisung was some ghost from another life you didn’t think about anymore.

A rush of something hot surged in his chest.

Anger. Jealousy. Bitterness.

It was a mistake, picking it up. He knew it was a mistake.

You probably wrote this before you met that guy. Before you moved on. Before you laughed like you had never cried over him. So what was the point now? What was the fucking point?

His grip tightened.

The edge of the envelope bent in his palm.

He was going to rip it.

Tear it into a thousand worthless pieces.

He didn’t need your words. He didn’t need your explanation, or apology, or whatever twisted kind of closure you thought this would give him. If you were so happy now, if you had someone else's shoulder to lean on, someone else to laugh with then he didn’t need to carry your ghost anymore.

The paper creaked as it began to fold beneath the pressure of his fingers.

But something stopped him.

Not guilt. Not even curiosity.

Just a question. Soft, poisonous, and small.

What if it wasn’t what I thought it was?

It came quietly. It always did.

Jisung closed his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest. His fingers didn’t release the envelope, but he didn’t tear it either.

Because something was wrong.

Something about that picture. As much as it hurt to see you with someone else, as much as it made him want to break something, there was a tiny flicker of something off. He didn’t know why it stood out, but it did.

The guy’s arm, he wasn’t touching you. Not possessively. Not the way Jisung used to.

And your smile, while bright… had a weariness to it. Something in your eyes. A tiredness he recognized.

Maybe he was imagining it. Reading into something that wasn’t there.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

The letter pulsed in his hand like it had weight now. Like it always had, and he was only just feeling it.

And for the first time in six months, Jisung wondered, really wondered what you had said in those pages.

And whether not knowing would haunt him more than the truth ever could.

At six months pregnant, the exhaustion was more than physical, it had dug itself into your spirit. You felt heavier than your body should've allowed. Not just with the child growing inside of you, but with the weight of silence. Of unanswered letters. Of unreturned phone calls that were never made. Of dreams you'd once held so tightly that now felt like strangers to you.

You had done everything right, or at least you tried to. You took your vitamins. Went to appointments. Listened to the doctor. Ate better. Slept when you could. Cried only when it was too much to hold back. You were being responsible, measured, careful, everything a mother should be.

But no one told you how lonely it would feel.

How much you’d mourn someone who was still alive.

And lately, even Jia and Lana noticed. They tried to smile extra wide around you, tried to pull you into silly conversations, binge shows with you in bed, paint your nails, cook your favorite meals. But the spark in your eyes, the part of you that lit up when you laughed, had dimmed. The grief was quieter now, but more permanent. More settled. Like it had accepted you as its host.

You weren’t bitter.

You didn’t cry over Jisung every night anymore. You didn’t ache the way you used to. But something had changed. You weren’t sure if it was the pregnancy, or the acceptance, or just time doing what it does, softening things while hollowing others out.

It was Jia who brought it up.

“I’ve been thinking,” she’d said carefully, whispering to Lana one afternoon as she watched you doze off mid-conversation.

“That’s never a good sign,” Lana had replied, side-eyeing her from across the room.

“No, seriously,” Jia said, sitting forward. “I think we should bring someone over. Someone who used to make her smile. For real smile.”

Lana’s brows furrowed. “Like… a therapist?”

“No. Chan.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Lana stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Chan? As in, Christopher Bang? High school boyfriend Chan? Australia Chan?”

Jia nodded, lips tight. “She was happy with him, Lan. Like… really happy. He’s back in town. He messaged me a few days ago and asked about her.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“I know that.”

“And emotional.”

“I know, Lana.”

Lana crossed her arms. “And what if this backfires? What if seeing him makes her feel worse?”

“She hasn’t smiled in weeks.”

“She’s tired, Jia. She’s not depressed, she’s just—”

“I know what she is,” Jia had said, her voice breaking slightly. “And I know she’d never say it out loud, but she’s hurting. She feels like she’s being erased. Everyone sees her as a pregnant woman now, not her. Chan always saw her. Maybe she needs that.”

Reluctantly, Lana agreed.

So now here you were.

Sitting in a small cozy café that smelled like fresh lemons and sun-warmed pastries, a glass of lemonade sweating on the table in front of you, your hands resting protectively on your belly without even realizing it. Jia and Lana sat across from you, exchanging nervous glances every few seconds, which you were just about to comment on when—

A tap.

Soft. On your shoulder.

You turned.

And there he was.

Chan.

The boy who used to give you rides on the back of his bike after school. The boy who’d written you poetry in margins of your notebooks. The boy who once told you, so casually, that if he had a time machine, he’d go to the future just to see if you still ended up together.

He looked different, but not in a bad way. Taller, a little more filled out. His jaw was sharper. His hair shorter. But his smile? That was the same. Gentle, warm, slightly crooked on the left like it always had been.

You blinked in disbelief.

“Chan?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He grinned. “Hey, trouble.”

The old nickname made your chest tighten in the most unexpected way. You laughed before you could stop yourself, quiet, but real. The kind of laugh that had started to feel foreign.

Jia and Lana, now grinning like guilty conspirators, stood up quickly. “We’ll be back in a few. Just gonna, uh, go… admire the dessert case,” Jia mumbled, grabbing Lana's arm.

Lana gave Chan a wary look before disappearing with her.

You turned back to him. “It’s… been a long time.”

“Years,” he said. “Too many. You look… amazing.”

You snorted. “I look like a watermelon.”

He chuckled. “A beautiful watermelon, then.”

That made you laugh again, genuine. His eyes lit up, pleased, but not smug. Just soft.

He sat across from you, and for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. Just… took each other in. There was comfort there. The kind that doesn’t go away just because time passes. He didn’t feel like a stranger, even after all this time.

“Tell me everything,” he said finally. “How’ve you been?”

You looked down at your lemonade, then at your belly. “It’s been… hard,” you admitted. “But I’m okay. I’m getting there.”

He nodded. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

And that, that was what got you. The way his eyes didn’t immediately flicker to your belly. The way his questions weren’t laced with obligation or curiosity about the pregnancy. He saw you.

Not the bump. Not the situation. Just you.

You smiled again, softer this time. “You still make people feel like the world slows down when you talk to them. You know that?”

Chan looked surprised, almost bashful. “I missed this,” he said. “Us. Talking like this.”

“So did I,” you said quietly.

He asked about your family, about your writing. You asked about Australia, the music scene, the food he missed. It was like dusting off a record you hadn’t played in years but still remembered all the lyrics to.

And for the first time in months, you didn’t feel like just someone carrying someone else’s child.

You felt like you again.

And that… that felt like breathing.

Jia elbowed Lana gently as they both turned back from the dessert counter and peeked toward your table. You were laughing, really laughing. It wasn’t the kind of hollow, polite chuckle you’d forced out over the last several months. This was the kind that made your shoulders shake a little, your eyes squint, the kind that used to come so easily to you.

Jia grinned, whispering under her breath, “See? I told you. Look at her.”

Lana crossed her arms slowly, watching the way Chan leaned forward a little, listening intently to whatever you were saying. You were twirling the straw in your lemonade as you spoke, and he was smiling like it was the best story he’d ever heard.

“Why do you look like that?” Jia asked, brow raised. “You’ve had that same suspicious face on since he got here.”

“I’m not against it,” Lana muttered, still watching. “I’m just… not all in either.”

“Why not?” Jia nudged her again. “She’s finally laughing. Isn’t that what we wanted?”

“I do want her to smile,” Lana admitted. “I just… don’t want her to get hurt again. She’s not just her right now. She’s carrying someone else’s future. It’s not like she can afford to be reckless.”

Jia softened at that. “I don’t think this is reckless. It’s just… a moment. She deserves to feel normal again, even if it’s just for an hour.”

Lana sighed, quieting her voice. “You remember her that night after she found out she was pregnant. She shattered. She thought she was going to do this with someone by her side. And even now, she hasn’t let herself be happy, not really. What if she starts hoping again? What if she sees Chan as a fix, as comfort, and then it goes wrong?”

Jia frowned, but her gaze shifted back to you.

You were resting your chin on your hand, eyes locked on Chan, laughing again at something he said. You looked… lighter. Like someone had finally taken a backpack off your shoulders.

“I get it,” Jia said softly. “But sometimes it’s not about what might go wrong. Sometimes people just need to feel something good before they fall apart again.”

Lana didn’t respond. She just nodded slowly, her arms still crossed, but her eyes stayed on you.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of you exited the café together, the late morning sun spilling over the street. The air smelled like strawberries and warm bread, thanks to the farmers market set up just around the corner. You turned your head at the scent, curiosity blinking in your eyes.

“Hey,” Jia said brightly, pretending she hadn’t just orchestrated your emotional healing. “Why don’t we walk the market for a bit? It’s nice out.”

Chan glanced at you, his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah? Up for it?”

You nodded. “I could use the walk.”

“Pregnancy-friendly pace,” Lana added quickly, ever the protector.

“Obviously,” Chan said with a small smile.

The four of you wandered into the hum of the market, past flower stands, stalls full of honey jars, baskets of citrus and summer tomatoes. You and Chan naturally fell behind, veering slightly into your own space as Jia and Lana moved ahead.

Chan told you about the time he accidentally joined the wrong university club and ended up on a competitive rowing team for a semester without realizing it. About the hostel he lived in that turned out to be a rebranded former psychiatric facility. About the tiny restaurant he worked at on weekends that had a cat as the official “manager.”

He told you about homesickness. About how certain days would feel longer than others, and how he’d sit at the edge of his bed and think of home and sometimes that meant a place, but more often it meant people.

It meant you.

You told him about how quiet things had become lately. How you’d taken up journaling again, mostly to try and remember who you were. How you sometimes put your hand on your stomach at night and talked to the baby even though you weren’t sure if they could really hear you. How Jia and Lana had kept you grounded when you couldn’t see past your own fog.

But you didn’t talk about Jisung.

You didn’t need to.

Chan didn’t ask about the father. He didn’t need that context to care.

Instead, as you both slowed at a stand selling little handmade toys, he asked something else.

“Have you thought of names yet?”

You looked at him, surprised. “Kind of… Nothing set in stone.”

He tilted his head. “Wanna tell me?”

You hesitated. “Promise not to laugh?”

Chan held up a hand solemnly. “Swear on the ghost cat manager.”

You smiled again. “For a girl… I really like Ari. And for a boy… maybe Leo.”

“Ari,” he repeated softly. “Leo. I like those.”

You looked down at your stomach, then back up at him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Because I asked,” he said simply. “And because you’re allowed to tell me. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. The words were too kind, too easy. You weren’t used to someone offering comfort without strings. Without history. Without expectation.

Just care.

And when he smiled at you again, you believed it.

You felt like someone again. Not a burden. Not a story to explain. Not just a woman waiting for a baby to arrive or a ghost of someone’s past.

Just… you.

And in that moment, under the sun, surrounded by flowers and laughter and warmth, you realized maybe just maybe you could breathe again.

Jisung had forgotten what quiet felt like.

Not the kind of quiet where everything was still, peaceful. No, this was the kind that rang in your ears. A silence so loud it made you clench your jaw without realizing. It had followed him like a shadow since the breakup, lurking in the corners of his apartment, in the spaces between rehearsals, inside his chest when he tried to sleep.

He thought he was finally past it. Past you.

It had been six months. Six months of distraction and denial. Six months of forcing his focus into studio sessions and interviews. Six months of telling himself that he hadn’t needed you in the first place, that wanting something different wasn’t a crime.

But then he saw the photo.

You. Laughing.

Leaning into another man’s shoulder, someone unfamiliar. Someone he couldn’t recognize. The post was from Jia’s account, just a regular scroll moment that hit harder than it should’ve. His thumb hovered over the screen. He’d stopped breathing for a second.

You looked so… okay.

That was what struck him the most.

You looked healed. Soft. Effortlessly content. The man beside you wasn’t even touching you, but it was the way you leaned toward him. The comfort in your posture. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

Jisung had stared at the picture until his vision blurred.

He wondered if you were moving on, if you had someone else, if you were that carefree with someone else and that maybe that letter had never been about coming back. Maybe it had been about leaving for good.

The possibility made his stomach twist.

He sat down at his desk. The drawer was already open a crack. Just wide enough to reveal the corner of the envelope.

His hand hovered over it.

Six months.

What if he’d missed something important?

The image of your face flashed in his mind again, the smile that wasn't his anymore. The softness in your eyes that had once only been meant for him.

And then, without warning, that sick feeling rose again, sharp, bitter, ugly. What if it wasn’t something he wanted to read? What if it was about the new guy? Or worse, what if it was closure?

He could barely breathe.

“I’ve always wanted a family.”

It echoed in his head. Quiet, wistful. It had been one of your first deep conversations. You’d looked at him like he was the future you’d been planning for since you were a little girl. And he’d brushed it off with a joke, even though part of him knew, knew you meant every word.

And he hadn’t listened.

He rubbed his face with both hands.

He’d been trying so hard to be okay, to let it go. But now all the pieces were coming together in his head, twisting into something heavy. The sickness you mentioned to your friends online. The way Jia and Lana stopped posting about you. The letter. The vanishing act.

The man in the picture.

And that look on your face.

He thought about what it meant.

What it could mean.

And slowly, like a creeping storm, one horrible, world-shifting thought started to root itself in his chest.

What if the letter wasn’t about getting back together?

What if the letter was about the family he never wanted and you were giving it to someone else now?

He stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor.

His heart thundered.

The letter was still unopened. Still waiting. Still sealed.

But it didn’t feel like it was waiting for him anymore.

-

The morning air was crisp, just cold enough to bite at his fingertips as he tucked them deeper into his jacket pockets. Jisung had barely slept the night before. Again. Something about the silence in his apartment felt louder than usual lately. He’d left early, headphones in, cap low over his face, hood up. Just another early morning walk to the company, hoping maybe the movement would shake the insomnia out of his bones.

He was halfway down the street, eyes fixed on the pavement, when he heard it.

A laugh.

But not just any laugh.

Your laugh.

For a split second, he froze mid-step. His heart stuttered. He thought he was imagining it. It was familiar in a way that twisted his insides, light, effortless, like wind chimes in spring. It was the laugh he used to live for. The one he hadn’t heard in six months.

It echoed again, closer this time.

He turned instinctively, almost violently, pulling his headphones out and scanning the street behind him. His pulse shot up as his eyes locked on the source.

And there you were.

Standing just a few meters away. Real. Laughing, radiant, glowing in the soft morning sun and unmistakably, visibly pregnant.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat.

You weren’t alone.

The man beside you, the same one from the picture stood close, one hand resting at the small of your back. He was smiling too, looking at you with the kind of tenderness that made Jisung’s fists clench.

You were leaning toward him, hand protectively on your belly, like the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

And it hit Jisung like a truck.

Not only had you moved on… you had started the family he never wanted. With someone else.

Someone who wasn’t him.

Something cracked deep in his chest.

It felt like betrayal. Like acid and broken glass.

You had left him and this was why?

You wanted a family so badly you found someone else who would give it to you?

His vision tunneled. He was walking before he even registered his feet moving.

Rage. That’s all it was now. Rage that clawed at his skin. Rage that you had laughed like that, that laugh for someone else. That this stranger had touched you in a way that had once belonged to him. That you had trusted someone else with that part of you. With your future.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Didn’t care.

All he knew was that he needed answers.

Jisung stopped in front of you, chest heaving, eyes narrowed beneath his cap.

You froze instantly, the color draining from your face the moment you saw him.

The man beside you shifted immediately, subtly protective, arm tightening at your back as he assessed Jisung.

For a second, no one said anything.

You stared at each other.

The tension was unbearable like a rubber band pulled too tight.

You looked tired. Paler. But still you. Still the woman who once laid beside him in bed whispering sweet nothings. Still the woman who broke his heart when she said “you can’t love me if you don’t want my future.”

But now, your eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp. Furious.

The same fury he remembered from your worst fights. The kind that made your voice shake, not from fear, but from pain.

“What the hell do you want?” you said first, voice quiet but hard, defensive.

Jisung’s hands twitched at his sides. “That’s funny. You’re asking me that?”

Your mouth pulled tight. “I have nothing to say to you.”

His voice rose before he could stop it. “No? Nothing at all? Not even a heads-up that you’re carrying his kid now?”

The stranger tensed, but didn’t speak. You shot him a glance, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him. He backed off slightly, but he didn’t move far.

“It’s none of your business,” you said, teeth gritted.

“I was your business,” Jisung snapped, voice cracking. “You left me—just to turn around and give everything I couldn’t to someone else?”

Your eyes blazed. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He gestured to your stomach. “Looks pretty damn obvious to me.”

You inhaled sharply, chest rising, as if trying to calm the storm inside you.

“I’m not doing this here,” you said coldly.

“Then where?” he hissed. “When were you going to say anything? Or were you just going to play happy family and pretend I never—”

“Stop,” you snapped, voice shaking now.

He faltered. The venom in your voice hit him like a slap.

“Just… stop.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to disappear and then show up six months later acting like I owe you an explanation.”

“I didn’t disappear—you left—!”

“Because you made it clear you didn’t want what I did!” you shouted now, and people were starting to glance over from across the street.

Your hand was on your stomach again, protective, trembling.

“I begged you to see the future I wanted. And you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. So don’t come here now trying to rewrite the story.”

Jisung’s throat tightened. His anger was bleeding into something else, confusion, desperation. Doubt.

You stared him down, eyes full of heartbreak and steel.

“Stay away from me,” you said, voice low and final.

You turned without another word. The man beside you didn’t look at Jisung, just kept a steady hand on your back as he helped you walk away.

Jisung didn’t follow.

He stood there, rooted to the sidewalk, heart hammering in his chest, ears ringing.

You didn’t mention the letter.

You didn’t say anything about the truth he had ignored.

And he still had no idea what he had missed.

All he knew now was this:

You had moved on.

And he… was still standing in the wreckage of what he couldn’t give you.

You hadn’t slept well the night before. Again.

At six months pregnant, your body was exhausted all the time, your back ached, your feet throbbed, and no matter how many pillows you arranged around yourself, you could never get comfortable enough to rest. But today, something felt… okay. Maybe not good, but manageable. The sun was peeking through the curtains when you felt a small flutter inside your belly, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.

You smiled softly, your hand moving instinctively to rest over the small bump. It had grown noticeably in the last few weeks. Strangers had started to offer you their seat, shopkeepers smiled a little more gently. It felt surreal, this thing you had always wanted, happening now, just not in the way you imagined.

You were still thinking about that when Chan texted you.

Chan: You up for a walk this morning? There’s a little bakery I want to show you. My treat if you let me win the who-pays war today.

You had chuckled at that. His texts were always light, warm, full of memories you hadn’t realized you missed. So you texted back:

Y/n: You’re on. I still say you cheat when you distract me at the register.

You met outside your place, and he greeted you with that big, boyish smile you remembered from high school. He asked how you slept, how you were feeling, how your cravings were, and he didn’t even flinch when you joked about the weird food combinations you’d been eating lately.

The walk was easy. Gentle. The kind of peaceful you hadn’t felt in a long time. Chan was telling you about this ridiculous story from his last few months in Australia, something about a bird, a tourist trap, and his friend almost getting chased by a kangaroo and you were laughing. Not the polite kind of laugh you’d been forcing around others lately, but the real kind that made your cheeks ache.

It felt good. Almost normal.

You reached the bakery and he told you to pick anything you wanted. You eyed the warm pastries behind the glass and finally settled on a croissant and a hot chocolate. He tried to sneakily pay for it while you were busy looking at cookies. You caught him, of course, and the two of you bickered playfully at the counter, your laughter bouncing off the walls of the quiet little shop.

“I swear you’re worse than my grandma,” you teased as you walked out, bag in one hand, and your warm drink in the other.

“Well, she is a lovely woman,” he grinned. “Smart too.”

You rolled your eyes, and just as you were about to say something else—

You heard your name.

That voice.

That damn voice.

Your body went cold.

It felt like the sidewalk shifted beneath your feet.

You turned around slowly, your stomach twisting as you saw him.

Jisung.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

You hadn’t seen him in six months, not since you dropped the letter under his door. Not since you waited days, then weeks, and finally months for a reply that never came.

And yet here he was. Storming toward you, fire in his eyes and tension in every step. Your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear anything else.

He looked thinner. Harsher. The softness in his face, the one you used to touch so lovingly was replaced with tight lines and something bitter.

Then his eyes dropped to your stomach.

And you saw it.

The flicker of realization.

He said your name again. Sharper this time. Full of something ugly and raw.

The confrontation happened in a blur after that. Words thrown like knives, his accusations loud and cutting. Accusing you of moving on, of starting a family with someone else.

You hadn’t even told him it was his.

You didn’t want to.

Not like this.

Because he didn’t deserve to know, not after months of silence, after choosing to ignore your letter, after making you believe you and your baby weren’t worth a single word.

The worst part? He looked like he hated you. Like your happiness was an offense. Like your child was some betrayal.

And you hated yourself a little for still caring what that look meant.

You didn’t answer most of what he said. You couldn’t. The anger inside you was too heavy, too dangerous to let loose. You told him to stay away from you. To leave you alone.

And you meant it.

When you turned around, Chan’s hand found the small of your back again, steady and warm, and you let yourself lean into it, even if just slightly.

You didn’t look back at Jisung. You didn’t have to.

Because if you did, you knew it would break you.

You walked for what felt like forever. Past the bakery, past the quiet street, into a shaded area just outside the little market. The adrenaline had worn off, and you were suddenly so tired.

Your steps slowed, and Chan noticed immediately.

He gently tugged at your arm to stop. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

Your lip trembled.

And for a moment, you tried to lie. To nod. To say you were fine.

But then the tears came.

Without warning.

You dropped your head, unable to hold it in anymore.

Chan didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you carefully, protectively.

You cried harder than you had in weeks. Into his chest, into the quiet morning air.

All the pain. The heartbreak. The fury. The sadness.

The betrayal of being forgotten.

The fear of being a single mother.

The ache of still loving someone who had let you go.

You clung to Chan like he was the only steady thing in your world.

And in that moment, maybe he was.

He rubbed your back gently. Didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask you to explain.

He just held you. Like you needed.

Like you deserved.

Like Jisung never did.

It took a while for you to calm down after the confrontation. Your tears had stained the front of Chan’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care, he just kept holding you gently, rubbing slow circles along your back, quietly murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” like he was trying to patch over the cracks in your heart one word at a time.

Once your breathing evened out, and your tears slowed into hiccups, Chan finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes warm and sincere.

“You ready to go home?” he asked, his voice soft, without a trace of pressure.

You nodded, but you were still silent. Raw. Shaken.

He didn’t push you to talk. He didn’t ask what had happened, even though you knew he had his guesses. That restraint, his patience made your throat close up with a fresh wave of emotion.

The walk to your apartment was quiet. Not awkward, not stiff, just comfortable silence. A kind of silence you could sit in without feeling like you had to perform or explain or fix anything. Chan carried your little bakery bag in one hand and kept the other gently on your back, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your dress near your shoulder blade. Just enough to let you know he was still there. Still with you.

When you reached your building, he held the door open, then helped you up the steps when your ankles threatened to protest. Once you were inside, he toed off his shoes at the entrance like he used to back in high school when he came over to study or hang out, only this time, the setting was so different.

Chan didn’t seem to mind.

He followed you in, still holding the bag of treats.

“I still paid,” he said casually, turning just slightly to glance at you over his shoulder with a teasing smile.

You blinked, caught off guard.

And then… you laughed.

Just a little.

Soft and tired, but real.

You reached out and playfully swatted his arm. “You’re so annoying,” you muttered, your voice still raspy from crying.

“I’ve been told,” he said, beaming now, clearly proud of himself.

You padded over to the couch and eased yourself down, one hand resting instinctively on your belly. Chan followed, setting the bag down on the coffee table. Then, without asking, he sat down beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed into your side, but not close enough to make you feel crowded.

You leaned your head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was a dull ache behind your eyes. Your body was tired. Your heart was even more tired.

He nudged your shoulder gently. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You exhaled slowly. “Jisung.”

That was all you needed to say.

He was quiet for a moment. And then, “Thought so.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him.

“Yeah?”

Chan nodded. “The way he looked at you… back there. Like he was about to explode. I don’t know what happened between you two, but... he doesn’t look like someone who’s over you.”

You scoffed. “He’s the one who left.”

Chan frowned but didn’t comment right away. Instead, he leaned forward, grabbing the croissant from the bakery bag and tearing off a piece. “Well,” he said after a beat, “you don’t need someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them. Especially not now.”

You looked down at your stomach.

The guilt crept in again, slowly.

The heaviness of everything. The choice you made. The silence after the letter. The confrontation that left you shattered all over again.

“I didn’t tell him,” you said, your voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Chan looked over.

“About the baby,” you clarified. “I sent him a letter... six months ago. Told him everything. That I didn’t expect anything from him. That if he didn’t want to reach out, I’d leave him alone. He never said anything. Never texted. Never called. Never replied.”

You could see the realization settle in Chan’s expression, how all the pieces clicked into place.

“I thought he made his choice,” you said softly. “So I made mine.”

He didn’t try to justify Jisung’s silence. Didn’t say maybe he didn’t read it. Maybe he didn’t know.

Because that didn’t matter. Not now.

Chan nodded slowly and offered you the other half of the croissant. You took it with a shaky breath, your fingers brushing his.

“You did the right thing,” he said. “You gave him a chance. He chose to ignore it. That’s on him.”

You looked at him. At this person who had been absent from your life for years, only to come back like no time had passed so seamlessly, so naturally. You weren’t in love with him. Not now. But there was still something safe about being with him. Something soft and familiar. Something you hadn’t realized you needed.

And when he smiled at you again, nudging your elbow with his, you let yourself lean into him just a little more.

He made you feel like you weren’t broken.

Like this new version of you, mother-to-be, heartbroken, healing was still worthy of comfort.

Still worthy of being held.

Still worthy of being chosen.

It had been hours since he saw you.

Hours since your laugh pierced through the city noise like a haunting melody he wasn’t supposed to hear anymore.

But it was still echoing.

Jisung had barely made it home, barely remembered how he got there, just that he’d walked, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His heart had been pounding in his ears. Rage, confusion, betrayal, every emotion bleeding into the next until he could barely breathe through the noise.

You were pregnant.

And not just pregnant, you were glowing, smiling, leaning into that guy like he was your anchor. Like you were his. Like the future you once begged Jisung for had already found its way to someone else’s arms.

And all he could think about was how cruel it all felt. How fast it seemed like you had moved on. How wrong it looked for someone else to hold your back like that when that used to be his place.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights when he stumbled into his apartment. The air was cold, untouched. Work, studio, drinking, studio again. That was his pattern now, suffocating himself with anything that could drown out the silence you left behind.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, your laughter followed him. Your eyes. Your voice when you told him to stay away. The venom in it. The hurt.

He collapsed into the armchair near the window, his coat still on, cap still tugged low over his head like he was still out there hiding. With a groan, he reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. No glass this time. Just desperate gulps from the bottle itself, the burn in his throat not nearly enough to mask the ache behind his ribs.

He barely noticed when his hand moved on its own.

Opened the drawer.

Pulled out the envelope.

The envelope you’d left nearly six months ago.

He stared at it, the way he had a hundred times before, only now it looked like a mockery. Like a ghost of something he didn’t want to admit he’d left unread out of sheer spite. It had his name on it, in your handwriting. Soft, familiar.

For a moment, his hand trembled.

He could read it.

He could finally read it.

But then his mind flashed back to earlier.

The way that guy leaned close when you laughed like it was his favorite sound. The way you looked like everything Jisung had never been enough for.

And then came the anger.

All-consuming. Reckless. Bitter.

His lips curled into something half-snarled, half-exhausted.

“She didn’t even wait,” he muttered, the words slurring slightly. “Just threw us away like it was nothing.”

He didn’t care if it wasn’t true.

He needed it to be true.

Because the alternative? That you had waited. That maybe you'd told him something important in this very letter, that he’d ignored something that mattered, that affected both of you…

No.

He couldn’t think about that.

Couldn’t handle it.

So before his hands could betray him and open the letter, Jisung crushed it in his fist.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half.

The sound of ripping paper was louder than it should’ve been in the silence of his apartment.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, until it was nothing but scraps in his lap, your handwriting torn down the middle, illegible, unreadable.

And only when he’d destroyed it completely, only when there was no going back did he feel something crack inside him.

The sound that left his throat was ugly.

Somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He didn’t know why he was crying.

He didn’t even feel like he was crying.

But the tears slipped down anyway, hot and fast, tracking along his cheeks as he tipped back another gulp of whiskey and let his head fall into his hands.

You were gone.

You had moved on.

And now, he had destroyed the only piece of you left that might’ve explained why it all ended the way it did.

And still… he didn’t know the truth.

Still, he was blind to everything except the ache of missing you and the poison of thinking you belonged to someone else now.

He sat like that for a long time.

The ripped letter pieces scattered at his feet like confetti at a funeral, the bottle nearly empty in his hand, and his heart sinking deeper into a guilt he didn’t yet understand.

Because the truth, the real truth was gone now.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[the letter taglist: @kenqki @mbioooo0000 @bearseuming @alisonyus @justjxnniie @chungdol @captainchrisstan @stilesks @banana-bread-thread @linosgrape @chaosandcandies @energyjuice4life @st4rv3lly @hanniebunch @nchhuhi @changbin-wife @felixleftchickennugget @psychobitchsthings @puppymsworld @silly250 @uyyoyyu @beppybeesnuggets ..]

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

So you moved to Monaco for a partner that turned out to be an asshole who also kept the rental. Classic tale as old as time, right? As much as you wanted to pack up and leave the country, you had a job and some stability. So, off to find a room you were. Luckily, someone replied to you right away and it was

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen, that explains that he owns the place and needs someone to keep it in shape and take care of the pets since he's single now.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen is happy when you take his deal. He helps you out in a car that costs more than all your possessions. He draws a small crowd just by lifting the boxes, making his arms flex in his tight fitting t-shirt.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen makes sure you two actually get along by taking you to his favorite places in the neighborhood. He always treats you, and you repay him by bringing him the juiciest kebabs on cheat day.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen surprisingly doesn't have hired help, so it's always refreshing for him to see you did the shopping or that you've tidied up and bought him welcome back home flowers.

Loaded Roomate! Max Verstappen, that likes to walk around the house in boxers or a towel. And if he happens to walk past you for coffee while you're making breakfast, morning wood prominent and intimidating, he chalks it up to force of habit.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen isn't the greatest at closing doors all the way, too. Through the crack, you've caught him, fist around his cock, noise canceling headphones on, more than once. Your walls aren't exactly soundproof either, so sometimes after he's done, he'll hear the buzz of your vibrator and know you caught him.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen, that orders things with using your name for the package for privacy reasons. Thing is you're not at home much, so you wait for a few to pile up in the collection point. When they do, nobody remembers what they ordered from where, so it's like Christmas in the living room. Just less snowy and with unboxing an ungodly amount of sex toys.

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen has been hearing you use said toys for at least an hour at 3 in the morning. He has to step in and use his fingers on you to make you cum and shut up. At least you fall asleep right away though

Loaded Roommate! Max Verstappen who snaps when you acuse him of acting like he owns the place. He fucks you in every room of the apartment- bent over the kitchen sink, riding him on the living room couch, shower head between your legs in the bathroom.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

CAN WE HAVE DOEY BEING A PLATONIC YANDERE TO THE PLAYER?? I WONDER HOW HE WOULD ACT GIVEN HIS CONFLICTING PERSONALITIES AND EMOTIONS DUE TO BEING MADE OUT OF THREE KIDS

Yes, you absolutely can! This ended up being way longer than I first planed and I'm actually pretty proud of it :)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me.

Platonic yandere Doey & Reader

★ When Doey first meets the Player, he is intrigued. It's not every day you meet someone who keeps cheating the grim reaper. As Doey spends more time with the Player, he realizes that they are different than most employes. You are nice and treat him kindly.

★ His conflicting personalities create a strange mix of curiosity and adoration inside of him. Especially after you stay to help the Safe Haven instead of working with Poppy. Plus, the Player has been through so much already. They really should take a break.

★ He goes above and beyond to make them feel comfortable and secure in their new home. He introduces them to the other toys, making sure they feel included and part of their little community. Tries to help them relax after what they have been through, also.

★Doey becomes emotionally dependent on the Player, deriving a sense of purpose and stability from their presence. The thought of losing the Player or not being able to protect them fills him with fear and anxiety, fueling his yandere tendencies.

★ All three parts of him agree on one thing, protect the Player at all costs. That means not letting them leave the Safe Haven. At least not without him. It comes from a place of genuine care, having concern for the Player's well-being.

★ He prioritizes their needs, ensuring the Player feels safe and loved. If the player were to reciprocate his care by doing things to make him feel valued, it would mean the world to him. If it's not too much, could he pretty please hold your hand? (please say yes)

★ The player's consistent care builds trust between them. That trust is very important. Never break it or you might regret it. Doey is still unstable at times, and he could still lash out at you if the wrong button is pushed.

★ Yandere Doey is very possessive, he is aware of this and tries his best not to be. He really wants to give the Player the freedom they deserve but at the same time he fears losing you to others and may become anxious if you spend too much time with another toy.

★ Those thoughts are silly, he knows it, you would never abandon him for a new friend. However, that nagging voice in his head tells him differently. It may end up with him subtly manipulating the Player. It was for friendship though so it's okay!

★ He might use guilt or even fear to keep the Player close, making them feel responsible for his emotional well-being. The thought of the Player getting hurt when he's gone fills him with all sorts of bad feelings. Ones he doesn't even want to think about.

★ By this time it's too late to go back. He is too afraid of being abandoned, if you suggest going off to finish what you started and killing the prototype he would have a panic attack.

★ His conflicting personalities are unified in their fear of the Player facing danger and he becomes visibly distressed. It's too dangerous! If you leave and never come back, what will he do? Doey may even go as far as physically putting himself between the Player and the exit if it comes down to it.

[kiwriteswords]

more bombshell reader and maybe jealous hotch!!

Something in the Way She Moves

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell Female Reader||Word Count: 20k!!

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, spoilers/mentions of past character's death(s), hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, breakups, forbidden romance, smut, sex without protection, yearning Hotch, Reader is Hotch's Boss, holidays, Reader has hair, cheating if you squint (not on each other; not Reader on/by Hotch), mentions of alcohol at social setting, bombshell reader, possessive Hotch, jealous reader

Sypnosis: As the new section chief of the BAU, you’re determined to lead with professionalism—despite an undeniable connection with Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who understands you like no one else. When your growing romance draws scrutiny from the Bureau and threatens both your careers, breaking things off feels like the only choice. But resisting your feelings is easier said than done, and navigating the fallout proves more complicated—and personal—than either of you anticipated.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in rules. They provided structure, a way to ensure order in the chaos of the world he inhabited daily. He lived by them—until you walked back into his life.

When you first stepped into Erin Strauss’ old office as the new Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron had already known you would get the job. Not because you were an excellent candidate, though that was undeniable, but because he had written the letter of recommendation that tipped the scales. He’d been the one to argue your case, to convince the higher-ups that your tactical mind, people skills, and years of leadership in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit made you the right choice.

He knew he couldn’t take on the job himself. He didn’t want to sacrifice his time in the field or more time away from Jack. Things with Beth had just mutually ended, and he knew now wasn’t time for a big change in his career. His team needed stability, too. He knew where to find it for them. He couldn’t think of a better boss for himself or his team. 

But what Aaron hadn’t expected was how your presence would shift the ground beneath his feet.

From day one, you were everything he remembered—commanding, intelligent, and stunning. But there was a new energy to you now. Your style was impeccable, all sharp lines and elegance, yet undeniably bold. You wore heels that clicked purposefully against the tiled floors, and your perfume lingered just long enough to be distracting. Every room you entered turned its attention to you, though you never seemed to revel in it. You worked hard—harder than anyone—but also knew how to treat yourself. Aaron admired that, envied it even.

And then there was the personal side, the one you didn’t show many. The way you smiled when you spoke about your niece’s upcoming recital. The way your laugh, a warm and genuine sound, filled the briefing room when someone cracked a joke. You were extra, yes—extravagant even—but never entitled. You could be sharp-tongued and exacting, but you were also kind and humble. You never asked anyone for anything you wouldn’t provide for yourself.

You were a paradox, and Aaron found himself drawn to you more every day.

The first time the two of you crossed the line, it had been... unplanned.

It was late, the kind of late where the bullpen was empty except for the faint hum of desk lamps and the rhythmic clicks of Aaron typing. You had come down from your office, a mug of tea in your hand and a softness to your expression he rarely saw as you popped into his opened door.

“You’re still here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, looking up from his laptop as you perched on the edge of his desk.

The conversation started as work but soon meandered. Aaron had always valued your opinion, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to linger over cases. But that night, as the hours stretched on, there was a shift.

“I’ve always admired your dedication,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on him. 

“Thank you,” Aaron replied, his throat tightening.

“And the way you fought for me to get this position... Aaron, it means more than you know.”

There was a vulnerability in your voice, a crack in the armor you so carefully maintained. Aaron wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could second-guess it, his hand covered yours where it rested on his desk.

That simple touch was all it took to change everything.

Weeks passed before either of you acknowledged what was happening. It started innocently enough—a lingering glance across the briefing room, the brush of hands when passing files, the way your voices softened when it was just the two of you. But it didn’t take long for the connection to deepen, slipping past the professional boundaries you had so carefully constructed.

Aaron would find himself texting you late at night, ostensibly to discuss case details, but the conversations often veered into personal territory. It wouldn’t take long until you crossed the boundary, deciding the messages weren’t enough phone calls were needed. He learned that you hated mornings but loved the ritual of your complicated coffee orders, that you missed the simplicity of fieldwork but thrived in your new role because it gave you a broader sense of impact. You learned that he still struggled with guilt over Haley, that he missed spending more time with Jack but refused to let his son see his father falter.

The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. The way you looked at him during meetings lingered too long, your gaze softening when you thought no one else was watching. The way he always stood a little closer to you than necessary, catching your perfume—an elegant mix of jasmine and citrus—that lingered long after you walked away. The stolen moments became something he craved, something he couldn’t ignore.

Aaron knew it was wrong—or, at the very least, complicated. But the way you saw him, truly saw him, made it impossible to stay away. Aaron had met a lot of people in his life, nobody who completely saw him. It was almost as if he spent his whole life searching for it, for it to be looking him in the face all of these years. 

The first time he kissed you, it was in your office.

You were pacing, heels clicking against the polished floor, your tailored suit jacket hanging neatly on the back of your chair. The soft silk blouse you wore glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching his attention more than it should have.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered, gesturing toward the papers on your desk. “A dozen forms to approve before tomorrow, as if I don’t already have enough to do. And the Director wants an update on—”

“Stop,” Aaron interrupted gently, his deep voice cutting through your frustration.

You froze mid-stride, turning to face him. Your expression softened slightly, but your eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes that could read anyone in a heartbeat—searched his face for answers.

“What is it, Aaron?” you asked the edge in your tone melting into something warmer.

He stood from the chair opposite your desk, his broad shoulders and crisp suit making him seem even taller in the small space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering across your features. “Do what?”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

“Pretend that I don’t want more.”

For a moment, the air between you stilled, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with the same intensity you reserved for interrogations.

And then your free hand moved, reaching up to curl into his tie, the silk fabric slipping easily between your fingers. You tugged gently, pulling him toward you, your breath mingling with his.

“Aaron,” you murmured, a faint warning still lingering in your tone.

But he didn’t stop. His hand rose to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so grounding.

The kiss started tentative, almost hesitant, but the moment your lips met, it shattered whatever walls remained between you. You leaned into him, your other hand finding its way to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip, steadying you as you deepened the kiss.

You tasted like mint and something sweet, and Aaron thought he might be losing his mind. The world outside your office door ceased to exist; there was only you, your warmth, your intoxicating presence.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and your breathing uneven. His tie was slightly askew, and your fingers still clutched it loosely as if unsure whether to let go.

“Well,” you said, your voice teasing but laced with something raw, something real. “That’s one way to solve a bureaucratic nightmare.”

Aaron chuckled softly, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t look it. He certainly didn’t feel it. 

“Don’t be,” you replied, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady.

And he meant it. Whatever came next, whatever complications or consequences arose, Aaron knew one thing for certain: this—you—was worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one to let himself indulge—not in anything that wasn’t for Jack, at least. His life revolved around necessity and function, keeping his head above water while ensuring those around him could do the same. Haley and Beth had been simple…these minor things didn’t appeal to them. But with you, indulgence didn’t feel frivolous. It felt... right.

The kiss had been a turning point. It wasn’t just the line crossed—it was the invitation to something more. After that moment in your office, there was no going back. Within days, the two of you had quietly shifted from colleagues to something undeniably personal. By the end of the first week, Aaron had asked you out, and to his surprise, you’d agreed without hesitation.

Your first date had been dinner at a small but elegant restaurant nestled in the heart of Georgetown. Aaron had chosen the spot carefully—upscale enough to meet your polished tastes but intimate enough to keep prying eyes at bay.

“I have to admit,” you’d said over a glass of sauvignon blanc, “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to keep up with me.”

Aaron had raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep up with you how?”

Your expression had turned playful, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of having... expensive taste.”

Aaron had leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey casually. “You think I don’t know that by now?” he teased. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who insisted on a specific brand of bottled water for office meetings.”

“That’s called maintaining standards,” you countered with mock indignation.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t worry. I might be frugal, but I’m not struggling. And I like to spoil the people I care about.”

The admission had caught you off guard, he could tell. Your confident demeanor had faltered just enough for him to notice, and for a moment, you’d looked down at your glass, your smile softer. “Well,” you’d said finally, meeting his gaze again, “I won’t complain about that.”

By the time you’d gone on a few dates, Aaron found himself more at ease with the idea of what you were becoming. It wasn’t just the shared dinners, the quiet moments in the corners of bars, or the back seats of dimly lit movie theaters. It was the way you fit into his life so seamlessly. Despite your differences—you with your love of extravagance and meticulous planning and him with his pragmatic approach and quiet restraint—you balanced each other.

You worked well together, too. Surprisingly well. If anything, your meticulous attention to detail and unrelenting standards had only strengthened the BAU. Aaron had always considered himself by the book, but compared to you, he realized he could be downright lenient.

“You’re more Type A than I am,” he commented one night after a case briefing, leaning against the doorframe of your office.

You glanced up from your perfectly organized desk, where every file was stacked at precise right angles. “Is that your way of saying I’m bossy?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m saying you’re by-the-book to a fault. It’s impressive, really.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Says the man who color-codes his case files.”

“Touché,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t panic at the thought of bending the rules when necessary.”

Your expression sobered slightly, and Aaron noticed the way your hands stilled over the papers in front of you. “I just... I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question me—or us.”

Ah. There it was.

“You’re worried about telling the Director,” Aaron said, stepping further into the room.

Your silence was answer enough.

Aaron sat on the edge of your desk, his presence grounding. “Things are going well,” he said firmly. “The team respects you. Cases are running smoothly. We work together seamlessly. There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with this—unless we give them one.”

You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “But what if they do? What if they say it’s inappropriate or unprofessional? I could lose this position, Aaron.”

He reached for your hand, covering it with his. The touch was gentle, but his grip steady, reassuring. “You won’t lose it. You’ve earned this. No one can take that from you.”

“But what about you?” you asked quietly. “If this affects your place on the team...”

“I won’t let it,” Aaron said with conviction. “We’ve handled worse than bureaucratic red tape. Besides, I think the Director has bigger problems than two senior members of the BAU in a consensual, functional relationship.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Functional, huh? That’s romantic.”

Aaron smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

You shook your head, your laughter soft but genuine. “I don’t know how you stay so calm about this.”

“Because I’ve spent my life trying to control everything,” he admitted. “And I’ve learned the hard way that some things are worth the risk.”

Your gaze lingered on his, the weight of his words settling between you. And for the first time since this all began, Aaron saw the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “We’ll tell the Director. Together.”

Aaron nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Together.”

In that moment, as the two of you sat in the quiet comfort of your shared understanding, Aaron knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, you were worth it. Every risk, every consequence—you were worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had walked into more high-pressure situations than he could count. Interrogating unsubs. Negotiating with armed suspects. Delivering heartbreaking news to grieving families. But as he sat outside the Director’s office with you beside him, he felt a knot in his stomach that rivaled even the most tense of standoffs.

You sat with your legs crossed, your polished heel bouncing ever so slightly—a nervous tick Aaron had come to recognize. You were dressed impeccably, as always, your tailored blazer sharp enough to cut through steel. But Aaron knew you well enough to see the tension in the way you smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from your skirt or adjusted your necklace.

He reached over, his hand brushing yours lightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.

You turned your head, offering him a small smile, but the doubt in your eyes was unmistakable.

Before he could say more, the assistant opened the door. “The Director will see you now.”

The Director’s office was a testament to order and authority. Every book on the shelves was carefully aligned, the awards and commendations behind the desk displayed with precision. Aaron Hotchner had sat across from this desk many times, but today, the air felt heavier. He wasn’t just representing his team or defending a decision. Today was personal.

The Director greeted them with a curt nod, gesturing for them to sit. Aaron glanced at you as you settled into the chair beside him, your posture immaculate, your gaze steady. He knew the nerves beneath the surface were hidden behind that calm, polished exterior.

“You wanted to discuss something... personal,” the Director said, leaning back slightly, his hands folded on the desk.

Aaron cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Yes, sir. We wanted to inform you about our relationship.”

The Director’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. He waited, prompting Aaron to continue.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time now. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure it doesn’t interfere with our work or the team’s performance. Cases continue to run smoothly, and morale remains high. We believe—”

The Director raised a hand, signaling for Aaron to stop.

Aaron exchanged a brief glance with you. The air seemed to grow heavier.

“I appreciate your honesty,” the Director said, his voice even, almost sympathetic. “But this isn’t acceptable.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone measured but firm. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve maintained professionalism at all times. There has been no impact on the team’s dynamics or efficiency.”

The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but resolute. “This isn’t about professionalism or efficiency, though I trust that both of you believe you’ve kept those intact. It’s about perception. The BAU is already under a microscope. The media, oversight committees, politicians—they’re all waiting for any reason to scrutinize this unit further.”

Aaron shifted in his seat. “Sir, we’ve handled public scrutiny before. We’ve worked under immense pressure and still delivered results. I believe—”

“You believe,” the Director interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “But this is not about what you believe or how well you perform. It’s about how this looks. Two of the highest-ranking members in the same unit, in a romantic relationship? It opens doors for questions about bias, favoritism, and poor judgment.”

You stiffened slightly, and Aaron could feel the tension radiating from you.

“We’ve had to address optics before,” the Director continued, his tone less stern and more weary. “When Erin Strauss was here, we allowed too much to slide—her personal struggles, her decisions that created friction within the team. It put the BAU in a precarious position, one we barely recovered from. And now, with our history, with every move under scrutiny, I can’t let this slide. Not again.”

Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to remain composed. “Sir, neither of us would let this compromise our responsibilities. Our records speak for themselves.”

The Director nodded slowly. “They do, Hotchner. Both of you have impeccable records, and I trust your intentions. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about precedent. If I allow this, what message does it send? That personal relationships among senior staff are acceptable? That the rules don’t apply here?”

You spoke next, your voice calm but resolute. “We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re asking for acknowledgment that this doesn’t interfere with our ability to lead.”

The Director exhaled, his tone softening. “I understand what you’re saying. And if the world operated on logic alone, I might agree. But the reality is perception matters. The BAU is too visible, too scrutinized. I can’t allow this.”

“What are you saying?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’m saying one of you has to transfer, or this relationship ends,” the Director said evenly. “Those are your options. I won’t dictate which path you choose, but this arrangement cannot continue while you’re both in these positions.”

The finality in his tone hit like a cold wind. Aaron’s fists clenched in his lap, though his face remained impassive. Beside him, he could feel you bristling but holding yourself together.

“Is there any room for reconsideration?” you asked, your voice level but tight.

The Director shook his head. “I wish there were. I respect both of you immensely. But this is a line we can’t afford to cross.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“I can draft up some reccomendsations for units to transfer,” he continued, “But I’d warn you, that may put a bigger target on your back with the brass.” 

“Is that all, sir?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you likely intended.

“That’s all,” the Director replied, his tone tinged with something almost regretful.

The Director’s words still echoed in Aaron Hotchner’s ears as you stormed out of the office, your heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Aaron trailed behind you, his thoughts spinning, barely registering the brisk pace you set.

When you reached the bullpen, you didn’t stop. You headed straight for the stairs that led to the upper offices, bypassing your usual elevator ride. Aaron hesitated for a moment before following, his long strides catching up to you as you pushed through the door to your private office and let it slam shut behind you.

For a moment, Aaron stood outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could hear you moving inside—papers rustling, a muffled sigh, the creak of your chair as you sat heavily into it. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared at your desk, your hands resting on its polished surface as if grounding yourself. Your jaw was tight, your expression unreadable, but Aaron had known you long enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“This is ridiculous,” you said finally, your voice low but trembling with barely contained frustration. “We’ve done everything right. Everything. And it still doesn’t matter.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. What could he say that wouldn’t feel hollow? That he agreed? That he hated the situation just as much as you did? None of it would change the reality bearing down on both of you.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, though the words felt inadequate even as he spoke them.

Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing as they met his. “How, Aaron? How do we figure this out? Do I transfer? Do you? Do we just pretend we’re fine with throwing everything away?”

Aaron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He’d been in impossible situations before—ones where no option felt right, but he had to choose anyway. This time, though, the stakes felt different. He wasn’t deciding a case, balancing strategy and risk. He was standing on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed until it was almost too late.

When you finally looked away, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the conversation, Aaron allowed himself a moment to think. To really think.

He imagined what it would mean to leave. Retiring from fieldwork had crossed his mind before—Jack was growing up fast, and Aaron had often wondered if he was missing too much. But the idea of stepping into a more conservative role, away from the pulse of the work, left a hollow ache in his chest.

And then there was you. He thought of you sacrificing your position, giving up this incredible opportunity that you had earned through sheer determination and talent. The thought twisted his stomach.

Aaron couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t let another person give up so much of themselves for his job. He had promised himself, after Haley, that he wouldn’t let his work consume anyone else. That was why he had let Beth go so easily when she wanted more for herself and her career.

But you weren’t Haley or Beth. You were different. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And yet, the guilt and shame of letting you make that kind of sacrifice—for him, for them—was unbearable.

“You shouldn’t have to leave,” Aaron said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss.

You looked at him sharply. “And you think you should?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t ask you to give this up. I won’t.”

Your hands curled into fists on the desk, and Aaron saw the flicker of pain in your eyes before you looked away. “So what? We just... stop?”

Aaron exhaled slowly, his heart aching at the rawness in your voice. “I don’t want to,” he said honestly. “But maybe it’s what’s best.”

Your laugh was bitter, your head shaking. “Best for who? Them? The optics? Certainly not us.”

Aaron stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of your desk. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze. “None of this is. But if we keep fighting this, it could hurt the team. It could hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”

Your eyes glistened, but you blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. “So that’s it? We just... agree to walk away?”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we have to.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating as if the weight of what you were agreeing to was pressing down on both of you at once.

Finally, you stood, your movements slow and deliberate. You rounded the desk, stopping just in front of him.

“Do you really think this is the right thing to do?” you asked, your voice cracking just enough to betray the strength you were trying to hold on to.

“No,” Aaron admitted, his own voice hoarse. “But I think it’s the only thing we can do.”

The words hung in the air like a final verdict, sealing something neither of you wanted to face.

When you stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Aaron’s heart broke a little more. He covered your hand with his, holding it there for a moment as if trying to memorize the feeling.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his one last time. He didn’t miss the tears beginning to well in them. It was instinct to want to look away, it was a sight too painful to unsee, but he found himself still looking through to you.

“So do I,” he replied, his voice raw.

And then, as you stepped back and let your hand fall away, Aaron felt the loss like a physical blow—a kick to the knees. You walked past him, your steps unsteady but resolute.

He didn’t turn to watch you leave. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, alone in your office, knowing that this decision—the right one, the necessary one—was going to haunt him for a long time.

The weeks that followed were some of the hardest Aaron Hotchner had endured, and that was saying something. He had always prided himself on compartmentalizing, on keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. But this—you—made that impossible.

The day after the decision, you had returned to work with the same polished professionalism you always displayed. Your suit was impeccable, your tone measured, and your focus sharp. But Aaron saw the cracks beneath the surface. He saw the way your eyes avoided his during meetings, the way your smiles—rare as they were now—never reached your eyes.

And it wasn’t just you. Aaron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a constant ache in his chest that no amount of distraction could dull. He would catch himself looking at you across the bullpen, remembering how it felt to have you close, to hear you laugh in those unguarded moments. The memories were like splinters—small, sharp reminders of what he’d lost.

He wondered if it were some sort of sick joke. That once again, here he was, Aaron Hotchner choosing the job over what was right in front of him. 

The team picked up on it quickly, though they didn’t understand the cause at first.

“Something’s off,” Morgan said one afternoon, leaning against Aaron’s office door.

Aaron didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “What do you mean?”

Morgan shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the concern in his eyes. “You and her,” he said, nodding toward your office. “I don’t know... You two used to be so in sync. Now it’s like there’s this... distance.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’re fine. Just busy.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Still, Aaron knew the others had noticed it too. Reid’s hesitant glances during meetings, JJ’s subtle attempts to smooth over the tension, and even Garcia’s uncharacteristic silence when she addressed the two of you.

The pain of working together was a constant, gnawing ache. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope, balancing professionalism with the unspoken emotions neither of you could completely hide.

During briefings, Aaron found himself hyper-aware of you. The way you avoided sitting too close. The way your voice would falter, just slightly, when addressing him directly. It was subtle, so subtle that no one outside the team would notice. But Aaron noticed.

You rarely joined the team in the field, but you were more present than Strauss’ constant absence due to her dislike of fieldwork when in your role. Even in the field, the strain was palpable. The easy rhythm you had once shared was gone, replaced by clipped exchanges and a formality that felt wrong coming from you.

“You’re clear on the approach?” Aaron asked during one such mission, his voice firm but hollow.

You nodded, your tone equally curt. “I am.”

It was efficient. Professional. Everything it needed to be. But it wasn’t you. At least not the you he knew.

The worst moments came in the quiet, in the spaces between the chaos. Late nights at the BAU, when the rest of the team had gone home and the building was quiet. Sometimes, Aaron would catch a glimpse of you in your office, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across your face. He wanted to go to you, to break the silence and bridge the gap, but he never did.

One night, as he packed up to leave, he saw you sitting at your desk, your head in your hands. You didn’t notice him watching, and for a brief moment, he considered walking in, saying something—anything. But then you straightened, brushing a hand through your hair, and the moment passed.

Aaron turned away, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each step he took toward the exit.

The team never said anything outright, but Aaron could feel their unease. They didn’t know the details—didn’t know that the two of you had once been something more, or how close you had come to risking everything to stay that way. But they felt the shift.

JJ tried to smooth things over with small acts of kindness—bringing coffee, lightening the mood in meetings. Morgan watched both of you with quiet curiosity, his usual teasing replaced by a patience Aaron hadn’t expected. Even Garcia, ever perceptive, gave him a long, searching look one day before sighing and saying, “You know, you can talk to us, right? About anything.”

Aaron had nodded, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks, Garcia.”

Months passed, and the ache dulled, but it never went away. Aaron learned to live with it, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibilities. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision, but there were moments—late at night, when the silence was deafening—when he let himself imagine what could have been.

And you—he could see it in your eyes, the way you carried the same weight. You were just as professional, just as efficient, but there was a sadness in you now that hadn’t been there before. It mirrored his own, and that was perhaps the hardest part of all.

You were both doing what you thought was best. And it was killing you.

The bullpen was unusually quiet when Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his office. His team was gathered around JJ’s desk, their conversation hushed but animated. The moment his presence registered, they all straightened slightly, trying to appear busy.

Aaron didn’t buy it for a second.

“Morgan. JJ,” he said, his tone even but curious as he descended the steps. “What’s going on?”

JJ exchanged a quick look with Morgan before speaking. “Oh, uh, nothing, Hotch. Just catching up on some... Quantico gossip.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow. Gossip wasn’t something his team typically indulged in—not during work hours, at least. “What kind of gossip?”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flash of discomfort crossing his face. “The kind that probably shouldn’t leave the locker room, but since it’s about someone we all know... it didn’t sit right with me.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few feet from the group. “Who?”

Morgan hesitated, glancing at the others. Emily crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued, while Penelope fidgeted, clearly torn between curiosity and concern.

“Look,” Morgan started, his tone careful, “it’s about…You know—”

Aaron’s stomach sank. He didn’t need Morgan to say your name to know exactly who he meant.

“Go on,” Aaron said, his voice clipped but controlled.

Morgan sighed, leaning against the desk. “JJ and I were at the gym downstairs yesterday. I was in the locker room, and I heard some guy—one of the suits from Finance, I think—talking about her.”

Aaron’s chest tightened as Morgan continued.

“He was bragging about how they’ve been... seeing each other,” Morgan said, his expression darkening. “But the way he was talking—man, it was gross. Like, disrespectful. He was sexualizing her in a way that made my skin crawl.”

JJ chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. “He called her a ‘great ass with brains’—as if that’s all she is. Then he made some comment about how lucky he was to have caught her attention.”

Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I told him to knock it off,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “Told him it wasn’t cool to talk about her like that—especially in a damn locker room, where anyone could hear.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open, her indignation bubbling to the surface. “You’re kidding me. He said that in the locker room? What kind of—ugh! Men are the worst sometimes.”

Emily smirked faintly, her voice dry as she added, “Not all men. Just most.”

Rossi, who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “So she’s seeing this guy? Or is he just running his mouth?”

Morgan shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. But he seemed pretty confident.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel the team’s eyes on him, but he refused to let his expression betray the storm brewing inside.

“Hotch,” JJ said gently, her voice pulling him back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron said curtly. “But I need to remind all of you that gossip—about anyone—isn’t appropriate here. If there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed through the proper channels.”

The team exchanged glances, but no one pushed further.

Aaron returned to his office, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. He sank into his chair, staring at the stack of files on his desk without really seeing them.

The idea of you seeing someone else didn’t sit well with him. Not because you didn’t deserve happiness—you did, more than anyone. But because the thought of you with someone who didn’t appreciate you, who reduced you to nothing more than your appearance or used you as a bragging point, made his blood boil.

He hated the way that man in the locker room had spoken about you. Hated that it had happened at all.

And yet, there was something else eating at him. Something sharper, more selfish.

Jealousy.

The idea that you might have moved on—might have found comfort in someone else’s arms—cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He had no right to feel this way. The two of you had made your decision, painful as it was, and he had to live with it. But knowing you might be with someone else, hearing those crude words about you... it was unbearable.

Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not ever.

But as he sat there, the words from the locker room replaying in his mind, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had let you go too soon. Too easily.

And it was killing him.

Time had a way of dulling pain, or so Aaron Hotchner told himself. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The ache of what had been and what could never be dulled into something he carried silently, like an old injury that flared up when the weather changed. But it never went away.

And then he found out for certain.

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation—it was the kind of thing he normally tuned out. But as he passed by the kitchen in the Quantico building, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two agents from a different unit, their voices low but not low enough.

“Yeah, they’ve been going out for a while now,” one said, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of smugness. “I can’t believe he managed to lock her down. She’s way out of his league.”

The other laughed. “I heard she’s really something. Smart, gorgeous, the whole package. Lucky bastard.”

Aaron didn’t need to hear your name to know exactly who they were talking about.

He found himself sitting in his office later that day, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his focus shattered.

You were seeing him—the man from Finance. The one Morgan had overheard in the locker room, the one who had spoken about you like you were nothing more than a conquest.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, and his chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to regret. He hated the thought of you with someone who didn’t truly see you—who didn’t appreciate the sharpness of your mind, the strength in your character, the way you carried yourself with grace and confidence even under the heaviest burdens.

And yet, what right did he have to feel this way?

You had every right to move on. Every right to find happiness where you could. It wasn’t your fault that he couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what the two of you had shared—or what might have been if things had been different.

As the weeks dragged on, Aaron tried to bury himself in his work. He tried not to notice the way you laughed at something someone said in the bullpen or the way your eyes lit up during a briefing when an idea struck you. He tried not to think about the nights you spent with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

And then Beth called.

It had been months since they’d last spoken, her name long buried in the recesses of his mind. But there she was, her voice warm and familiar, asking how he was, how Jack was if he might want to grab coffee sometime.

Aaron hesitated.

He thought of you—of the distance that had grown between you, the way your conversations were now stilted and professional, the warmth that used to linger between you replaced by a polite coolness. He thought of the man from Finance, the way his name had crept into conversations around the office, always tied to you.

Maybe it was time, Aaron thought. If you had moved on, maybe he should too.

He met Beth for coffee and then for dinner. She was as kind and understanding as he remembered, her smile easy, her company pleasant. But something was missing.

With you, there had been a fire—a spark that made every conversation electric, every glance charged with something unspoken. With Beth, it was different. Comfortable but muted.

Still, Aaron told himself it was the right thing to do. Jack liked her, and she was good to him. Maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of what it felt like to let someone in, to have a life outside the walls of the BAU.

But no matter how much he tried, Aaron couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going through the motions. He couldn’t stop himself from comparing every moment with Beth to the moments he’d shared with you.

When Beth laughed, it wasn’t your laugh. When she reached for his hand, it didn’t feel the same as when you had pulled him close in the quiet of your office.

And every time he saw you in the hallways of Quantico or across the table during a case briefing, that ache in his chest flared anew.

Aaron knew he had made his choice. He had chosen to let you go, to protect the work and the team, to do what he thought was right. And now, he was trying to live with that choice, even as it slowly unraveled him from the inside.

But as he sat in his office late one night, the bullpen quiet and empty, Aaron allowed himself a single, fleeting moment of honesty.

He had moved on.

But not really.

Because a part of him—the part he tried to bury beneath duty and responsibility—would always belong to you.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the head of the conference table, scanning the stack of case files in front of him as the team settled into their usual seats. The murmur of conversation drifted around the room—Morgan and Emily debating the odds of another late-night call, Penelope slipping a fresh report to Reid, Rossi sipping a coffee that smelled distinctly stronger than the usual bullpen brew.

You entered last, heels clicking sharply against the tile floor as you carried yourself with the effortless confidence Aaron admired. You placed your tablet on the table and glanced around the room, your polished demeanor demanding attention without a single word.

“Before we get into case updates,” you began, your voice calm but firm, “I wanted to bring something to everyone’s attention.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, already anticipating the shift in focus. You had a way of setting the room’s tone that even Rossi respected, and your next words proved no different.

“As most of you know,” you continued, your gaze sweeping across the team, “the Bureau’s annual holiday party is coming up. And while I’m well aware that the BAU has a reputation for... skipping it, I feel this year it’s important that we all make an effort to attend.”

That got their attention. Emily’s eyebrows lifted, Morgan tilted his chair back with an incredulous grin, and Penelope froze mid-sip of her elaborately decorated coffee.

“Come on,” Morgan said, his tone half-teasing. “You can’t be serious. You know those parties are all stiff handshakes and bad speeches.”

You smiled faintly, unruffled. “I’m very serious, Morgan. This isn’t about the party itself—it’s about the message it sends.”

Aaron noticed the way you paused, your gaze flickering briefly in his direction before continuing. “After the last few years, it’s important that we show the brass that we’re aligned with their expectations. It demonstrates that we care about appearances and that we’re just as invested in maintaining relationships as they are.”

There it was. A subtle but unmistakable reminder of why things between you and Aaron could never be, woven seamlessly into a broader point that the rest of the team couldn’t grasp fully.

Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re going to this thing to rub elbows with suits who don’t know what we actually do out here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” you replied, your tone calm but edged with authority. “Appearances matter. And it’s our job to ensure those appearances align with the professionalism the BAU stands for.”

Aaron watched as the words settled over the team, their expressions shifting from mild amusement to begrudging understanding. You had a way of cutting through their resistance without belittling them—a skill Aaron had always admired.

“Plus,” you added, a faint smile tugging at your lips, “I’ve been assured the band will be better than last year’s.” You paused. “And an open bar.” 

That earned a soft chuckle from Penelope, who set her mug down with a small shrug. “Well, if it’s formal attire and a better band, I suppose I could make an appearance.”

“Attire is black-tie,” you confirmed, your gaze sweeping the room. “And yes, plus-ones are welcome. But I expect every one of you to be there. No exceptions.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Guess that means we all have to dust off our evening wear.”

“I have a tux,” Reid offered quietly, drawing a chuckle from Rossi.

Aaron remained quiet, his focus trained on you. He could feel the weight of your words—not just the direct ones, but the subtext you didn’t need to spell out. He knew why you were pushing for this, why it mattered so much to you. And he hated that he understood.

As the meeting wrapped and the team began to filter out, you lingered behind, gathering your tablet and a small stack of papers. Aaron stood as well, pausing briefly near the door.

“Formal wear suits you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up, your expression unreadable but your eyes betraying the smallest flicker of something softer. “I expect to see you there, Hotchner. On time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.

But as he left the room, his chest tightened with the familiar ache that came every time he was near you. Formal appearances, aligned expectations—he understood all of it.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

The Bureau’s holiday party was exactly what Aaron Hotchner had expected: polished, overly formal, and steeped in thinly veiled networking. The grand ballroom at the hotel downtown was decorated in muted gold and deep red, elegant but impersonal. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music adding to the ambiance without drowning out the hum of conversation.

Beth stood beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that flattered her in every way. Her brunette hair was swept into a low chignon, and her smile was warm as she introduced herself to the occasional colleague who passed by. She looked stunning, and Aaron knew that anyone in the room would agree.

But when you walked in, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

You entered the ballroom on the arm of Jeff from Finance, a name that Aaron had come to resent more than he cared to admit. He was wearing a garish plaid tuxedo jacket that screamed “trying too hard,” and his broad grin made Aaron’s jaw tighten. But none of that mattered—because you were radiant.

Your gown was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that made your eyes seem brighter, your skin glow. It hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly under the chandelier light as you moved. Your hair, styled elegantly but effortlessly, framed your face in a way that made Aaron’s chest ache. You looked... otherworldly.

Aaron had always known you were beautiful. It was an undeniable fact, one that had never gone unnoticed by anyone who crossed your path. But tonight, you were something else entirely. You weren’t just beautiful; you were extraordinary, like a rare phenomenon that people spend their entire lives waiting to glimpse.

When you stepped into the room, it was as though the world tilted slightly, every sound dulling, every light dimming except for the one that seemed to follow you. Aaron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange, almost childlike awe settled over him. He felt like a boy again, staring up at the stars for the first time and realizing just how vast and infinite the universe could be.

You were that kind of beautiful. The kind that made time seem to pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath just to take you in. You were the kind of beauty that inspired poetry and music—the kind artists yearned to capture and always failed to do justice.

And in that moment, Aaron finally understood why men wrote poetry, painted masterpieces, composed symphonies, and created entire films in honor of women like you. It was all a desperate attempt to grasp something fleeting, something divine, and pin it to the earth long enough to keep.

It wasn’t just your gown, though the deep emerald green shimmered like it had been made for you, highlighting the curve of your shoulders and the elegance of your frame. It wasn’t just the way your hair fell, soft waves framing your face in a way that seemed almost unfair. It was something deeper, something impossible to put into words.

Aaron felt it in his chest, a deep, aching yearning that he’d never experienced before. It was amazement, pure and unfiltered, like seeing magic for the first time and realizing it wasn’t a trick. It was real. You were real. And yet, you didn’t feel like something he could ever touch.

He couldn’t stop staring, and for a brief, dizzying moment, he didn’t care who saw. The logical part of his mind—the one that always kept him grounded—was overruled by something more primal, more human. How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look like that? To exist in a way that felt so rare and unattainable and yet so deeply, painfully familiar?

He thought of how easily you commanded the room, not by seeking attention but simply by being. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t deliberate. It was just you—this singular, dazzling presence that made everyone around you seem to fade into the background.

Aaron had never felt this way before, not even with Haley. Not even with anyone else he’d allowed into his life. This was something else entirely, something more profound and unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration or attraction. It was belief. Belief in something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

And then he saw Jeff beside you, his tacky plaid suit clashing with the elegance of everything you were. The man who didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was, who treated your presence like a status symbol rather than a gift.

Aaron’s stomach churned, his skin crawling as jealousy flared sharp and unrelenting. He hated it—hated the way it burned, the way it clawed at the edges of his composure.

But what he hated more was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.

You weren’t his. And yet, watching you from across the room, Aaron couldn’t help but think you never truly belonged to anyone. You were too rare for that. Too extraordinary.

And God, how it ached to know he had let you go.

He forced himself to smile at Beth as she laughed at something Rossi said, but his attention kept drifting back to you. He hated the way Jeff hovered near you, his posture possessive and his grin smug. He hated the way Jeff’s gaudy suit jacket clashed with the elegance of your dress, as though he didn’t understand how lucky he was to be standing beside you.

More than anything, Aaron hated the feeling crawling under his skin—the sharp, searing jealousy that he couldn’t shake. It was worse than anything he had felt before, even when Haley had been unfaithful right in front of his face. This was different.

Haley’s betrayal had stung, yes, but it had been rooted in a relationship that had already begun to fracture. What Aaron felt now was raw and consuming, made worse by the knowledge that he had no claim on you. You weren’t his.

You never would be.

Beth touched his arm gently, drawing his focus back to her. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Aaron nodded quickly, plastering on a polite smile. “Of course. Just thinking about the week ahead.”

Beth gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. She turned her attention back to Rossi, leaving Aaron with his thoughts.

He glanced toward you again, catching the way you laughed at something Jeff said. It wasn’t the laugh he remembered—the soft, genuine sound that used to fill his office late at night. This one was polite, reserved, a laugh you gave when you were being kind but not necessarily amused.

It was a small comfort but not enough to quiet the jealousy raging in his chest.

When you caught his eye from across the room, Aaron felt his breath hitch. Your gaze lingered for a moment—just long enough for him to see the flicker of something in your expression before you turned away, a polite smile on your lips as you greeted someone else.

He had made his choice. You had made yours. But standing there, watching you with someone like Jeff, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he had made the wrong one.

And yet, there was nothing he could do but endure it.

So Aaron turned back to Beth, his expression carefully neutral, and let the music and the hum of conversation fade into the background. But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

It never did.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his order. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the holiday party continuing around him like static. Beth was across the room, talking animatedly with one of the Bureau’s administrators, her glass of white wine nearly empty.

He had volunteered to get her a refill, partly because he wanted to give her a moment to network uninterrupted, but mostly because he needed a moment to himself. Maybe Beth would sell a painting or two with the amount of stiff suits in the room thought, he thought. 

The sight of you with Jeff—laughing politely, your hand resting lightly on his arm—was wearing thin on his composure.

The bartender slid a fresh glass of wine and a scotch across the counter, and just as Aaron reached for them, he heard the unmistakable click of your heels behind him.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply sidled up beside him, so close that he could feel the faint warmth of your body through the fabric of his suit. The scent of your perfume—something soft and alluring, with notes of jasmine—drifted over him, making his pulse quicken.

Aaron didn’t turn his head, but he felt the air shift between you. His grip on the glass tightened as he fought the urge to look.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I hate you here with her.”

The words were quiet but sharp, cutting through the hum of the party like a knife. Aaron froze, his breath catching as he turned to look at you.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the row of liquor bottles behind the bar, your expression calm but your eyes betraying the storm beneath.

He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “And you think I like seeing you here with Jeff?”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, finally turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity in the small space that separated you.

Then you leaned in, so close that Aaron could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear.

“Do you know what I do?” you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.”

Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of your words knocking the air out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at you in stunned silence.

You straightened, your expression unreadable but your lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. “I thought you should know.”

His throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

Before he could gather his thoughts, you stepped back, your gaze flickering briefly to his hands, still clutching the glasses. “Your drinks,” you said softly, the faintest hint of something unspoken lingering in your tone.

And just like that, you were gone.

Aaron watched as you crossed the room, your hips swaying, your gown flowing gracefully behind you as you returned to Jeff and the group of section chiefs. You slipped back into the conversation effortlessly, smiling and nodding as though nothing had happened.

But Aaron knew better.

He stood there at the bar, the scotch and wine forgotten in his hands, as the weight of your words settled over him. His pulse still raced, his skin prickling with the memory of your closeness, your voice, your confession.

For a man who had always prided himself on control, Aaron felt anything but. You had shattered the careful walls he’d built around himself, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded room, completely undone.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the table, his back straight, his hands loosely clasped around the tumbler of scotch in front of him. The room was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the murmur of conversation, but to him, it all blurred into a distant hum.

Beth was seated beside him, engaged in an animated discussion with Penelope. Her warm laugh punctuated the conversation. Aaron nodded occasionally when prompted, but his focus was elsewhere.

Across the room, you swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, your body close to Jeff’s as he held you gently, one hand on your waist, the other resting lightly on your back. Your head tilted slightly, your cheek brushing the fabric of his shoulder. The two of you moved easily, almost effortlessly, to the soft melody of the band.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes found his across the room, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away.

Aaron froze, his breath catching in his chest as your gaze locked onto his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something unspoken but deeply familiar, that cut through the noise and the lights and the meaningless chatter around him.

It wasn’t just eye contact. It was a connection—a thread pulled taut between you, invisible to everyone else but impossibly strong.

He couldn’t look away.

Your eyes held his, and in them, he saw everything that words couldn’t convey. Longing. Frustration. A quiet, desperate ache that mirrored his own. It was as though every emotion he’d buried, every feeling he’d suppressed, was reflected back at him in your gaze.

And then there was the tension—the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed between you but felt even stronger now. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, the kind of thing that made time seem irrelevant.

Aaron didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand or the way his heart began to pound. All he knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You swayed gently in Jeff’s arms, your movements fluid and graceful, but your gaze never wavered. The music, the people, even Jeff himself—all of it faded into the background. There was only you and him, locked in this moment, this silent conversation that neither of you could end.

It wasn’t just attraction, though, that was there, simmering beneath the surface. It was something deeper, something raw and unspoken. It was the weight of every choice you’d made, every boundary you’d set, and every word you’d left unsaid.

Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe like the space between you was both infinite and nonexistent. It was a cruel paradox—feeling as though you were so close he could almost reach out and touch you, yet knowing you were untouchable, unreachable.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain; it was a deep, hollow yearning that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a fleeting wound—it was the slow, relentless ache of loss. Of knowing exactly what he was missing and yet being powerless to reclaim it.

He missed you in ways that felt impossible to quantify, in ways that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. He missed your touch—the way your hand had lingered on his arm during late-night conversations, grounding him in moments when he felt untethered. He missed the warmth of your presence, the quiet reassurance that came with simply having you near.

But it wasn’t just the physical things. It was everything about you, the parts of you that no one else seemed to notice or understand the way he did.

He missed your laugh—the genuine, full-bodied sound that lit up a room and chased away the weight of even the hardest days. It was rare, but when it happened, it was like the world itself paused to listen.

He missed your softness—the way you could be so strong, so unyielding in your convictions, and yet offer a kindness that made even the most jaded person feel seen. You had a way of making people believe they mattered, a way of making him believe he mattered.

And he missed your fierceness—the fire in your eyes when you were fighting for something you believed in, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, never backing down from a challenge. You inspired him in ways he didn’t even realize until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

Most of all, he missed your presence. That quiet, steady support that had become such a part of his life he hadn’t realized how much he relied on it until it was gone. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And now, you were just... gone.

The ache in his chest deepened as he sat at the table, staring at the empty doorway where you had disappeared. He didn’t just miss what they had shared—the stolen moments, the quiet confessions. He missed you. The person who had seen him at his worst and still stood by him. The person who had understood him in ways no one else ever could.

And as the weight of that realization settled over him, Aaron knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter what choices either of them made, the space you had left in his life would never be filled.

And then, just as suddenly, you broke the spell.

You blinked, your gaze faltering as you looked away, your expression unreadable. Flustered almost. Aaron watched as you gently stepped back from Jeff, your movements deliberate but hurried.

“Excuse me,” you murmured to him, your voice just audible enough for Aaron to hear over the music.

You crossed the room with purpose, your gown flowing behind you like liquid emerald. Aaron’s eyes followed your every step, his heart sinking as you reached your table and grabbed your clutch.

Jeff, caught off guard, trailed after you, his expression confused but compliant. He said something to you, but you barely acknowledged him, your focus entirely on leaving.

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the empty space you left behind, his chest tightening as he watched the two of you disappear through the ballroom’s double doors.

The world slowly returned—Beth’s voice beside him, the hum of the music, the clinking of glasses—but none of it felt real.

Aaron took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the door as though willing you to return. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Because whatever had just passed between you, whatever that moment had been, was too much for either of you to bear.

The drive to Beth’s apartment had been quiet. Too quiet. She had smiled softly at him when he pulled up in front of her building, the warmth of her expression filled with an affection that he knew he couldn’t return—not the way she deserved.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked, her tone light but hopeful.

Aaron hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day.”

Beth studied him for a moment, her disappointment subtle but evident. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Drive safe, Aaron.”

He nodded, waiting until she disappeared into the building before exhaling a shaky breath. He should have gone home. He should have driven straight to his house, poured himself another drink, and buried the night in paperwork or sleep.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Aaron found himself driving through the quiet streets, the sound of the city outside his car muffled by the relentless echo of your words in his mind.

Do you know what I do? I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.

The words played on a loop, relentless and consuming. He could see the way you had looked at him, the softness in your voice, the sadness and longing that mirrored his own. It unraveled him.

He loosened his tie, tugging at the silk knot with a sharp, frustrated motion as if it were choking him. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind—your gown, the way you moved, the way your eyes had locked with his in a silent confession across the room.

He didn’t even notice his speed, the way the city blurred around him as he drove. All he knew was where he needed to go.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he hesitated only briefly. Jeff could be here. That much was obvious. But Aaron didn’t care—not tonight.

He climbed out of the car, his footsteps quick and determined as he approached your door. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind was clear.

He knocked, his knuckles rapping firmly against the wood.

The seconds stretched endlessly until the door opened, and there you were.

You were wearing a silk robe, its soft fabric clinging to your frame and catching the light. Your hair was loose, framing your face in soft waves, and your expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable when you saw him.

“Aaron,” you said softly, your voice tentative.

“Is he here?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest felt like it might explode.

You blinked, startled by the question, before shaking your head. “No.”

“Good,” he said, stepping forward and into your space.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. 

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot. The kiss was fierce, dominating, raw, filled with all the pent-up tension and longing that had been building for months.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as you stumbled slightly, the force of his kiss pushing you backward. He guided you with purpose, his body pressing yours against the wall just inside the entryway.

His hands moved to your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection. It was raw, desperate, and consuming.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The silk of your robe brushed against his suit, the contrast of textures only heightening the sensation.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with something unmistakable—desire, relief, and a trace of vulnerability.

He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.

You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you pulled him back into another kiss, and Aaron let himself surrender to the moment, the weight of everything else fading away.

For once, nothing else mattered.

Aaron’s breath was ragged as his lips moved against yours, his hands still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. Every ounce of restraint he’d held onto for so long had snapped the moment you’d opened the door, and now, the thought of stopping felt impossible.

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, and he responded in kind, his body pressing firmly against yours. The silk of your robe was impossibly soft under his hands as he slid them from your face to your waist, his fingers gripping you like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

Aaron knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew this was a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. But every logical thought dissolved under the weight of your kiss, the way your lips moved against his with a hunger that matched his own.

“God, we shouldn’t—” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but tinged with something desperate.

“I know,” he whispered back, his hands trailing along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your robe. “But I can’t stop.”

Your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze nearly undoing him. It wasn’t just lust that burned in your expression—it was longing, the same yearning that had been simmering between you for months, the same ache he’d carried every time he saw you.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming up your back as he felt you relax into him. Your hands found the knot of his tie, tugging it loose with a deliberate pull that sent his pulse racing. The silk slipped free, and you tossed it aside, your fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt with a sense of urgency that mirrored his own.

Aaron let out a soft groan as your hands brushed against his chest, your touch igniting a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as you tilted your head to give him better access.

“Aaron,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine.

His hands found the sash of your robe, his fingers hesitating briefly as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only want, only need.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but tender, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I’m sure.”

The robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight of you, so beautiful and bare before him. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch reverent but firm, as though he was committing every detail to memory.

He kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, savoring the taste of you, the softness of your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood.

Every touch, every kiss, felt forbidden, a line crossed and recrossed with every passing second. But neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.

Aaron guided you gently toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours as you moved together. You sank down onto the cushions, pulling him with you, and he let himself get lost in you—the way you smelled, the way your skin felt against his, the way you whispered his name like it was the only thing that mattered.

As his hands roamed over you, exploring, memorizing, Aaron felt a pang of guilt buried beneath the passion. He knew this was dangerous, that there would be consequences. But for now, in this moment, he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were his.

And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

Aaron’s mind was a storm as he pressed you against the cushions of the couch, his lips moving with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. The weight of his body pressed into yours, grounding him in a way that made everything else—Beth, Jeff, the consequences of this moment—fade into the background.

Your hands slid under his shirt, your fingers grazing his skin with a touch that sent shivers through him. He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to shrug out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, buttons undone hastily by your hands, and he barely registered the faint sound of fabric hitting the hardwood before his mouth was back on yours.

This was wrong. He knew it with every rational part of himself. But it didn’t stop the way he kissed you, dominating, claiming like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else who had touched you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your back—pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch of you against him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost a growl. His fingers found your bare skin so inviting. “I’ve wanted this… you… for so long.”

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Aaron felt like he might lose his mind at the way you responded to him.

“Do you know how hard it’s been?” he asked, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers grazed your bare shoulder, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “Watching you, wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The intensity in your gaze was enough to undo him, filled with the same longing, the same desperation he’d been carrying for months.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve felt it too.”

That was all it took for Aaron to give in completely. His lips crashed against yours again, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts. He shifted, lifting you slightly as he moved you further onto the couch, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t hold back.

You were his. At least in this moment, you were his.

His hands roamed over you with purpose, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His lips continued their relentless exploration of your body. He kissed you like he was starving like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe you were.

The air between you was thick with tension; each movement laced with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s hands framed your face as he paused to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but intense. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, your fingers brushing over his jaw as you pulled him back to you. “Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

Aaron didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The way you looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered—was enough to silence any doubts. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch, every sigh that escaped your lips.

It was forbidden. It was reckless. But in that moment, it was everything.

Aaron’s control, the control he prided himself on in every aspect of his life, was slipping through his fingers. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. The feel of your body beneath his was intoxicating, and for once, he allowed himself to surrender to the moment.

But you weren’t passive. No, that wasn’t who you were.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you shifted beneath him, a movement so deliberate it nearly undid him. You pressed up against him, your strength and confidence matching his in a way that sent his pulse racing.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath heavy as his eyes roamed over you. The sight of you—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire—was enough to make his chest tighten.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned in close.

You smirked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him toward you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with intent.

Aaron’s response was immediate. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He wanted to mark you, to leave a reminder of this moment, of him, as if to stake a claim neither of you would ever admit aloud.

Your hands moved to his belt, the boldness of your actions sending a jolt through him. He let out a low growl, gripping your wrists gently but firmly to still you.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone a mix of command and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging. “Afraid you can’t keep up, Hotchner?”

That did it.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and possessiveness into it. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you that went straight to his core.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough as he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest with deliberate slowness. “I think I have some idea,” you replied, your voice low and filled with heat.

The push and pull between you was electric, a constant dance of dominance and surrender that neither of you fully gave into. When you shifted, pushing him back with a surprising strength that only made him want you more, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, his hands gripping your hips as you straddled him, your robe slipping fully off your shoulders, completely bare to him. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?”

Aaron’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you down against him, his voice a growl. “Not at all.”

The heat between you was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and desire as your lips met his again, both of you fighting for control even as you gave into the pull of each other. It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a collision of two forces that had been held back for far too long.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement spoke volumes, the unspoken words of longing and frustration spilling out in the way you claimed each other, over and over again.

Aaron had always been a man of control, a man who measured his steps and chose his words with precision. But here, with you, that control was unraveling, slipping away with every kiss, every touch. The months of tension, the stolen glances, the unspoken words between you had built to this moment, and now, neither of you seemed capable of holding back.

Your nails dragged along his chest, leaving faint, red lines in their wake as you leaned into him. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to anchor himself. Aaron couldn’t stop his hands from exploring, feeling the heat of your skin under his touch.

“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was fierce, almost punishing, a testament to the months of restraint that had finally snapped.

You didn’t shy away. You met his intensity with your own, your lips moving against his with a hunger that left no doubt about how much you wanted this—wanted him.

“Good,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Aaron chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, earning a gasp from you that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you from the couch effortlessly. The action earned a surprised laugh from you, but it was cut short when he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hands roamed your body. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and desire. “If you want me so badly, Aaron, prove it.”

Something snapped in him at your words. His hands tightened on your thighs as his lips found yours again, the kiss rough and consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who you belonged to in this moment. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave faint impressions, a silent mark of his claim on you.

Every movement was deliberate, every touch a blend of dominance and reverence. Aaron’s hands slid beneath the loosened fabric of your robe, his fingers exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. 

Your body arched against his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you met him with equal fervor. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way you moved together; it was raw, fierce, a collision of passion and pent-up frustration that neither of you could contain.

“Aaron,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it undid him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, his grip on you firm and steady.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a growl as he tightened his hold on you.

Your eyes locked with his, dark with desire and unspoken emotion. “Aaron,” you repeated, your voice softer this time but no less commanding.

His lips crashed against yours again, his hands roaming freely, claiming you in every way he could. There was no hesitation, no room for second thoughts—only the overwhelming need to have you, to show you exactly what you meant to him, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. What he saw there—desire, longing, and something deeper, more vulnerable—unraveled him completely.

“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, filled with the weight of months of suppressed emotions. “Tell me you want this.”

Your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his jawline as you looked at him with a gaze that left him breathless. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all he needed.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming as his hands slid up your thighs, securing your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, the roughness of the plaster against your back contrasting with the heat of his body against yours.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with urgency, a desperate need to make up for all the time you’d spent denying yourselves this moment. His hands roamed your body, possessive and reverent as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

Your hands tugged at the rest of his clothes, pushing them further off him as your lips moved from his mouth to his jawline, trailing kisses down his neck. The soft, breathy sound you made against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, his control slipping further.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

He groaned in response, his name on your lips undoing him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and raw as his lips found yours again. “No one else’s.”

Your response was immediate, your arms tightening around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The way you moved against him, the way you whispered his name between gasps, left no room for doubt—you were his, and he was yours.

The tension between you reached its breaking point, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood. Aaron’s movements became more deliberate, his hands gripping you firmly as he gave in completely to the moment.

It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a culmination of months of longing and frustration. Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with a passion that left you both breathless, the line between control and surrender blurring as you claimed each other fully.

When he reached between you, he found you wet and wanting. Bucking your hips against his hand. He circled his fingers, warming you up--not that you needed it. Savoring the little responses he got from you. His other hand reached for your breast, caressing and cupping it with achingly slow motions. 

“Aaron!” It was almost a demand, telling him you needed him now. He understood as you pushed yourself up, wrapping one leg around his waist. His pants and belt pooled at his ankles--it wasn’t the most practical scene, but was anything about this situation? 

He entered you swiftly, an open-mouthed kiss with a shared groan between the two of you. Your hands found his hair, tugging on it as your eyes rolled back. His mouth moved to the hollow of your neck, his hands exploring you all at once, but still not enough. 

He imagined the angle was physically more demanding for you as he lifted you, holding you up against the wall, bringing him impossibly deeper now. He rocked into you with a rhythm that was unmatched. The sound of his metal belt buckle shifting on the floor with every swift slap of his hips against yours filled the room.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, basically melting in his arms. It was like a domino effect, taking him down with you. He released deep inside of you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he groaned your name. 

Something deep was released inside in this moment, too, more emotionally than any sexual release. He knew in this moment he couldn’t not have you again. 

You unwrapped your legs from his hips, the two of you slowly separating with a whimper. 

Aaron held you against him, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what you’d just done hung in the air, but so did the undeniable connection that had brought you to this point.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough as his fingers brushed lightly against your side.

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

Aaron exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. For now, there was only you.

The intensity between you had cooled slightly, replaced now by a quiet tenderness that neither of you knew how to navigate. Reaching down, he pulled his boxers, pants and belt back up, leaving them still undone.

The silence was thick, and as Aaron stepped back, his gaze flicked to the disheveled state of both of you. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven as the realization hit him like a jolt.

“We didn’t...” he started, his voice low and gravelly. “We didn’t use protection.”

Your lips parted, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Then, with a softness that caught him off guard, you said, “I know.”

Aaron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. “And you’re... with Jeff.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out, needing to understand. He watched as you turned away.

“We haven’t had sex,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron froze, the weight of your words sinking in slowly. “What?”

You turned to face him, your expression vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “I couldn’t,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to... be with him. He’s—” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “He’s been an accessory. Something to keep people from asking questions.”

Aaron stared at you, his mind racing. Jeff’s smug comments in the locker room, the way he’d hovered near you at the party—it had all been an act, a performance. You hadn’t been with him. You’d been pulling him along to keep up appearances, just like you’d said.

“I thought...” he began, but his words faltered. He took a breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re with him, and I’m with Beth. Or at least I thought I was.”

You studied him, your eyes searching his face. “Have you?” you asked, the question hesitant but pointed.

Aaron shook his head, his voice quieter now. “No. I haven’t been able to.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he met your gaze. “She’s not... she’s not you.”

For a moment, the weight of that truth hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you moved, the air between you thick with something that felt too fragile to name.

Eventually, Aaron stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours before gently taking it in his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You followed him without a word, the quiet between you more comfortable now, though still heavy with everything unsaid. In the dim light of the small bathroom, Aaron found a clean towel, dampening it with warm water before turning back to you.

He worked in silence, his movements careful and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion. His touch was tender, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

When it was your turn, you took another face cloth, your hands steady but your expression unreadable. You dabbed at his face, his neck, his chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long as if memorizing the feel of him.

Neither of you spoke, the quiet filled only with the soft sound of water and the unspoken tension that neither of you knew how to address. Aaron watched you, his chest tightening as he saw the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you concentrated on your task.

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. So he let the moment stretch, allowing the silence to say what neither of you could.

When you were finished, you folded the towel and set it aside, your hands brushing his one last time before you stepped back. Aaron caught your wrist gently, his touch lingering just long enough for you to meet his gaze.

But still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, you turned away, pulling your robe tighter around you as Aaron let his hand fall to his side. The weight of everything you’d shared pressed heavily on both of you and for now, neither of you had the courage to face what came next.

Aaron stood in the quiet of your bedroom, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The events of the night weighed heavily on him—what they meant, what they would lead to—but before he could sink too deeply into his own mind, you reappeared.

Your silk robe was gone, replaced by his button-up shirt, which hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You looked both effortless and intimate, like you belonged in it.

“I missed this,” you said softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, as though savoring the feel of it. “I missed the smell of you. I missed you. Everything about you.”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest, and he exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. He knew the feeling all too well. He had missed you, too—more than he could admit, more than he had allowed himself to feel until now.

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you gently tugged him toward the bed. Aaron followed, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding him even as his heart raced. Removing his dresspants, folding them, and placing them on a chair nearby. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body taut with hesitation, but you didn’t let him linger there. You climbed onto the mattress, settling in on your side and motioning for him to join you.

Aaron hesitated for a moment, then slid under the covers, lying on his side to face you. The moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, silver glow. It cast delicate shadows across your face, highlighting the vulnerability in your expression as you looked at him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s gaze traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of your cheek, the softness of your lips, the way your eyes held his with an intensity that made his chest ache.

“Love me,” you whispered suddenly, your voice trembling but insistent. Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, your touch hesitant but desperate. “Please, Aaron. Love me.”

The vulnerability in your voice, the way you said the words like they were both a demand and a plea, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. This was almost uncharacteristic for you. Your presence never demanded attention, yet here you were, asking him to love you. Aaron’s heart twisted painfully, and he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to ask me to do that,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. But there was no doubt, no hesitation in his gaze. He loved you—he always had, even when he couldn’t say it, even when it felt impossible.

“But we can’t,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You know that. If we do this, we risk everything—our jobs, the team, the work we’ve both sacrificed so much for.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears shining in your eyes. “I don’t care about any of that, Aaron. I just care about you.”

Aaron closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing through him. He hated how complicated this was, how the world seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.

“I hate it, too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how complicated this is, how much we have to give up just to be together. But I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing everything that makes you... you.”

Your hand cupped his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “Don’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

Aaron exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes closed. The thought of giving you up, of walking away from this, was unbearable. And yet, the thought of losing everything you had worked so hard for was just as devastating.

“I’d give it all up,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “The job, the team—all of it. I’d give it up to have you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling over you. He had reached a point where he couldn’t even get to with Haley--ready to put the job and whatever else behind him. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise.

Aaron kissed you back, his hands cradling your face as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the connection. And as the two of you lay there in the quiet, the moonlight casting its gentle glow over the room, Aaron realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as Aaron woke to the warmth of your body next to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of forgetting everything outside this space. But the weight of reality settled quickly, and he knew there were choices to be made—choices that couldn’t wait.

You stirred beside him, your head turning slightly on the pillow as your eyes fluttered open. When you looked at him, there was a quiet understanding in your gaze, as though you’d already been thinking about what needed to happen next.

The day was spent in quiet, focused conversation. You sat together at the kitchen table, steaming cups of coffee in front of you, as you laid out the possibilities. Aaron admired your methodical approach, the way you analyzed every angle every consequence, even as he felt the heaviness of the discussion pressing down on him.

“What if we went to the team first?” you suggested your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “If they’re on our side—if they don’t have any reservations—it might give us the leverage we need when we talk to the Director again.”

Aaron considered your words carefully, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s risky,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “But it might be the only way to prove that this won’t affect the team’s dynamic. If they can support us, it could make a difference.”

You nodded, your hands wrapped around your mug as you leaned back in your chair. “And if the Director still refuses?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. “Then we don’t give him a choice. We go in together and tell him it’s either this—or we both walk.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding of the enormity of what you were discussing. Neither of you had ever walked away from anything lightly, but the thought of giving each other up again was unbearable.

Later, as the day stretched on, the two of you made the decisions you’d been avoiding for weeks. Beth deserved the truth, as did Jeff, no matter how difficult those conversations would be.

Aaron made the visit to Beth first. She was tinged with confusion at his sudden need to talk. He kept his words measured and respectful, explaining that he couldn’t give her what she deserved—that his heart had always belonged to someone else. Beth was hurt but graceful, her acceptance tinged with sadness.

When he returned to the your house later on after also attending to fatherly duties with Jack, you were finishing your call with Jeff. Your expression was unreadable, but the way you let out a soft sigh as you set your phone down spoke volumes. “He didn’t take it well,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug. “But I couldn’t keep leading him on. It wasn’t fair.”

Aaron placed a hand over yours, his touch grounding and steady. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “Now we move forward.”

That evening, as you sat together in the quiet, the weight of the day’s decisions settled over you both. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential challenges and risks, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

The two of you had a plan—a united front—and whatever came next, you knew you’d face it.

The BAU conference room felt smaller than usual as Aaron Hotchner stood to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were seated at the head of the table, your posture poised but your hands clasped tightly together—a rare sign of nervousness that only someone who knew you well, like Aaron, would notice.

The team filtered in one by one, their expressions curious but light. Emily had a cup of coffee in hand, Derek was chatting with JJ about some recent Quantico gossip, and Penelope trailed behind with a bright, questioning look. Reid sat toward the middle, already flipping through a notepad, and Rossi took his usual spot near the back, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Derek asked, his grin playful as he pulled out a chair and settled in. “This doesn’t feel like our usual meeting vibe.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze sweeping across the table before landing briefly on Aaron. He gave you a small nod, his expression calm but supportive.

“Thank you all for coming,” you began, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. “I know this isn’t our usual meeting. Aaron and I asked you here because we need to discuss something important—something personal that affects the team.”

The lighthearted chatter died down instantly, replaced by a palpable curiosity and concern.

You continued, your hands tightening slightly around each other as you spoke. “Over the past few months, Aaron and I have realized that we want to pursue a personal relationship. I know this might come as a surprise—or even a concern—to some of you, given our roles and the nature of our work.”

Aaron watched as the team processed your words, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and, in some cases, quiet understanding.

You straightened, your tone firm but earnest. “We’ve thought this through carefully. We understand the gravity of this decision, not just for ourselves but for all of you. This team is a family. It’s been my honor to work with each of you, and I don’t take lightly the idea of doing anything that could disrupt that dynamic.”

Aaron stepped forward then, his voice calm and measured as he added, “That’s why we wanted to be upfront with all of you. We respect your opinions, and we’re here to listen if any of you have reservations or concerns.”

There was a beat of silence before Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement. “The two of you want to be together, but the higher-ups don’t approve?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Correct. The Director has made it clear that our relationship is considered inappropriate given our positions. He gave us two options: end it or find roles outside the team.”

JJ frowned, her concern evident. “And what are you planning to do?”

Aaron glanced at you, and you gave a slight nod before he spoke. “We’ve decided to pursue the relationship despite those orders. But we’re not going into this without a plan. We believe the best course of action is to go to the Director with the support of this team. If we can demonstrate that our relationship won’t compromise our work or the dynamic here, it may give us the leverage we need.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Reid asked quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.

You hesitated, and Aaron stepped in. “If the Director won’t budge, we’re prepared to leave. Together.”

That admission hung heavy in the air, and Aaron could feel the weight of the team’s reactions pressing down on him.

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a big gamble. But you’ve always been a risk-taker, Hotch.”

Emily smirked faintly, her tone more teasing than judgmental. “Never would’ve pegged you for a rule-breaker, though.”

Penelope, wide-eyed and fidgeting with her bracelets, finally spoke up. “So… does this mean we’re, like, the deciding vote? Because, no pressure, but this feels like a really big deal!”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your posture easing slightly. “It is a big deal, Penelope. But we trust you. All of you. That’s why we wanted to have this conversation first.”

Rossi, who had been quietly observing, finally leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I’ve seen a lot of things in this job. Relationships, breakups, people falling apart under pressure. But I’ve never doubted the professionalism or dedication of either of you. And I don’t see that changing now.”

Aaron felt a flicker of gratitude as Rossi’s words hung in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the discussion.

One by one, the team voiced their thoughts. JJ expressed some concern about how this might look to the brass but ultimately supported you both, trusting your judgment. Reid, after asking a few logistical questions, nodded thoughtfully and said he believed the two of you could handle it. Penelope gave an impassioned speech about love conquering all, which drew chuckles around the table, and Emily and Derek exchanged a look before both offering their backing with only a bit of playful ribbing.

By the end of the discussion, Aaron felt a weight lift from his chest. The team’s support wasn’t just a relief—it was a validation of the respect and trust you had built with each of them over the years.

You stood, your hands resting lightly on the table as you addressed them one last time. “Thank you. Truly. This means everything to us. And I promise, no matter what happens, the integrity of this team will always come first.”

Aaron stepped beside you, his gaze sweeping over the team with quiet gratitude. “We’ll take this to the Director together. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

As the team began to disperse, Derek clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day, Hotch. You breaking rules for love? Guess there’s hope for all of us.”

Aaron chuckled softly, but as he turned to look at you, his expression softened. This wasn’t just about breaking rules—it was about finally choosing the person who made it all worthwhile.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the hallway outside the Director’s office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze steady. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between you, but he felt none of the apprehension he might have expected. Instead, he felt a strange calm bolstered by the resolve that radiated from you as you stood beside him.

You turned to him, your expression set but your eyes soft. You had dressed sharply for the meeting, your tailored suit immaculate, projecting the authority you carried so effortlessly. Still, there was something in the way your fingers brushed against his as you reached for him that made his chest tighten.

“You ready for this?” you asked, your voice low but steady.

Aaron looked at you, taking in the determined set of your jaw and the quiet strength in your posture. “With you? Always.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, the tension between you softened. You stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both grounding and electrifying.

“Let’s do this,” you murmured against his mouth, and he nodded, his hands lingering briefly on your waist before you pulled away.

When you entered the Director’s office together, the atmosphere shifted. The room was large and imposing, the walls lined with awards and photos that told the story of the Bureau’s successes. The Director sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

Aaron stayed standing beside you as you took the lead, your voice calm and authoritative as you began. “Thank you for meeting with us, sir. We wanted to address the situation between Agent Hotchner and myself directly.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m listening.”

Aaron watched as you laid out your case with precision and confidence, detailing how the two of you had handled your relationship with professionalism, how you had sought the team’s support, and how they had expressed their trust in your ability to maintain the integrity of the BAU.

“We understand your concerns, and we don’t take this lightly,” you said, your gaze steady on the Director. “But we also know the value we bring to the Bureau, both individually and as a team. We’re here to ask for your trust, just as we’ve earned the trust of the people we lead.”

Aaron stepped in then, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve always put the mission of the BAU first, and that won’t change. But if this is a line you believe we’ve crossed, we’re prepared to accept the consequences. Both of us.”

The Director’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you both. “You’re telling me you’re willing to walk away? Both of you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “We believe in what we’ve built here, but we won’t compromise our integrity—or the team’s—by pretending this relationship doesn’t exist.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Aaron could feel the tension coiled in his chest, but he didn’t waver. He stood beside you, unflinching, as the Director considered their ultimatum.

Finally, the Director let out a slow breath; his fingers steepled under his chin. “This is highly irregular. You both know that. The Bureau doesn’t operate on personal exceptions.”

You nodded, your posture unyielding. “We understand that, sir. But losing both of us would be a significant blow to the BAU, especially given our track record and the current demands on the unit.”

The Director’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking for a lot.”

Aaron stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “And we’re offering a solution. Put us on a review period. Watch us closely. If there are any issues—any compromises to the integrity of the BAU—you’ll have our resignations. No questions asked.”

The Director’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his expression inscrutable. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled sharply. “Fine. A review period. But understand this: you’ll both be under intense scrutiny. Any sign that this relationship is affecting the team or your work, and it ends. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you said immediately, your voice steady.

Aaron nodded. “Crystal.”

When the two of you left the office, the tension in the hallway was palpable, but it quickly gave way to a quiet sense of victory. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself a small, relieved smile.

“That went better than expected,” you said, your voice light with a mix of relief and determination.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “I’d say we make a pretty good team.”

You stopped then, turning to face him fully. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows cast a soft glow over your face, and Aaron felt his chest tighten at the sight of you—strong, confident, and absolutely unshakable.

“With you?” you said, echoing his earlier words. “We can do anything.”

Aaron smiled, his hand finding yours and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. And as the two of you walked away from the Director’s office, united in purpose and resolve, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Days later, the grand estate was already alive with warmth and light as Aaron Hotchner guided you up the stone steps to Rossi’s front door. The crisp New Year’s Eve air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he glanced at you, wrapped in a deep burgundy coat that highlighted the glow in your cheeks.

“Rossi doesn’t do anything halfway,” Aaron remarked quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile as you reached the top step.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand finding the small of your back as the door swung open, revealing Rossi himself. Dressed in a sharp suit, his expression was one of genuine delight as he welcomed you both with open arms.

“Ah, my two favorite rule-breakers,” Rossi said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, come in. There’s champagne waiting, and plenty of people to charm.”

The party was every bit as grand as Aaron had expected. Rossi’s expansive living room was filled with colleagues, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving seamlessly through the low hum of conversation.

Aaron scanned the room instinctively, cataloging familiar faces—Emily and JJ chatting near the bar, Penelope gesturing animatedly to Reid, and Derek leaning against a nearby column, his easy grin drawing a small crowd of admirers.

But his focus always returned to you.

You were by his side, your coat now replaced by an elegant black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the neckline just daring enough to make his chest tighten. You smiled at someone who greeted you, your laugh soft but genuine, and Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you commanded the room.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him as you handed him a glass of champagne.

He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “I’d say that depends entirely on you.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smirk, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded, leaving only the quiet connection between the two of you.

As the evening wore on, Aaron found himself drawn to you again and again, his gaze seeking you out even when you were across the room. You had a way of grounding him, even in the chaos of a room full of people, and he felt a quiet thrill every time your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you.

When the two of you found yourselves alone on Rossi’s terrace, the night sky stretched out above you, Aaron couldn’t help but steal a moment. The cold air bit at his skin, but the warmth of your presence was enough to chase it away.

“You look stunning tonight,” he said softly, his voice low as he leaned on the railing beside you.

You glanced at him, your smile softening into something more intimate. “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing tone in your voice made him chuckle, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made his chest ache in the best way.

The sound of the party spilling onto the terrace broke the moment, and the two of you turned to see Rossi stepping out, his hands raised theatrically.

“Two minutes to midnight, folks!” he called, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s make it count!”

Aaron glanced at you, his heart pounding as he saw the faint blush on your cheeks. Without a word, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently closer.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as the first sounds of the countdown began to echo from inside.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a small, private smile as the world around you blurred.

And as the clock struck midnight and the room erupted in cheers, Aaron kissed you, his hand cradling your face as the noise and the cold and everything else faded away. It was just you and him, standing together at the start of something new, something strong.

Together, you could conquer anything.

Tag List:

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[naburi]

PLEASE DON’T RIP MY DRESS

CHO MIYEON X READER

TAGS: CHEATING, OFFICE SEX

2.2K WORDS

“Come home early with that dress, you look beautiful,” the elegant woman was flattered by what her husband said. She started as a marketing assistant and soared through the ranks to become the CEO assistant due to her determination and exceptional “skills.” It’s the company’s anniversary party and everyone has eyes on your assistant. She can’t go home unscathed with how gorgeous she is. “Please don’t rip my dress,” she pleaded. You let the woman go home with your cum dripping down her thighs.

“I’m home” she greeted her husband when he opened the door for her. The woman still looks gorgeous but is visibly tired to do the deed. He leans in for a kiss but all she can give is a tired peck. Her husband thinks if they can still do it, he grabs her boobs over her dress and leans again for a kiss. Not wanting to disappoint her husband, she tried her best to match his passionate rhythm. They find themselves in the living room. Her husband lays her gently on the couch while he goes on top of her. While still kissing, his hand finds her boobs. Pulling her dress down carefully not wanting to ruin it. Miyeon’s boobs pop up with only nipple tapes covering them. His hands slowly peel off the cover to play with her nipples.

The woman moans in her husband’s mouth interrupting their kisses. Her husband likes what she hears and continues his pursuit. She pulls up the other end of her dress to reach for her slit. “You’re already wet,” he said when he touched her wet panties. Miyeon sits up quickly, distraught with the realization that your cum is still inside her. She felt guilty that her husband might have touched some of it. “I-I can’t do it tonight,” the woman said before she got up to go to the bathroom.

Miyeon has everyone hooked when she set foot in your company. The rumors of the new hire that’s too pretty for her job circulates quickly even to the top management. Men in different departments tried to use their higher position to get the woman’s attention. Your attempts will get rejected if you have nothing to offer her for exchange. The woman came from a poor background. Ever since turning into a teenager, she’s hellbent to gain not just financial stability, but wealth. Every move she makes is a step closer to getting rich.

“Hi, I’m Cho Miyeon,” she introduced herself to you for the first time. You heard how she became your assistant. In only a span of three years, the woman went from a marketing assistant to the CEO assistant. A quick rise that is not possible without a great “effort and excellence.” It’s an open secret how she managed to get promoted to such levels but everyone turns a blind eye. She may have an ambition to rise to the top but her feet are always on the ground. Although not everyone is a fan of her actions, they can’t say anything to her character due to how kind and polite she really is.

“I’ll find you later,” you said before the two of you separated in the party. She already knew what you meant. On every company occasion, late overtimes, even the frustrating days at work. It all ends the same, her getting fucked by you. Can you really blame yourself? Her slim body has curves that begs to be touched. Her boobs have the perfect size for your hands. A seductive face that awakes the wildest side of a man.

Miyeon was having a good time, her time was divided by trying to greet people that wanted to know her and enjoying this party with her office friends. Everyone in the company has heard everything about her but for some, this is the first time they see her in person. Their eyes wander in every part of her body, from her gorgeous face to her alluring body. From her exposed cleavage to her pump butt, they want to see all of her. People are intrigued by how this woman seduces her way to the top of the corporate world.

The woman could not care any less by the hundreds of eyes that were feasting on her body. She knows that her alluring body is one of her tools in her seductions. For her, all they are doing is validating how sultry she really is. It’s almost 9 pm, and she still has not heard from you. She wonders if you are already busy with someone else. Miyeon tries her best to not think about it but a worried expression written all over her face. She felt threatened that someone else would knock her position off by doing the same thing.

She excuses herself with her office mates to look for you. Circling around the function hall, her worries start to grow as she still can’t find a glimpse of you. A noticeable silence from the crowd caught her attention. She knows that there is only one thing that can make a crowd of people go silent, it means that you are around. As the CEO of the company, every employee felt shy in your presence. Not everyday they are around you thus people gasp for a moment when they finally see their CEO.

Miyeon looks around and there you are walking towards her. There are employees who try to get your attention but you only give them a kind smile. You wonder why the woman felt relief to see you. “Come with me in my office, help me with something,” that’s her cue, she already knows what you actually mean and what kind of “help” you really need. Walking towards the elevator, you can see in your peripheral the look of men who look jealous that you have her as your assistant.

The two of you step side by side in the elevator. Miyeon waits for the door to close before leaning in on you, hugging your whole arm. You felt her boobs pressed against your elbow. “Are you happy to see me?” You asked, still wandering about the expression she displayed a few minutes ago. “I thought you already replaced me,” she said jokingly, hiding the fact that she really meant it. The elevator doors open but she still has not let go of your hand. She knows that nobody is on this floor at this late.

You and Miyeon walked towards your office. She hugs your hands tighter as the tension grows. This has become a routine for the both of you. Her body knows that it’s already that time again were she will get fucked. As you enter the office, Miyeon already positions herself on your desk. She rests her body on top of it while her butt is protruding out towards you. You move closer to her backside before giving it a strong smack. The woman whimpered as she felt a sting of pain. “You look so pretty in that dress,” you said before giving her butt a strong smack again.

You grope her ass over her dress as you lean on to kiss her exposed back. You continue to grope her butt while kissing all parts of her back. Miyeon’s eyes are closed as she feels her body gets hot just by your kisses. She felt the trails of kisses now moving up to her neck. A soft moan leaves her mouth as your lips reach her neck. You slowly peck her neck as you don’t want to leave a hickey. In the beginning of your sexual relationship, the two of you set boundaries: You can’t ruin her makeup during company hours as it’s time consuming to do her makeup again; you can’t give her hickeys in any parts of her body as her husband might see it; you can’t ruin her uniforms. The latter rule is always getting broken due to how many clothes you destroyed when fucking her in her corporate attires. Buttons fly around when you hurriedly open her top. Skirts are getting ripped as it gets pulled up everytime your fucking her. Panties get loosen due to how hard you pull it down whenever you can’t wait to enter her.

Tonight was no different, your hands reached the end of her dress to pull it up, exposing her underwear. You smack her butt once again before you rest your hand on it. She moans as she gets surprised by the sudden smack. You position yourself directly on her backside. You hold the woman in her hips while you press your bulge in her firm butt. Your bulge is now in between her ass, giving her a dry humps. Low moans were heard from Miyeon as she felt your bulge hit her clit, you notice that the woman moved her butt intentionally to rub her clit on your bulge.

Your pants get tighter as your hard cock is poking out of your underwear. Miyeon even felt how hard your cock underneath your pants as she looked back at you, waiting for your next move. She saw that you unzipped your pants and finally pulled out your hard cock. You teasingly rub it against her slit and you noticed how wet she already is. The tip of your cock gets lubricated as her wetness coats the head of it. You hold her hips again while your other hand is guiding your cock to her entrance.

“Si-sir,” Miyeon said as she felt how quick your cock entered her slit. Her insides perfectly hug your shaft, conforming to it due to how frequently you enter her. The woman can only rest her head on your desk while you start giving her backshots. You might be alone in the room but the habit of holding her moans engraved onto her actions. She starts to bite her lips as you pick up the pace. Squeaking sound can be heard as your desk is getting pushed forward with every thrust that you give her.

Eyes shut and bitten lips. Miyeon is struggling to keep her moans. She used her hand to cover her mouth but you had other plans. You pull her hand away from her mouth and hold onto it while you pound her in a sudden burst in pace. You want to make her moan loud. You want to see how long she can keep holding it. You changed your fast pace into a slow but deep thrust. Miyeon yelps with your different pace. Your hips collide as your cock fills her slit.

You let go of her hand as you’re now focused on holding her boobs. You tried to pull down her top from behind but Miyeon grabbed your hands. “Please, don’t rip my dress” she pleaded. At first you ignore what she says but her perseverance of holding on to your hand got into you. You thought that she must have really liked this dress. She did not tell you how her husband compliments her with that dress. She is cheating behind his back but that doesn’t mean that she did not love her man.

“Go on, remove your dress,” you seated on your executive chair while watching her get undressed. She carefully unzips her long dress and leaves it neatly on the other chair. Miyeon looks back at you. without saying a word, she sits on your lap and puts your still hard cock inside her again. Putting her hand on your shoulders, she rocks her hips back and forth. Miyeon felt bad that she needed to break off the sex. She wants to reignite your libido. She leans her boobs closer to your face, inviting you to suck it. You look her in the eye before sucking his boobs as you notice her efforts. He holds her two boobs to suck her perky nipples. You alternately suck it, giving both equal attention.

Miyeon hugs you by the head as your tongue is circling around her nipples. She feels how your tongue glides in her boobs. You notice that she rides your cock faster everytime you suck her boobs. You use this observation to your advantage and focus on flicking and licking her nipples. Miyeon throws her head back as she gets stimulated. She rides on top of you as fast as she can. You get worried that your chair could break if she continues with this pace but her eagerness to please you silence that thought. You put your hand on both sides of her hips to hold her steady.

You meet her hips as you thrust on her upwards. The noise of flesh colliding echoes inside your office. Her boobs are bouncing uncontrollably due to how forceful your body meets. Miyeon hugs you closer as she pressed her mouth on your neck to muffle her moans. “Don’t c-cum in-” before she finished her sentence. Your hot cum flows inside her, Miyeon moans as she gets surprised. It's been a while since you cum inside her.

“Keep my cum inside you” you said as she stood up.

“Wh-what about the party?” She’s trying to object.

“No one will notice,” you firmly said.

Both of you go back down the party just to find out that everyone is starting to leave. You didn’t notice how long you're in the office with Miyeon.

“I’ll book you a ride,” you said to her.

“I’m home” she greeted her husband when he opened the door for her.

[cowplant-snacks]

BEWARE of Residential Rentals!

I went to place a lot yesterday and my entire savefile suddenly corrupted. I realized it was corrupted because after I placed any lot, all of the other lots in my game reset to the original version of them. They all looked fine from world mode, but once loaded into any lot the issue persisted. Read more about these issue here.

I rolled back the save and it was fine so I decided to try and remove the entire pack and see what would happen. After removing the pack, I could place new lots and the game was fine. Which meant for me the issue is FOR RENT.

I was nowhere near the limit of residential rental lots nor did I use any cheats to have more than six units per lot. I was not placing a residential lot when it corrupted. So far it seems fine to add the pack back and just avoid the lot type.

TLDR: Removing FOR RENT prevented my savefile from corrupting when placing new lots. The steps I used to stabilize my savefile are below.

Hope this helps!

Steps to remove For Rent:

1. Remove savefiles and mods. Repair the Game. 2. Rollback to a stable version of your savefile. And repair the game again. 3. Evict families and convert Residential Rentals to Residentals. *Tag all units as one BEFORE changing the lot type. Simmers report that lots can corrupt otherwise.* 4. Use this to load the game without For Rent. 5. Follow this if you end up with two different Tomarang Worlds when you load the pack back into the game. I did. 6. Replace all of your household outfits that got messed up. otherwise some sims will be nakie.

Tips:

Backups: Helps if you have backups of your households and lots in your trayfiles. Fixing outfits: If you don't care about relationships you can delete and replace or use MCCC to copy and paste the outfits back on the sim. Or if you have a dresser file, run that for new outfits.

This has happened to me a few times, but this was the first time I decided to see if I could role back the game, avoid the corruption, and restore my savefile.

UPDATE: 3/18/2025 | 2:00pm

I noticed today that I can no longer load into units that used to be residential rentals. I’m going to roll back again and evict households, and then convert the units to residential BEFORE removing For Rent.

Additionally, I am seeing that people recommend converting all the units back to one, before switching a lot from a residential rental to a rental.

I’ll report back. Stay tuned!

UPDATE: 3/18/2025 | 3:05 pm

See updated steps above. Changing how and when I remove the residential rentals seems to have prevented the individual lots from corrupting. While testing I placed new builds, and loaded into various lots, opened and closed the game. So far things seem fine.

Things I will be doing moving forward.

Only play and place households in a few worlds.

Having less townies.

And following other guidelines that @rebouks shared here regarding lag because they help keep the savefile smaller.

Will update this post if I notice any other issues or anyone reports things to me.

UPDATE: 3/19/2025 - The new method above worked for most lots BUT there were a few former residentials that begun to have issues with infinite loading screens. I’m starting a new savefile file.

Good luck to anyone dealing with this!

[theswordwrites]

fresh out the slammer (azriel x reader)

Summary: Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much

Warnings: 18+, smut, light d/s dynamics, exes reuniting, cheating, no use of y/n

Word Count: 5,887

Author's Note: I've literally never written smut before. However, I have read a hell of a lot of it and I gave it my best shot! Thanks for reading <3

Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder He don't understand me Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter He was with her in dreams

Being in a boring relationship was one thing. You told yourself that you’d been together for too long to walk away—that leaving would mean unraveling everything you’d built. For what? A lack of excitement? A dwindling spark? People would kill for this kind of stability, for the comfort of a partner who always came home at the end of the day. He didn’t understand you—not really—but he pretended to well enough. And you were tired. Tired enough to pretend, too.

But being cheated on? That was something else entirely.

There was no more pretending after that. No justifying, no rationalizing. And it wasn’t even the betrayal that gutted you—it was the relief. As if he'd finally said out loud what neither of you had the courage to admit. You’d both been miserable. He just had the gall to do something about it first.

So you packed the boxes. Called in the moving winnows. Signed a lease on the other side of Velaris. It all happened quickly, almost too easily, like the city was glad to see you start over.

The sting faded as you hung new curtains. Unpacked old books. Rearranged your kitchen three times just because you could. You played music louder, cooked dinner later, took long walks in the dark with no one to check in with. You were free.

And yet…

Some nights, when the silence stretched too long and the wine bottle tipped past half, your mind wandered—to shadows, to secrets, to the one who had known you even when you didn’t want to be known.

To Azriel.

You hadn’t seen him in years. Not really. There were moments, of course, across the Sidra, passing glimpses during court events, or half-hearted waves exchanged in crowded rooms. But you’d kept your distance. He had too. There was history there. Not all of it good.

So you definitely weren’t thinking about him when you pulled on a tight black dress and called your friends to meet you at Rita’s. You told yourself you just wanted noise. Music. A room where nobody knew your name or your heartbreak. Somewhere you could pretend, just for a few hours, that you weren’t newly single, freshly humiliated, and painfully alone.

The bass was loud. The wine was stronger. And the heat of bodies pressed together on the dance floor made it easy to forget everything that had driven you here. You let yourself sway, sip, smile when someone’s hand lingered too long on your hip. You were fine. You were free.

You were halfway through another glass of wine, half laughing, half pretending to listen to whatever your friend was saying, when your body stilled.

You felt him before you saw him. Like a chill across your skin, a shift in the room’s gravity. The shadows curled, familiar and electric, the air pulling tighter around your lungs. And then, across the bar—there he was.

Azriel.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, dressed in black and shadowed like always. His scarred hands wrapped around a drink he didn’t seem to care about. His eyes, those godsdamned eyes, already on you.

You froze. So did he.

Something flickered between you at that moment. Unspoken, unfinished.

Your breath caught. Your wine glass tipped a little too far.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And suddenly, the noise of the club, the ache of the last few months, the entire city of Velaris—it all narrowed to him.

He was still just as handsome. All shadows and sharp edges, wings tucked behind him like they were made of something dangerous and divine. His hazel eyes landing on you like they always did—like they knew you. The years hadn’t softened him. If anything, they’d only carved him deeper: the hard line of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the cool composure that barely masked the tension underneath. And those shadows, they still clung to him like smoke, like secrets, like they were alive and watching.

Gods, he looked good. Unfairly good. And worse, he looked exactly the way he used to, like no time had passed at all.

You hated how easily it all came back. The way his gaze could hold you still. The way your body still reacted like it belonged to him, your spine straightening and a familiar heat growing in your belly. You took another sip of wine to hide it, to calm the flush creeping up your neck, but gods, it didn’t help. Because he was still Azriel. He was still him. And apparently, you were still hopelessly, stupidly, tragically not over it.

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned back to your friends, finished your drink, left him standing there like a ghost from another life.

But the wine was warm in your veins, and you were tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of feeling trapped.

So you moved.

Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to (Fresh out the slammer, oh)

One step. Then another. The crowd seemed to part for you, the music a dull hum compared to the drumbeat in your chest. And he didn’t look away. He just watched. Steady. Still. Like he’d known you were coming the whole time.

By the time you reached him, you could smell the scent of him—leather, cedar, rain. Familiar enough to make your throat ache. You stopped in front of him, heart pounding in your throat.

“Azriel,” you said, his name already tasting like regret on your tongue.

He said yours in return, low and steady, and gods, he still made it sound like you belonged to him.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” The words were awkward on your tongue, rushed and quieter than you meant them to be.

Azriel’s eyes scanned your face. “You came looking.”

He had always been able to see right through you, understand you with a single glance.

You huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Maybe I did.”

There was a beat of silence. A flicker of something old and aching in his gaze.

“You look good,” he said finally. “Different.”

“Different like ‘miserable and freshly dumped,’ or different like ‘you moved on without me’?”

He didn’t smile, just kept those pretty eyes set on your face. “Both.”

You looked down at your wine glass, swirling what was left. “He was stable. Predictable. The kind of male who got home for dinner and never forgot to buy milk.”

“Sounds… thrilling.”

You met his eyes. “It wasn’t. Not really. But it felt safe. After you, I needed safe.”

His throat bobbed, brow arching with the question. “So that’s what I was? Unsafe?”

The words weren’t angry, just edged with curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment. “You were everything. And that was the problem. You were late nights and secrets and war meetings and silence when I needed you most. You were the dream I couldn’t wake up from.”

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, quietly.

“Don’t.” You stepped back, just a little. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

The wine burned in your blood. Your heart pounded, too loud in your chest.

“I do,” he said, voice low—almost a growl. “I meant it then. I mean it now.”

You let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “Why now, Azriel? Why tonight?”

“Because you’re here. Because the second I saw you, it felt like no time had passed. Because I never wanted to let you go, I just didn’t know how to hold on.”

The confession swept over you like a wave, sudden and relentless, leaving your cheeks flushed and your lips slightly parted, breathless from the force of it.

“Come home with me.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, before you could unravel what they might mean in the morning, when the wine had left your system and your sense of self preservation returned.

The moment they left your lips, regret crashed over you like a wave. You almost pulled back, almost tried to take it back—but the look in Azriel’s eyes stopped you, holding you in place like he’d always done.

He stepped closer, his voice low, but there was an edge to it now.

“Lead the way.”

And so you did.

His hand found yours in the crowd, and you nearly choked on the way it felt—so right, his scarred skin slotting against yours like it had never been apart.

How had you ever let him go? Let go of that feeling—the one that consumed you, the one that whispered there was no one else who could ever compare?

The two of you had never been ones for small talk, so the short walk was quiet but not uncomfortable. His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze before you pulled apart to unlock your front door, deliberately ignoring the slight tremor of anticipation that ran through you.

He had you pinned against the lilac wallpaper of the hallway before you could blink. His kiss was slow, but there was an underlying desperation in it—one you knew all too well.

"Missed this. Missed you," he murmured against your lips, his hands firm on your waist. You could only nod in response, feeling the scrape of his stubble against your cheek as your other hand tightened around his jacket.

"I bet you missed me too," he said, his voice low and gravelly as his lips trailed from yours to your jaw. "Missed having me this close."

You had.

You had thought of him in those quiet, aching moments—after being left unsatisfied, wanting. Had touched yourself to the memory of him, no matter how much the shame of it burned. You had locked those thoughts away in a vault, only daring to open it in the dead of night.

"Say it," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular for emphasis, then soothing it with the flick of his tongue.

You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny him. Not anymore.

"I missed you, Azriel," you whispered, your back arching as he pressed into you, his hardness unmistakable against you. The warmth of him made you squirm, your breath catching.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His gaze searched yours, dark and conflicted.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, voice raw, barely above a whisper.

There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something you recognized as the same uncertainty that had haunted both of you when you parted. "I won’t be able to stop if we—"

You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t.

His hesitation only made the heat inside you burn brighter. You didn’t care about the past. You didn’t care about the reasons you’d walked away before. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips on your skin, the way he made your heart race with nothing but a look. You gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you with a need that was desperate, primal almost.

"I don’t want to stop," you whispered against his lips, breathless. "I need this. I need you."

His eyes darkened, lips curling into something feral. Without another word, he kissed you again, hard, fierce, like he’d been starving for this, too. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding under your dress, running up your thighs with a haste that matched the pounding of your heart. His fingers were rough, but every touch made you feel more alive, more aware of every inch of him.

You moaned into the kiss as he slowly lifted you against the wall, pressing his body against yours in a way that made everything else fade away. There was no past, no doubt, just the sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fit against you like he was meant to be there.

"Azriel," you gasped, hands tangled in his hair, your body already trembling with desire.

His voice was low, almost growling, as he trailed kisses down your neck. "You don't know how long I've wanted this… wanted you." His words were laced with frustration, with longing, as if he was finally getting a taste of what he’d been denied for too long. "I won’t hold back this time."

“Don’t hold back,” you answered, shaking your head like a mad woman.

"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice low, pulling away just enough to look down at you with that hungry gaze of his, but not letting your feet touch the floor.

"Down the hall, to the left."

Without a word, he carried you, the movement effortless. He set you down gently—far gentler than you expected—his eyes never leaving yours. The two of you were still breathing heavily, faces flushed with desire as you found yourself perched on the edge of the bed, your legs bracketing his, the space between you charged with anticipation.

He ran a finger down your temple, his gaze lingering on every inch of you as if committing you to memory.

“What’s our word, doll?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with a knowing edge. You didn’t need to ask which word he meant.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, the weight of the question hanging thick between you. You hesitated for a breath, drunk on the intensity in his eyes, the way he made you feel both exposed and wanted.

“Mountain,” you breathed, your voice unsteady as you blinked up at him.

He was a vision above you, the soft light casting shadows across his disheveled hair and the fire in his hazel eyes that burned straight through you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise—and a command.

With a gentle push to your shoulders, he lowered you back onto the bed, the quilt soft beneath you, contrasting with the heat rising between you both. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, the air thick with the unspoken. He hovered above you, his presence overwhelming.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, then lowering himself to his knees. He ran a gentle hand up your calf, over your knee, and to your thigh. Each inch of skin only served to drive you crazier, the desire for him to touch you only growing.

You fought the urge to squirm, to move closer— to do anything to get closer to him.

“This dress is pretty,” he observed, “I think we’ll keep it on for now, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his scarred hands pushed the fabric up to your hips, exposing the black lace of your underwear. You felt his lips press against your inner thigh, leaving soft, reverent kisses.

You let out a broken mumble of his name, your hands in tight fists at your sides. He didn’t move any closer to where you needed him, only clicking his tongue once, then twice, before saying, “None of that, doll. Be patient.”

A frustrated whimper left your lips, but you knew it was of no use.

Azriel would take his time taking you apart— each touch, each word meant to drive you mad with desire.

His thumbs hooked into the sides of your underwear, caressing the skin underneath, but not removing them. Your hips hitched, searching for any sort of contact. He was going to be the death of you, you were sure of it. And Gods would this be the way to go.

“So impatient,” he mumbled against your thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting, “You need this, don’t you?”

He removed his hands from your hip, opting to run a single knuckle over your covered core.

A whiny, mhm, was your only answer.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, “How long has it been? Since someone’s had you properly satisfied?”

“I— I don’t know,” you answered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. How long had it been? Months? Years? Since the last time Azriel had you?

Azriel shook his head, removing his hands entirely, “Try again, doll.”

“Not since..” you took in a deep breath, trying to exhale the sting of embarrassment, “Not since you.”

You wish you could prop yourself up on your elbows and catch the surely satisfied look on his face, but you stayed still, knowing he’d only prolong your pleasure further if you moved without permission.

Azriel hummed, a low, satisfied sound, and leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against your core. Despite the barrier of the black lace, it felt divine— like he was made to be right there, in between your legs.

He pressed a kiss against your clothed clit, then he leisurely ran his nose against the length of your slit, inhaling you. The pressure was just enough to send heat up your spine, your toes curling with anticipation.

“Gods, you smell fucking heavenly.” He growled, hooking the fabric in one finger and pulling it to the side, exposing you to his hungry gaze,

“And this is still the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

His tongue darted out, pressing against your entrance, running up to your clit, sucking harshly before running his tongue over it soothingly. You felt him pull away for a moment, a mewl leaving your lips at the loss of contact, but relief flooded you as he pulled your panties down your legs.

Then he was on you again, his mouth on your cunt, hands gripping roughly at your hips.

This is what you had been longing for— the way he knew you like the back of his hand. How he knew you preferred languid, slow strokes over your slit, a bruising grip on your hips, your legs over his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his neck, heels just barely grazing the spot where his wings met his back.

The relief of it all had your hand drifting to his head—not to tug, but to comb your fingers gently through his disheveled curls. They were just as soft as you remembered, like dark silk slipping through your fingers, a feeling you'd memorized long ago in the quiet moments between love and loss. He leaned into the touch, wordless as he devoured you but knowing, as if he remembered too—how comfort had always lived in the space between your hands and his skin.

A string of breathy moans floated from your lips as his tongue traced over you again, light and barely there— he was pushing you, you realized. Seeing how long he could get away with teasing you, pushing you to the edge of delirium, just to bring you back to him.

You weren’t above begging. Not when it came to him.

“P-please, Az. Please.”

He hummed against you, the vibration only serving to drive you closer to madness.

“I need you,” you murmured, your grip on his hair tightening in warning, “I’ve always needed you.”

That seemed to satiate him as he cracked a small smile against you, humming again. You gasped as he returned to your cunt with vigor, licking and sucking— playing your body like an instrument and he was a world class artist.

You were soaked, your hole clenching around nothing, leaking onto the blanket beneath you.

It was debauched. It was reverence. It was everything.

His name left your lips once, then twice, then again as you felt a finger nudge at your entrance.

Azriel pushed his middle finger in slowly, lips still attached to your clit. You could do nothing but stretch around him, keening under him. You knew the pressure was nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open, but it was delicious and mind numbing all the same.

Once his finger was fully seated in you, prodding at that sweet, spongy spot inside of you, he added another. You were slick enough that you gave no resistance to the intrusion.

“That’s what you needed, baby?” He asked, picking up his pace, bullying his digits into you.

“Yes, yes.” You whined, your hips involuntarily bucking against him.

“And you still need more, hm?” He tutted, his voice taking on a sardonic quality, teasing you. He beckoned his fingers in a way that made stars explode across your vision— your face fuzzy and numb, legs twitching around his shoulders.

And Gods, was he right.

His free hand moved to your lower belly, pressing there. The pressure only added to the pleasure his fingers brought, coaxing you so close bliss. With a few mere strokes and passes over your clit, he had you on the edge of release.

But he still held back, knowing exactly where your limits were.

Your name fell from his lips, somewhere between a prayer and a command, “When you finish, it will be with my cock inside of you, understand?”

“I understand,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, your face twisted in pleasure and eyes shut tight. He gave you one last thrust of his fingers, holding them there for just a breath. The sound you made was nothing short of guttural, coming from somewhere deep inside you— somewhere primal and wanting.

A whine escaped you at the loss of his fingers. You wondered how you survived all these years without him, without the ache of his closeness, the gravity of his touch pulling you back to where you were always meant to be.

Azriel moved over you with quiet purpose, his body a shadowed silhouette in the dim light. He settled at your waist, wings flaring slightly behind him. His face was all sharp lines and focus, a quiet fire burning in his hazel eyes as his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt—slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to memorize every second of it.

His face, covered in you, might have been the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your immortal life.

You could hardly breathe beneath the weight of him, not from pressure, but from the unbearable anticipation that built with each slow flick of his fingers. Every inch of newly exposed skin felt like a promise, like the echo of something you’d been starving for in silence. His shadows curled along his skin as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the familiar sprawl of tattoos inked across his chest—markings you'd traced once with your fingers, your lips, like a map you could never forget how to read.

You were panting just watching him, your body betraying you, chest rising and falling in time with the wild, reckless rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Tell me what you want.” Azriel commanded, voice rough and low, his gaze locked onto yours with molten intent.

“You,” you whispered, the word trembling from your lips.

He tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, as his arms caged you in.

“Be more specific, doll.” Azriel whispered, his voice a tender hush against your skin, all patient hunger and reverent touch, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you gently.

“You inside of me.” You answered.

He nodded once, sliding off of you and dragging his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and heady against his stomach.

“What inside of you? Hm?” He prodded in that same teasing tone, stroking himself once, then twice.

You swallowed hard as you watched him, propped up on your elbows now, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Your cock.”

The yearning in your voice was so evident, so raw, it even surprised you.

He stepped forward, eyes never leaving yours as his fingers found the edge of your dress. With a practiced slowness, he hooked the fabric and drew it upward, the hem whispering over your skin before slipping it over your head and casting it aside.

You were left bare before him, need roiling in your gut like a storm, slightly trembling with anticipation. He took his cock in hand and pressed it against your folds, rubbing the blunt head of it against you.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin, low enough to curl heat through your core. He pressed forward just a bit, his tip catching against your entrance.

Even the small pressure earned a whine from your lips, which he tutted at in return.

“Look at you,” he growls, “So wet for me. Is this all for me?”

You answered with a tilt of your hips, and “It’s all for you.”

“Is that so?”

He emphasized his words with another short thrust, teasing you.

“Az.” You huffed indignantly.

With his feet still planted on the floor, he leaned forward, one hand guiding his cock and the other planted next to your head. With a nip at your jaw, he pushed in again, just enough to make your hands clench against the mattress

“Don’t be a brat,” he murmured against your ear, each short word a spark against your skin, setting every nerve alight.

You thought, for just a moment, that he would tease you like this forever. Keep you right there at the precipice of experiencing that divine pleasure you knew he could give so well. Perhaps as punishment, or for his own satisfaction of seeing you squirm and stutter beneath him

He finally pushed into you fully, your heat welcoming him effortlessly and without resistance, despite the size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips parted in ecstasy.

You were foolish to think he would ever deny himself of this, of you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust, like the gentleman he is. His hand, now free with his cock seated inside of you, came to your clit, his thumb rubbing deft circles.

“M-move, please,” you pleaded, voice breathless and aching, like wanting him was the only thing you’d ever known.

Azriel obliged you, setting a slow and languid pace with each press of his hips, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, the force of his hips meeting yours growing with each passing second.

“I bet you fucking missed this,” he growled against you, his voice barely restrained, “Missed having me inside of you— filling you up just how you like.”

His cock hit a sensitive, sweet spot inside of you, drawing out a pathetic whimper. “F-fuck, Az,” you yelp.

His scent was everywhere, invading your senses like smoke through a keyhole—heady and dark, all cedar and wind and something so purely him. It clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and curled low in your belly.

The warmth of his skin against you is a whole other sensation, covering you, comforting you through the brutal pace he’s set as he pounded into you without ceremony.

Tears gathered in your eyes, spilling onto your flushed cheeks. He kissed one, then the other, the softness in deep contrast to the way he fucked into you roughly.

“Crying for me already, baby?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t answer.

So overrun by the feeling of him inside of you, on top of you. With a sharp pinch to your nipple, he ordered, “Answer me, doll.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, “For you. All for you.”

The words are broken, pathetic ones, but he accepts them nonetheless and soothes the sting with his tongue.

“You can take it,” he reassured you, his voice muffled by the skin of your breast, “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me, doll. So fucking good.”

Your loneliness became a distant memory with each thrust of his hips, his groans and heavy breaths against your clavicle coaxing you closer and closer.

“You gonna finish on my cock, huh?” He breathed, his voice losing its edge, sweeter and coaxing now, “Gonna let me fill you up?”

His hand came to the nape of your neck, pulling to lift your head just enough to set your eyes on the sight of him fucking into you.

“I want you to watch. Watch me fuck you.”

You couldn’t respond, nearly hypnotized by the display of his cock pushing in and out of you in quick, hard thrusts.

“Watch. And know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this— so fucking cock drunk you can’t even speak.”

Your toes curled instinctively, your legs tightening with the force of your oncoming orgasm. You knew he could tell you were close. He had memorized every tell, every twitch, years ago.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “You can come for me, baby. I know you want to.”

Between his words, his hand in your hair and the relentless drag of his cock inside of you, you were already hurdling over the edge with a cry.

“Just like that. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

A high, keening sound filled your ears—like the rush of wind through a mountain pass. The world narrowed to white heat and the thundering rhythm of him inside of you, everything else drowned out in the crescendo of your climax.

His breath stuttered, body going rigid above yours as a growl tore from his throat. Deep, raw, unrestrained. Shadows coiled tight around you both like a snare, and then he was unraveling, coming apart with your name on his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. His wings flared, trembling, as though even they couldn’t contain the force of it. And when he finally collapsed, it was with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours like he was anchoring himself back to the world through you. You reveled in the way you could feel his seed against your walls, warm and filling.

He dropped beside you with a low, wrecked sound, his arms coming around you like instinct, like worship. You were pulled into the cradle of his chest, his heartbeat thunderous beneath your cheek, as if his body couldn’t bear to be separate from yours a second longer. Like the tether between you had snapped taut—and drawn him home.

He held you for what felt like hours, tenderly. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just full. The kind of silence that said everything neither of you had dared to say out loud.

Azriel shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “So…” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, “was this a mistake?”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes in the dim light.

Gods, he looked tired. Beautiful. Real.

“No,” you said softly. “It was a beginning. Or maybe a return.”

His brow furrowed, just slightly. “What does that mean?”

You smiled faintly, reaching out to trace the scars on his hand with your fingertip. “It means I’m not running this time.”

He watched you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the shape of those words. Then he leaned in, brushing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I waited,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself not to.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers curling nervously around the edge of the blanket. The weight of everything that had passed hung between you—old wounds, choices made, silence that had stretched too long.

Azriel’s gaze softened, as though he’d already sensed what you were about to say.

“I… I owe you an apology,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “For everything. For walking away when it was hard, for not telling you what I needed. For running into something… easy.” You swallowed, the lump in your throat tight. “I thought it would be easier to forget. But I never did.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, a mixture of pain and understanding swirling in them. He stayed silent, but his expression was an answer, one that said so much more than words could.

“I wasn’t strong enough to face what I really wanted,” you continued, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “And I let myself get comfortable with something safe, even though I knew deep down… it wasn’t you. It wasn’t us.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing your cheek, not with anger, but something gentler, something understanding. His voice was low, a touch strained. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

“I do,” you said, your voice cracking. “I hurt you, Azriel. I shut you out when you—when you always saw me. And I was too afraid to even admit I still felt it.”

Azriel’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

“Some things… are too strong to ruin.” He kissed your forehead gently, and when he pulled back, his voice was soft, but resolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand, grounding yourself in the truth you’d denied for far too long.

You had left the man who never really saw you. Packed your things, crossed the city, stepped back into a shadowed memory that hadn’t dulled with time. And now, lying here with Azriel—his scent on your skin, his heartbeat echoing in your ears—you felt it deep in your bones:

You were free. You were home.

And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake Here, at the park where we used to sit on children's swings Wearing imaginary rings But it's gonna be alright, I did my time

[osachiyo]

❏ SEETHING ENVY !

﹙ ✿ ﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor & nikolai x fem! reader

﹙ ✿ ﹚── content warnings : nsfw content, jealousy, threats of cheating, toxic relationship in nikolai's, pussy slapping, choking, scratching, name calling, degradation, msub in Dazai’s, yandere reader in Nikolai's, edging, toys, oral (m & f receiving), brief mention of murder and torture but it's very vague, throat fucking etc

﹙ ✿ ﹚── synopsis : jealousy jealousy

﹙ ✿ ﹚── author's note : I know the sneak peak of this post had a different title but I think this one suits it way more. Happy reading! Requests are open btw! ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── MINORS DNI

DAZAI ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Dazai loves to see all of your reactions. He finds them so amusing. Your eyes shining bright like stars when you're happy, when you're practically jumping with excitement, your cheeks heating up when you're flustered, your pretty eyes narrowing and brows furrowing when you're angry or upset, your eyes glossing over as they threaten to overspill the tears when you're sad...He loves to see them all. So that's why he comes up with the idea to make you jealous. I mean, what could go wrong?

You watch your lover’s eyes roll back from overstimulation, his cock swollen and angry from being used so many times. But you didn’t care, just like he didn’t care about how pissed you’d be while flirting with that waitress from the cafe. God, was it infuriating. But it’s alright, you would never miss a chance to mark your man up nicely, your nails clawing on his back while he hissed from the sting. But he didn’t complain, he actually enjoyed the pain of you marking your ownership over him.

“You fucking manwhore, how many times did you cum?” You scoffed, your hips not slowing down. You slapped his cheek gently when he didn’t answer, the soft flesh damp with sweat and your slick. He opened his eyes, looking up at you riding the soul out of him, your soft tits bouncing with every slam, your plump ass meeting his hips while he massaged the soft fat. “Fuck- uh.. four?—“ he wheezed when your hands wrapped around his throat even tighter, making it hard for him to breathe. “Wrong answer… let’s keep going until you get it right- Haah— okay?” He could only throw his head back in response, shooting blanks into your puffy cunt.

He had a long night ahead of him.

CHUUYA ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Chuuya was a very confident man. He was confident in himself and your relationship. But that stupid fuck Dazai—

“Hey~ Belladonna, are you here alone?” Dazai smirked, taking your hand in his larger one before gently kissing your palm. “You look like you could use some company, no?” He was about to kiss your knuckles but suddenly— “She’s fine.” Your hand gets snatched away by your boyfriend, Chuuya. Dazai shows a face of disgust before sighing in disappointment. “Yeah okay, whatever. If you need some better company, don’t be shy to ask Chuuya for my number, pretty gi—!” A punch was thrown at his face.

“Stupid fucking suicidal piece of shit..” Chuuya mumbled, head squashed between your thighs which were decorated with bruises. Shades of purple and blue staining your pretty skin as he sucked on it, dangerously close to your core. His hand smoothed out the fabric of your expensive dress. When you agreed to go to a bar with your fiancé, you didn’t expect to be eaten out by him in one of the fancy bathroom stalls. Your hands were struggling to find something to stabilize yourself. “Chuuya..what if someone— mm..what if someone comes in..?” He only groaned in response, finally taking you into his warm mouth while his hands played with the soft fat of your ass. “Let them.” He muttered into your pussy, the vibrations of his gruff voice made your toes curl as your hand came down to find itself tangled in his copper locks. As if the universe had heard you, someone walks in. You put your other hand over your mouth, trying your best to silence any noises that could slip out. Then suddenly— the unknown man spoke and you recognized that voice easily. It was Dazai.

Chuuya only pulled away and smirked, before diving in with ten times more effort. He had to prove to Dazai that only he could pleasure you like this and you were his.

KUNIKIDA ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Kunikida, bless this man's heart, was the best husband you could ask for. He had it all, looks, stable income, intelligence and he was sweet. You loved how nice he was to you, always making sure you're comfortable and happy. He was the ideal man of your dreams. But as much as you loved him being sweet and kind to you...you wanted something more. You wanted to get on his nerves, wanted to be manhandled by him. So what better way to do that than to make him jealous?

"Stay fucking still." Your husband growled, frantically unbuckling his belt while he held you down with one hand. Once he finally got the belt off, he tied it around your wrists, the expensive leather burning against your soft skin. "You wanna act like a brat? You're gonna get fucked like one." He spit, flipping you over so you laid on your stomach. "Count." That was the last thing you heard until— 'smack!' His calloused hand came down harshly on your ass, making you jolt from the impact. "O-one!" You hissed, your grip tightening on his silk sheets. There was a long pause before the next hit, which was absolutely brutal. The pain shoots through your entire body like electricity while all you can do is writhe and bawl your eyes out, " two- fuuck- 'm sorry! Please! Kuni—" He only scoffed, his fingers dip into your soaked folds and he raises an eyebrow, "You act like you hate it, but your cunt is practically gushing." He tsks, spreading your lips and this time landing a hit on your puffy 'n swollen clit. "Clearly you haven't learnt your lesson if you're still leaking like a desperate whore."

RANPO ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Ranpo's and your's relationship was interesting, to say the least. You two always bickered playfully, sometimes even pranking each other. One time he even put some neon pink dye in your shampoo. But besides that, you wanted revenge. And what better way to get revenge than flirting with his own rival?

You could almost taste your sweet orgasm coming, ready to push you towards the edge but then— Ranpo turns the vibrator off with a laugh, clearly satisfied to see your misery. "How's that, sweetheart?" He smirked, wiping your tears off with his thumbs. You could only babble in response, too fucked out to think any coherent thought but the need to cum.

Ranpo smiles mischeviously, pushing your thighs apart to make room for himself. He licked his lips at the sight of your drooling pussy. A finger pressed the vibrator against your clit and your head tipped back on the pillow. "Thank you for the meal~" He sung before diving head first into your cunt, the vibrator working it's magic against your clit.

FYODOR ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Why were you doing this again? Oh yeah, because that stupid Kolya told you to. You were just hoping and praying to the heavens above that you wouldn't be dead after this. It's a stupid idea but the prize was well worth the pain. All you had to do is flirt with Nikolai and Sigma for one whole day. Surely he wouldn't...mind that much, would he?

Wrong, is what you thought to yourself while you processed the entire situation. You were tied with deep purple ribbons, restricting you against the headboard of the bed. A ring gag in your pretty mouth, a collar around your throat and lastly, a blindfold over your beautiful eyes. You could only hear his footsteps, circling around you like he's the predator and you're his prey.

"So, Milaya, what were you thinking pressing your tits against Sigma like a slut?" His footsteps stopped, it was eerily quiet in the room after Fyodor had stopped speaking. "I did not know that I chose a stupid slut off the streets who will seduce anyone as my wife," he tsked. You felt the bed dip and creak, then a large bony hand was splayed across your bare thigh. "You are one lucky woman that I am not abandoning you. Clearly you don't know who your master, who your God is." He plunged two fingers in your mouth, watching you gag and sputter around them. His other hand was now wrapped around your delicate throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. He thrusted his fingers in and out of your mouth while choking you. You suddenly felt the smooth material of his slacks grinding against your bare cunt, soaking the fabric with your sweet slick.

If only you could see the almost maniacal smile he wore while doing so.

NIKOLAI ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Fucked up, that's what your relationship with Nikolai was. But you didn't care. You loved him and he loved you. All you thought about was him and only him, never even speaking to another man unless you had to. But did he do the same? No he didn't. He'd purposefully flirt and let other women cling onto him like a damn leech, not because he enjoys their attention, no, he did it to rile you up. Watching as you threaten the women viciously, your tone dangerously low as you speak to them. It gets the adrenaline rushing through his veins when you brutally torture and murder these women who he had approached first.

Your face was stained with blood and Nikolai's precum as he tapped the head of his heavy cock against your cheek, montioning for you to open up. You obeyed like the good little girlfriend you were, tongue hanging out and all as you accepted his throbbing cock into your warm mouth, gagging slightly as it hit the back of your throat. He shuddered, grinning down at you, his gloved hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail while you tried your best not to let your eyes roll back. It wasn't even all the way in yet. "Oh just look at you~ struggling to take my cock, dove? Should I get a new bitch, then? I bet she could take my cock f—" His breath hitched and hips stuttered when you suddenly look him all the way down to the base, throat contracting around him. "There we go... I knew you had it in you, pretty thing." Tears were flowing down your cheeks at this point, it fucking hurt. Nikolai let go of your hair and gripped the back of your head instead, slowly pulling you off of his cock until only the tip was inside then slamming back in with full force.

You definitely needed some medicine after.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡

[the-oracleof-delphi]

PAC: Your Future Spouse - their Relationship with their Parents

What sort of dynamics do they share with their parents? What are they like? We will not be focusing on genders or relations per se, rather dominant masculine energy and feminine energy in their lives. For ease of understanding I will use the term "mother" and "father". Pick a picture:

Pile One - Hot chocolate & marshmallow

For some of you, your future spouse may come from a single parent household. Their mother may not have spent a lot of time with them while they were growing up, maybe she did not get the chance to. She was busy, may have been the sole earner of the family, had to cater to a lot of people, could only take care of the material needs of her children but not their emotional needs. Your spouse sees their mother as someone who is stern and emotionally closed off. But at the same time she is wise - somewhat of a 'guiding light' for him, I sense a lot of respect and gratitude towards her. If there is a sibling, then both of them definitely look up to their mother a lot. I feel like they always consult her when making any career-related decisions. To them, she is a logical, capable, and a practical person who is rooted in reality. For a few of you, your spouse may be part of a family business. For others, they may be pursuing higher education - their career is funded by their mother in some way. The father was probably absent. For a very few of you, he may have cheated on your spouse's mother (I feel like he had a second family ? o.O) The parents may have separated when your spouse was quite young. I see a lack of communication with the father, there is quite a bit of distance, coldness and separation. For some, the father may have passed away.

Pile Two - Christmas cookies

Currently, your future spouse may be living at a distance from their family and they miss their home a lot. Especially now, during the holiday season - if they didn't get the chance to visit their hometown. Your spouse may get along very well with their mother - they may be a bit of a mama's boy. To them she is a nurturing and supportive person and I can see they are attached to her, but in a very healthy way. The mother is a source of emotional and material stability for them. They have a lot of fond memories from their childhood with her that they look back to from time to time. She is someone who celebrates your spouse. She never holds them back and encourages them to expand their horizons. Communication between them is free-flowing and easy-going. The father provides material stability to your spouse. Although they see their father as lot less emotional, and may be a bit more rigid and tough with them. They may sometimes feel like they need to earn their father's approval and that their father is generally displeased with them. This is your spouse's pov and may not be necessarily true. Overall I see a happy and satisfied family.

Pile Three - Christmas wreath

Your future spouse definitely comes from a pretty well-off family. I see the mother as bit of a prominent figure here - she has a lot on her plate. If she is working, then she is in a position of authority, if not then she probably comes from a very affluent family - I can see both power and prestige. Your spouse's relation with their mother may be stressful at times. But I don't sense any serious resentment towards her. They may feel like their mother never has enough time for them. Maybe she compensates by showering your spouse with a lot of material gifts. Although your spouse don't see their mother as much as they wished to, she still is a source of great comfort and joy for them. She is the one who makes the family complete. They are quite pampered and spoiled by her. She provides them both materially and emotionally. Communication between them is pretty direct and clear-cut. Your spouse may get some form of inheritance from their mother in the future. Their relationship with their father too is pretty balanced and stable. But, at the same time it can be a bit business-like (?) the father maybe a bit firm and emotionally detached. I feel like your spouse craves emotional closeness with their father but they feel it is out of their reach. Maybe in the past they felt like the father intentionally robbed them of that emotional fulfillment. But their views may have changed now. They definitely see their father to be someone at the top of whatever they do - well respected and secure. There is a lot of admiration for him from your spouse. edit: corrected typo, changed a few lines. Overall meaning stays the same.

Credit: @/i-hani and @/saradika-graphics on tumblr

[seongwars]

bad habit

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: SMUT (18+) baby daddy!Caleb he toxic, you toxic, we all toxic! mentions of accidental pregnancy, baby trapping, p in v, wrap it before you tap it kids, emotional manipulation, cheating, tiddies, swearing, not really proofread oops Summary: what could go wrong when you drop your daughter off at her dad's?

A/N: ahahaha....yeah.

Masterlist | Tip Jar

You opened the front door just as Caleb’s Lamborghini pulled up. The engine had barely cut before he stepped out, lifting Lyra from the back seat in his signature gray sweatpants. The ones you used to steal for bed because they were soft and roomy. The ones that outlined his third leg that had you drooling into the pillow when he took you from behind. 

And the cologne? The one that used to bring you to your knees? It hit you before he even reached the porch: warm, woodsy, with that hint of sweetness underneath.

You hated how your body still recognized it.

“Morning,” he said with that lazy grin, the one that meant trouble.

“It’s 3 PM.”

He shrugged, setting Lyra down. “Afternoon, then.”

She immediately ran to you, and threw arms around your legs. “Daddy let me eat a whole donut!”

“Did he now?”

“Don’t worry,” Caleb said, hands shoved into his pockets, “I balanced it out with organic apple slices.”

You met Caleb in college through your friend Zayne. At the time, you were deep into your studies, spending late nights hunched over textbooks, juggling clinical rotations and barely enough sleep to function. Caleb was your polar opposite: a frat boy with lofty dreams of becoming a pilot.

What you didn’t know was that Caleb had noticed you long before that first introduction. He’d asked Zayne about you, watched for you on campus, and memorized your schedule. Before long, he was trailing you, orchestrating run ins and brushing them off as coincidence.

Despite the differences, something about his boyishness drew you in. He was sweet. Thoughtful. Always showing up with your favorite coffee like he’d read your mind, offering you his hoodie when it got cold, texting reminders to eat when he knew you were pulling all-nighters. You chalked it up to young love.

Then you found out you were pregnant.

You’d both been careful. Religiously so. But birth control failed you, and suddenly everything changed.

Caleb had pretended to be shocked. He stammered through questions, like the news had knocked the wind out of him. But deep down, he was thrilled. Triumphant. Like the universe had handed him exactly what he needed to keep you tethered to him. 

Before the end of your first trimester, he was already coming up with baby names, borrowing prenatal books from the library and picking out nursery colors.

He convinced you to give your little family a shot.

And for a while it worked.

But old habits die hard. Caleb was addicted to adrenaline and the freedom of the skies, always off on assignment or with his friends. He’d return after long absences with grand gestures, overcompensating in ways that only made you feel more alone. Like a single parent playing house with someone who showed up only when it was convenient.

In the end, you were the one who ended the relationship. You told Caleb that Lyra deserved more stability than the two of you could offer as things stood. If he wanted to be part of her life, something had to change. You gave him a choice: co-parent on your terms or risk losing both of you for good.

Caleb agreed, saying all the right things and promising to do better for your daughter. And he did. As soon as Lyra could walk, he started taking her to enrichment activities, showed up to school functions and even rearranged his assignments to stay closer. His social media was curated with moments of fatherhood designed to prove just how devoted he was.

But even after four years apart, he kept tabs on your every move using your daughter as a reason to keep his foot in the door of your life.

Because two things were clear in his mind: one, you would never take his daughter away from him, and two, you were his forever, whether you liked it or not.

You cleared your throat and grabbed Lyra’s backpack. “Hey, would you be able to take her an extra day this week?”

“Yeah? You got plans?”

“Science symposium on Wednesday night. I’m on the panel.”

Which was true. Mostly. You just didn’t mention the reception after. Or the dress you hadn’t worn since pre-Lyra. Or the plans you had with your boyfriend. 

“Love?” Zayne’s voice floated from inside the house. “Do you want me to start dinner—Oof!”

Lyra barreled into him before he could finish, wrapping her arms around his legs with a squeal of laughter. 

“Uncle Zayne! I saw the dino at the museum!” she beamed, bouncing on her toes. “The big one with the long neck! Brachiosaurus!”

He gave her an exaggerated gasp of admiration that made her giggle.

Zayne had been your friend first at university, just two nerds bonded by matching caffeine addictions and mutual exam anxiety. He was the one who introduced you to Caleb but moved away for his residence, and life naturally pulled you in different directions. 

But then you ran into him at a medical conference and suddenly it felt like no time had passed at all. He’d just returned to Linkon, now a cardiac surgeon at Akso Hospital. One coffee run turned into late night texts and somehow, he had reentered your life, this time again as your boyfriend.

Caleb clenched his jaw as he watched the scene unfold. Lyra had always been a sweet little girl but sometimes, she was a little too friendly for his comfort. Especially now, clinging to Zayne like that.

“Sure,” he said, a little too quickly. “Yeah. I can take her.”

Co-parenting with Caleb had been smoother than you expected and you told yourself it was all for Lyra, and mostly, it was. But there was still a part of you that couldn’t let go. 

Which is how you ended up pinned against the wall on Wednesday, an hour before your panel, with Caleb’s cock sliding in and out of your sopping cunt.

You were just dropping Lyra off on your way to the symposium hoping for a quick goodbye and a gentle reminder for your daughter to be good. But then Caleb opened the door completely shirtless with nothing but sweats on.

“You dressed up for me?” he asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s for the symposium.”

He tilted his head, gaze dropping to the deep neckline of your dress then back up.

“We’ll see how far that dress gets you.”

“Pretty far,” you shot back. “Starting with away from here.”

“Hey, Bug,” Caleb called over his shoulder, tone softening. “Why don’t you head inside and pick a movie? I’ll be right there.”

Lyra nodded leaving the door ajar behind her. He stepped closer, closing the distance, and your eyes dropped straight to the expanse of his chest, right to those perfect pecs you loved taking a bite out of. 

“Yeah? Where you gonna go? To your little boyfriend? Last time you looked at me like that, you ended up bent over the counter.”

“Asshole,” you muttered, but didn’t step back. 

He leaned in, lifting the hem of your dress. “Yeah. But I’m your asshole.”

You knew he was challenging you. And maybe you’d already accepted it the moment you engaged with him. The thought of him waiting, imagining what was under your dress, had already started undoing you before he even touched you.

His fingers glide up your thigh before hooking your lace panties to the side. The tip of his clothed cock brushed against you and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you as he toyed with your slit.

“I’m going to be l-late!”

“Then you better cum quick.” 

His lips brushed along your jaw as he pulled the strap of your dress down, cupping your breast with his other hand. You hated how easily he got under your skin. You hated how your body betrayed you, how your eyes rolled back as he pushed between your folds, making your cunt flutter and drawing out choked sobs from the sheer size of him. 

It was a habit. A bad one. You had no business being here, like this, especially not now. Not when you had someone else. Someone kind, sweet, and good. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d fallen into this dance with your ex. And deep down, you weren’t sure it would be the last. Because the lies and guilt didn’t matter when Caleb had his hands on you.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he growled, gripping your jaw and tilting your face down to where your arousal coated his shaft, the thick, creamy ring forming at the base.

“Squeezin’ me like this. This what you wanted, huh? He’s not fucking you right, is he?”

“N-No,” you whimpered, shaking your head. 

Caleb grinned before crashing his lips against yours, swallowing your moan as your fingers tangled in his hair. You were breathless, chest heaving as his tongue dragged along your bottom lip before his teeth caught it in a teasing bite.

“You’re mine. Always mine.” 

You felt it in the way he moved. Every thrust was a punishment, a reminder that you could never truly leave him. Coherent thought vanished, replaced by the overwhelming way he filled you and you could only ground your hips harder against him. Caleb met you without hesitation, thrusting up, deeper and rougher, like he knew exactly what you needed and refused to give you anything less.

“Miss this pussy so much, shit…” he gritted out, eyes squeezing shut as he fought against the surge of release threatening to take over. 

You could tell he was trying hard to keep his shit together. You wanted him to come undone, and so you did the only thing that came to mind: you pushed your hips forward, clenched your pussy muscles and latched your lips around one of his nipples. 

If Caleb needed to remind you that you were his, then this was your reminder that you could ruin him just as easily. The groan that rumbled through his chest was animalistic and going without your pussy for weeks made him sensitive. Now that he has it wrapped around him he could hardly stand it.

“B-Baby fuuuck,” he moaned, then suddenly his hand was on the back of your head, urging you on as you lapped at his chest. 

His face scrunched up as you gently pinched his nipple between your teeth and you grinned, flicking your tongue over it. There was something addictive about watching him fall apart.

Maybe it was payback for all the nights he left you alone with Lyra, for every bullshit excuse he made up, or for the times he ditched you for his friends. Whatever it was, watching him unravel felt like reclaiming power—messy and petty.

Caleb squirmed and let out a gasp that sounded close to a whimper as you moved to the other one. You gave it a few licks before biting down, eyes fixed on his face through your lashes. His face was flushed red, eyes squeezed shut and mouth slacked.

Seeing him like this had you edging closer yourself, because how could someone look so pretty, all fucked out for you?

“Hnngg gonna cum in you, ‘kay? Gonna come in my pussy, give you another baby hahhh…”

"Caleb-- Caleb oh-- fuck I'm gonna cum!"

With a guttural groan and a stutter of his hips, Caleb flooded your cunt with thick ropes of cum, leaking from your folds and trailing down the backs of your thighs.

One messy, unrelenting thrust later, and the tension coiled in your belly snapped, setting you ablaze. Your toes curled as stars burst behind your eyes, your body trembling uncontrollably as you clung to him like your life depended on it.

Just like he wanted.

Caleb pressed his forehead to yours, then caught your lips in one last, bruising kiss. When he pulled back, he crouched to slide your sticky panties back into place, like he was sending you off with a parting gift. 

One he hoped your perfect, sweet boyfriend and colleagues would notice.

You were a wreck. Sweaty, flushed, makeup smudged, hair a tangled mess around your face as you yanked your dress back down. And you still had to sit on a panel and talk about infectious diseases like you hadn’t just been thoroughly fucked on the front step of your baby daddy’s house.

You wobbled to your feet, trying to piece yourself back together, when Caleb pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.

“Security cam caught the whole thing,” he whistled.

You spun around. “Caleb!”

But he was already strolling inside like he hadn’t just ruined your evening and career in ten minutes. His lips curled into a smirk as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

That footage might come in handy someday.

“Bug! What movie did you pick out? Let’s order pizza!”

taglist: @browneyedgirl22

[rosemarie333]

Astrological Wonder 3: Saturn and Solar Women dealing with jealousy and hate from men :(

Why do Saturn and Sun nak women specifically have issues with men who hate them????

Warning: Domestic Violence, Abuse, R**e.

Tidbit: Many women deal with this, I mean men nowadays are trash asf. However, Sun nakshatra and Saturn nakshatra women, especially in the public eye, are often dealing with or have dealt with men who have TRIED to tarnish their career and the energies of these women.

Here are the three Sun nakshatras (Krittika, Uttara Phalguni, and Uttara Ashada) and the three Saturn nakshatras (Pushya, Anuradha, and Uttara Bhadrapada)

Background Information on the Sun nakshatras: The Sun nakshatras can lie either in Fire rashis or Earth Rashis, and are known for their ambitions, drive, and goals towards success through the different naks (whether by cutting through impurities to transform to reach success like Krittika, through sharing resources through partnerships and communities through Uttara Phalguni, and through overcoming one's own limitations through self-realization towards the path of moral righteousness, ultimately being victorious in Uttara Ashada). With Saturn nakshatras lying only in Water rashis, Saturn nakshatras are known for their perseverance and ability to overcome challenges and limitations through accountability and obstacles (whether that's through nourishment by good deeds and good karma through the endurance of life's challenges through Pushya, through true devotion and worship even in despite of the muddy waters though Anuradha, and through stability through rain that grants growth and prosperity through Uttara Bhadrapada). Sun and Saturn naks all deal with themes of the collective, providing nourshiment towards others to reach prosperity in some way or fashion (although in different ways)

However, Sun nakshatra women, due to the yang energy of the Sun, are known for their own successes, and due to that natural yang energy, people can perceive these women to have the ladder (success, material wealth, ambitions, you name it). The Sun is an illuminator, which illuminates light onto other people. Due to the solar energy, people can use that expansive energy from the Sun for selfish reasons ( @venussaidso noted an example of this with Sex and the City with Carrie Bradshaw's relationship with Mr. Big, and him always calling her to use her and did not have ANY intention of putting a ring on her like he did Natalia😭). Solar women are radiant, and all the solar women are extremely independent, as they had to grow up learning how to have their own, and want to have their own because of all the shatkis within the Sun nakshatras are doing something to become successful. With Saturn women, they are the same way, very independent and love to have their own as well. They are devoted partners, but 10/10 are the one's like Sun nakshatra's who have worked hard to gain success in despite of the Saturn obstacles and limitations that was given to them. Saturn naks shatkis all deal with servitude, providing nourshimnent, devotion, and stability to everyone that they believe to deserve it. However, due to Saturn malefic influence, most Saturnian women deal with harsh critics from the public eye due to the high, rigid, expectations placed onto them. Let me provide A LOT of examples of this for both nakshatras.

Sun Nakshatra examples

Cardi B (DK in Uttara Phalguni Jupiter)

Although Cardi B is hella problematic, I do feel bad for her with what she is going through with Offset. Offset cheated on her so many times, and when she finally had the courage to stand up for herself, he did EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING to make her feel bad for choosing herself. Saying he will off her and him, sending her sex tape to her new man, publicly embarrassing her like it's so disgusting atp. Cardi B even though she hasn't been within the music industry in a minute is a very promiment celebrity, and has won a Grammy (mixed feels about that NOT SAYING SHE DIDNT DESERVE IT I LOVED HER ALBUM) for her album Invasion of Privacy and Offset tried to reach the fame like her but didn't and clearly hates her for that. She also mentioned that he didn't buy their kids any gifts for Christmas, and now is asking for SPOUSAL SUPPORT??????? There was a viral video a great while back of Bella Sloan, who is a psychic, saying that Offset is jealous of Cardi B's light and how she needs to divorce him (this was before the time she finally did).

Nicki Minaj (Uttara Phalguni Moon)

Ngl Nicki is problematic, too, but I feel bad for her as well (Sun nak women and never receiving credit where it's due!!!). Her husband being a rapist and her allegedly being abused by him. However, I want to also mention the abuse she suffered at the hands of Meek Mill, and her nudes being exposed by Gucci Mane, as I recall. Men are trying to humble her due to her success and trying to do anything to ruin that for her, or diminish her confidence (I saw a twitter thread that showed a video of Nicki crying about her husband and a before and after picture of her getting glammed and then the after being her with her husband after the fact and the light seeming like it was sucked outta her).

Karrueche Tran (Krittika Sun, Mrigarshira stellium)

She was violently abused by Chris Brown, as she stated that Chris Brown pushed her down the stairs after an argument. She got a restraining order against him, and to be honest, she has disappeared lowkey from fame after that situation. My mom was talking to me about Chris Brown, and after her, how every baby mama he has looks like her 😳 (i hate Chris Brown so much like CHOKE ON GLASS)

Janet Jackson (Krittika Sun, Mars, and Rahu)

During the Super Bowl, her nipple was exposed while dancing with Justin Timberlake, which people note was the downfall of her career. I have read people saying that Justin intentionally did that, and how much controversy it got due to the state of America and people thinking it was propaganda of some sort (crazy asf). She also is the second most influential Jackson yet the most overlooked (due to her brother which isn't a bad thing but she deserves her flowers)

Aaliyah (Uttara Ashada Sun)

Disgusting, awful, demon R. Kelly abused her when she was 14 years old. He tried to profit off of her early success and her damn parents knew but didn't do anything about it. In the documentary, I think R. Kelly even tried to marry her or did just so (I hate men SO FUCKING MUCH). Jay Z wanted Aaliyah during the height of her career, and she rejected him for Dame Dash (who opened up and said she was very traumatized when mentioning R. Kelly) and due to that rejection the fucker made a song with R. Kelly, which I HAVE NO DOUBT he knew about R. Kelly's disgusting behavior (Jay Z will be brought up again).

Cassie Ventura (Krittika Moon)

We have all heard about the Diddy case by now. He abused her and used her for profit for many years. I really hope he gets punished.

Additionally, many Sun nak and Saturn nak women become single mothers as well. It can be noted that people perceive this to try to slow down the Sun/Saturn nak woman's career.

Saturn Nakshatras

Halle Bailey (Uttara Bhadrapada Moon)

THAT FUCKER DDG and his treatment towards her. Publicly embarrassing her, making her look like a crazy person, using their son as leverage to "punish" her, and even admitting to being jealous of her career. Everyone is saying how this will now ruin her career, esp as a black woman which happens A LOT with black women having saturn nakshatras (which i get but i don't like stop fucking fear mongering if CIARA ANOTHER Uttara Bhadrapada person did better then so can Halle people forget as if she isn't in the same room as other highly SUCCESSFUL black women). I hate how DDG cheated on her, dogged her out, and how everyone is blaming HERRR for his abuse?????

Ciara (Uttara Bhadrapada Sun)

Ciara became the mother of Future's child, who cheated on her and dogged her out during their relationship. He even had her take a picture with his side women 😭. When she got pregnant everyone was saying the same thing that people are saying to Halle, however now since she is married to Russell Wilson although she talked about uprgading her life so she could attract better for herself (said even in the song Ciara's Prayer), people still bring up her relationship with Future and even bully Russell Wilson for marrying a single mother (pathetic I know).

Beyonce (Mars and Rahu in Pushya, Ketu in Uttara Ashada)

I'm sorry, but no one can tell me that her marriage to Jay Z benefited her in ANY CAPACITY?? She was already a big star, and she is the face of their marriage; if anything, JAY-Z benefited from her success. We all know the story of him cheating on her and in his album 4:44, pretty much not sorry for what he did (I forget what song it is where he says sum on the line of that), but she even has Venus in the 6th and 6th house being your enemies and such :(.There also is speculation that Jay Z groomed Beyonce as they were together since she was presumably 16-18 and idc even if she was 18 AN 18 YEAR OLD WITH A 30 YEAR OLD IS WEIRD ASFFF, like he definitely groomed her!! Even when the controversy came out about Jay Z and his alleged assault against a minor, Beyoncé's name was mentioned more than his, and saying that it was gonna ruin HER career. Beyonce has way more to lose with him, it shakes my head every time like why didn't you divorce him when you had the CHANCEEEEEEEEE! Even in her Cowboy Carter album, I think it's the song Alligator Tears, like you're always shading this man atp pack the bags and LEAVE

Tina Turner (Anuradha Sun and Mercury, Jupiter in Uttara Bhadrapada)

She and her relationship with Ike were so frightening. He abused her and used her for profit as well, as the biggest reason why Ike and Tina were even a thing and got success was due to Tina. Would beat her, broke her jaw and nose before performing, and even slapped her for looking "too sad" in an interview. He hated her and hated that the only reason why he was even known was HER, not his coke addicted ass. He broke her down, but always knew it was her that made their career and even tried to take credit for her global success. He also never legally married her (thank fuck) because he was legally married to another woman. He did the worst things imaginable to her, and for that, I hope he rots in HELL. I want to mention that because she is a black woman and how men within the black community are coddled, she did receive a bit of hate for opening up about her abuse from Ike as well.

Hailey Bieber (Anuradha Sun)

Justin Bieber clearly hates her. He embarrasses her if given the chance. First by slamming the door on her face, walking away from her when clearly she's trying to take a photo with him, him making shade posts towards Selena Gomez about her engagement, now he's kissing SZA's hand and looking at her sexually WHEN HE'S MARRIED AND HAS A WHOLE KID AT HOME! Like I know she wanted him sooo bad, but plzzz want yourself more and leave. I know he has been through a lot of abuse, but that's not an excuse to hurt your wife, who is also the mother of your child, ESPECIALLY as she is the main one who has been there for you since day one. If she left today or tomorrow, I wouldn't blame her.

Teyana Taylor (Krittika Mars, Uttara Ashada Saturn AK and Rahu, Ketu in Pushya)

Loser ass Iman allowed the lights to be cut off on Teyana and their kids. He cheated on her during their marriage, knowing they had a clause in their marriage that would force him to give her money for the damage, and yet Teyana Taylor got sent death threats and hate all for divorcing the man and choosing herself???? There was even a video of Teyana SOBBING to Niecy Nash during an awards show because of the hate, and I felt so sorry for her.

My experience: As a sun nak woman with a Sun DK and a Saturn AK, I can relate (not to the EXTENT of these women's experiences, bc my gosh, the things these women have gone through🥺), I have had experiences with men I have dated trying to humble me. It's like when they see you doing fine or having your own esp as a woman, they (whether unintentionally or intentionally) send the evil eye and will try to do anything for you to go down with them. i have dealt with guys who tried to use me to make them feel more of a "man" and i swear they disappear and the minute they FEEL you leaving them energetically they come back so quick it's scary. it' s like they took they're supply and when they need it they come right back. it's like the guys knew they weren't "masculine" at all and did anything to prove otherwise so they siphoned my energy until they became bitch ass losers again no shade. even still, every guy i dated i made their life better, i opened up their friendship pool, they got more magnetic to other people (other women esp), got more motion and money into their lives, like they're lives got totally better and that's why with sun nak women it's so hard for them to get rid of these dudes because of how the dudes know they aren't ANYTHING without these women and it ruins their sense of "security" in a way. i opened up horizons for the guys i dated (not trying to toot my own horn but i bet many other sun nak feels this way) and they hated me for it and did everything and anything to "punish" me for making them feel beneath me. it's like sir you are only this way because of ME?!? but yet you want to act like I'M the nobody?? yeah okay LMAO anyways that's my experience

Astrological Wonder: These are all my examples of Sun and Saturn women being treated poorly by the men in their lives. These women also had nodal/moon influence as well so be careful if you have these influences in your chart. Sun and Saturn women being blamed for their own abuse and being held to such a HIGH standard when the men can walk away with people caping for them blows me. Sun and Saturn women, DO NOT LET THESE MEN TRY TO PLAY YOU IN YOUR FACE!!! (this goes for all yang women as well). If you are successful, there is a chance of a man trying to play you in your face to humble you and bring you down to their level, and do not allow them to. Know your worth, and if you have ever been in these situations you will bounce back. Men who are not fully integrated into their masculine and view "feminine" energy as weak will always be an enemy to you, don't let them try to knock you down because THEY aren't as ambitious, confident, radiant, hard working as you and their loser ass energy has nothing to do with you. With Sun nak women, men will use your energy for personal benefit (as some of these sun nak women were profitted off of) and you do not deserve to be used for someone to feel better about their own sense of lack! Same with Saturn women as well, do not feel bad for putting yourself first hand having high standards, as there will ALWAYS be someone who can reach them, and if not that's okay, y'all can do great just by yourselves ♥️🎀

[divasroses]

my personalll astrology observations ; )

hi y'all thank you for liking my first post perioddd 🤪. but these are my most prominent astrology observations based off my personal experiences w these placements, not fact <3.

. . .

- libra & virgos can both be huge perfectionists about how they express themselves creatively and just in general 🫠. I feel like they are both their own worst critic, always challenging themselves to do better. let’s remember to be kind to ourselves okay guys 😭🤞🏾.

- speaking of virgos, a lot of times they can be way more intuitive than some pisces placements! and vice versa, i’ve seen some pisces placements be kind of cold and super logical like you would expect from a virgo.

- i truly truly admire the heart of leo placements and they are my fav fire sign 👩🏾���🍳🤌🏾💋. specifically sun. you'll ask them something like 'can I stay the night?' and they'll look at you like you're stupid LMAO. it’s like for them, most questions/favors from their loved ones are an automatically yes so they truly don’t understand asking first . one that I’m close with will say “are you asking me or are you telling me?” 😭 like girl obviously asking. they’re just very generous.

-pisces men & their hidden children, or estranged relationships w their children. whattt is up w that? 😕and them being prone to violence :(. it sucks because as a scorpio i usually root for them and want the best but damn. chill out 😭.

- really admire the drive and passion of aries men but we can only be friends/business partners( maybeee). my thing with them is they put themselves first obviously and you respect it but then you realize they’re willing to do almost anything to achieve that!!!😭… like manipulating the people around them because they know how much they love them 😩. yikes babe.

- shout out all libra placements, from a libra moon! i feel like people are always trying to say we're two faced/fake but it's just our scalessss !! 😩💗constantly weighing, trying to decide what's best for us and our loved ones. gemini truly has the two-faced tendencies and sometimes they choose whatever opinion seems more popular or shocking 😭🤦🏾‍♀️ . just fickle as hell sometimes, you gemini placements lol. i love y'all tho.

- i've seen a lot of leo x sag relationships in my lifetime and it's cute every time 🔥. seems like leo really holds sag down, and obviously they match each other's spark. however, I have seen sag become dissatisfied with this over time and cheat/escape. not permanately but yeah.

*** some of my other fav couples: cancer x gemini, libra x aquarius, cap x leo, virgo x capricorn, scorpio x pisces ( ☺️), pisces x taurus. ****

- for me close friends = earth placements. specifically cap. (cap does rule my 7th house, so no surprise there). but outside of that, i do value stability so obviously earth is good. idk people say they're boring and evil, i don't usually see that side of them? i know they can say some dumb things though. it's like they'll piss you off once in a while but they're not going anywhere. + they're funny.

- why do aquarius low key act like pisces when they're in love?? they really put their blinders on when it comes to their partner and kind of ignore that logic i expect from them. the person in mind has an aquarius sun & venus. a different aquarius was telling me like yeah they do that, they don't care if their partner cheats or whatever, they will stay. im like wow and I thought I was bad lmao.

- the evil scorpio experiences has to be coming from the men !! 😩 if a scorpio women does you wrong she’s hurt. if a scorpio man does you wrong he’s bored !!

let me know what y’all think/ if you want me to touch on something specific!! happy sunday 🌅.

[fujosh1dreamer]

Guess we're talking about millie being preggo I originally didn't want to discuss this, I wanna talk about stolitz lol. Unfortunately I forgot this fanbase is filled with misogynistic scum, so let's talk about millie.

First off, she didn't cheat, she's not having an affair, she didn't get assaulted, and she's not selling her body for money.

It's stupid that I have to say any of that, but if any of those statements are things you genuinely believe you need to take you're misogynistic beliefs and shove them and afterwards get away from my page.

You know what is going on with her... she's found out she's pregnant which is not always a happy thing, nor should it be. Having children uproots your entire life, and changes everything. The way people think about you and the way people see themselves.

We have already established multiple times that millie is a character that only sees value in her strength and abilities.

Now, let's get into the moments in the episode and the things that are foreshadowing the pregnancy reveal. If people perceive the only sign as the one where she is throwing up and when she lashes out at moxxie there's more. When the client comes in a blitz initially declines the offer both moxxie and millie too absorbed into sinsmas wrath to notice the reason why. Moxxie even laughs and goes "really?" They're not paying attention, which is actually out of character for millie (ie hormones) millie is usually really on point and supportive when it comes to Blitz and his emotional needs.

After she throws up, we get this small moment at the window where she's not even looking at the scene. She's no feeling well she wants to get out of the cold, and we can also see the concern in moxxie as he looks at her.

Then there's this moment and it works well to reestablish that millie loves her job, and it also works to show she's no all there emotionally. Everyone including moxxie her husband is walking away, but millie wasn't in that moment that everyone one else had. So she's confused and upset, which is understandable.

This results in her lashing out again.

She insults moxxie, and of course immediately apologizes, and she doesn't even know why she responded that way. Millie is usually pretty well in control with the exception of seeing Chaz and later in happy campers (which was justified) and ghostf*ckers (also justified) are the only times she gets upset and lashes out.

Moxxie once again is not upset he's just concerned, he knows something is wrong, he just doesn't know what it is.

Want to take this moment before the in episode reveal to talk about how hard it is to rewatch these two scenes knowing that millie is preggos. The stress is real omg.

Next this scene of millie deciding to use guns is also interesting because it might be setting up for season 3. If millie keeps this a secret for a long time in season 3 I can see her doing more long range killings in the future. At least until she decides what's she's going to do.

I love that she decided to talk to her sister, and I also love the small detail of their mom being the first to notice something is off.

This is a hard transition for millie because she loves the life she lives, and she loves her husband. We hear her say in ghostfers that's she's happy, we've also seen their lives be uprooted already. Now millie feels like after finally finding stability things are ruined again.