#I like routine and rhythm and learning

[some-pers0n]

Y'know for as horrific and awful the Nexus Torment can be it is nice to be back in the Nexus Torment

[idon-twannabeperceived]

Btw seeing gringos trying to dance tango or salsa is so 🫥🫥

Like I don't mind at all bro go off but like put some flavor in there I AM BEGGING i swear u won't die WHERE IS YOUR SOUL DO YOU NOT HAVE A HEART

[thelittlespanielthatcould]

found a very cool park with a very cool dog

[nouearth]

an architecture of need.

clark kent x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. he doesn’t just love you with his words. he loves you with the full strength of him. over and over again.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. headcanon / blurb collection [1.7k].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 corenswet!clark 〳 established relationship 〳top!clark 〳 bottom!reader 〳 cockwarming 〳 size kink 〳 belly bulging 〳 cumplay 〳 overstimulation 〳 deep penetration 〳 worship (of reader’s body + clark’s body) 〳 soft dom!clark 〳 dirty talk 〳 fingering 〳 muscle kink 〳rimming (r!receiving) 〳body worship 〳 post-sex intimacy 〳 reader has a gaping, cum-leaking hole 〳 clark cums a lot

What the Body Remembers

He kisses you like he’s sorry he wants you this much. Fucks you like he never learned how to stop needing. Clark Kent isn’t unaware of his body—the strength of it, the size, the way people look—but he never uses it to dominate. Not unless you ask. Not unless you beg. When he’s inside you, he’s not a god or a weapon. He’s a man. One who loves you, fills you, touches you like a prayer said every night in private. One who breaks your body open with reverence, and then makes pancakes. This is what it’s like to be undone by Superman.

Muscle Memory

He fucks you slowly at first, like he's afraid of being too much. He knows how big he is, how your stomach bulges when he presses in just right. He sees the way your back arches, the way your mouth parts, trembling and breathless, already stuffed so full of him. And he still asks if you're okay. Always. Softly. A kiss at your temple, even while you're shaking. But then there's the moment he hears your breath hitch and sees you look down. Sees you watching your own belly stretch with the obscene outline of his cock. Something flips. That quiet awe in his chest turns into hunger. He rocks into you harder, the bed frame groaning under both your bodies. He watches your thighs start to quiver. Watches your hands scrabble for anything—him, the sheets, your own cock— and he doesn’t stop. Just breathes heavy and praises you, voice thick with arousal. “You take me so good, baby,” he whispers. “Every time, I swear, you fit around me like you were made to. Just perfect.”

Worship

Sometimes he’ll slow down just to admire you like this. Not during foreplay—no, during. When you're already panting under him, hips slick and hole drooling with the stretch, and his cock keeps pressing deeper. He palms your thighs with reverence, kisses down your chest like you’re some sacred thing. Big hands spreading your legs wider. Thumbs digging into the softest parts of you. He’ll murmur things under his breath that make your skin feel hot and holy. “Love your body,” he says. “So soft. So pretty. All mine. And when you clench around him at the praise, he fucking smiles.

Making His Mark

He cums too much. Always has. The first time he stayed the night, you woke up sore and leaking and still full—because you’d passed out before he’d even finished cleaning you up. Kryptonian stamina. He apologized with breakfast in bed and a guilty smile, but when you told him you liked it, he blushed so hard it reached his ears Now it’s become part of the routine. Every time he finishes, he stays inside, grinding in shallow, greedy circles like he’s trying to fuck it all in deeper. The sheets stained, your thighs sticky, your hole raw and red and dripping down the curve of your ass. He watches you try to crawl away, boneless and overstimulated “You can’t just… fill me like that,” you mutter, dizzy. “You’re right,” he says. “I should do it again.”

Spent

He loves looking at you after. Really looking. Your chest rising and falling in slow, wrecked rhythm. Your lips parted, your eyes glazed, your thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. His cum leaking from your hole in thick, messy ropes, all down your skin, soaking into the sheets. You always look ruined, used, perfect. He touches you like he’s not sure he deserves the sight. Just drags a hand down your chest, your thigh, breath caught in his throat. You’re gaping, still stretched wide around the memory of him, and he swears under his breath every time. He brings a hand between your legs and drags two fingers through the mess. Shudders when you whimper from the touch. “Jesus,” he whispers. “Look what I did to you.”

Muscle Memory II

Clark’s a big man. And when you worship him—really let your hands explore the stretch of his abs, the thick strength of his thighs, the wide expanse of his chest—he gets flustered. Because he doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t think you see him like that. But you do. You kiss the line of his stomach, trace your tongue up to the cleft between his pecs, and he sucks in a breath every time. “You’re beautiful,” you say. He huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “You think so?” You palm him through his briefs—heavy, half-hard, already huge— and smile up at him. “I know so.” When you finally get him naked, you take your time. You kneel between his legs, run your hands across every inch of that body, skin warm and golden under your palms. You stroke his cock slow—long, thick, flushed pink at the tip—and tell him how good he looks like this, hard and wanting for you. “I want you inside me,” you whisper. “Want you to fuck me open with this big fucking thing. Want you to fill your boyfriend with all that cum until it’s dripping out of me.” His breath hitches. And then he gives you exactly what you asked for. "Sweet heaven."

Where You Go Softest

There’s something about your body that Clark loves with aching intensity. Your thighs, especially. He says they’re his favorite place to rest his head, his hands, his mouth. You’ve seen him fuck himself stupid just from the sight of you spread open, thighs trembling, your cock flushed and leaking against your belly. He grabs handfuls of your ass while he thrusts, steady and deep, burying his face in your neck to muffle the sounds he makes. Sometimes he just moans your name like a broken prayer. “Could stay inside you forever,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Squeezing me like that, fuck.” And when he’s just eating you out? Forget it. He’s obsessed. Tongue buried in your hole, big hands pinning your hips down, leaving finger-shaped bruises across your ass as he devours you like he’s starved. He doesn’t stop until your cock’s twitching untouched on your stomach and your thighs are shaking around his ears.

Without Harm

When he holds you down, it’s not with force. It’s with care. Clark cradles your waist with one hand, the other under your ass to angle your hips up, and it’s almost absurd how easy it is for him to manhandle you. He could bend you in half with one arm, pin your wrists above your head with a single hand, keep you in place while his cock drills deep. But he never rushes. Even when he’s fucking you hard: sweat beading at his temples, his broad chest slick and flexing over yours—he checks in. A hand brushing your cheek. A kiss between thrusts. A question, murmured against your throat. “Still good, baby? Can you take more?” You always say yes. Even when your body’s shaking. Even when your hole is raw and stretched wide open, swallowing him deeper than you ever thought you could take. He presses a hand to your lower belly and moans when he feels himself inside you. “God. That’s me.”

Overflow

Clark doesn’t need toys. Doesn’t need anything but you on your back, legs spread, begging him to go slow while your body contradicts you and sucks him in. He’s thick from tip to base, flushed and heavy, the kind of cock that curves just enough to ruin you. You’ve never been able to take him all at once, not without working up to it. He helps; spit, fingers, gentle coaxing—and still, every time, your body trembles when he breaches you. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, rocking his hips. “Let me in. Let me fill you up.” And he does. You feel him for hours after. His cum drips out of you long after he’s pulled out—thick, cloudy, sticky strings that leave you ruined between the legs. Sometimes you can’t even close your thighs properly. Sometimes he doesn’t pull out at all. You’ll feel it trickle out when you’re washing dishes or putting on pants, and he’ll catch you pausing with a faraway look in your eyes and murmur, “Still leaking?”

Evidence of Him

He never tires of seeing you like this. Sprawled out beneath him, wrecked. Limbs slack. Hole gaping. His come dripping out in slow, shiny streaks down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs. Clark watches. He runs his hand down your spine, dips his fingers between your cheeks, and hums at the sight of your trembling rim, twitching open, pink and raw and leaking. He never says much. Just soft sounds of awe. A whispered “Christ,” maybe, or “You look perfect like this.” Sometimes he spreads you open again just to see it. To see how loose you are. How thoroughly he’s fucked you. How your hole flutters like it misses him already. “You need me again?” he asks, almost innocent. Thumb still dragging through the mess he left. You nod. Of course you do. He’s already hard again.

The Unravel

It doesn’t take long to unravel. Clark can take you standing up, bent over the sink, pressed against the wall, or face down in bed with a pillow under your hips. Every angle stretches you in new ways. Every time feels like the first time. Sometimes it’s fast. You’re soaked already, hungry for him, and he’s in you with one smooth thrust. Sometimes it’s slower. Long strokes, deep grinding, his hand around your cock while he fills you. Your body doesn’t know what to do with him. It tries to reject the stretch, even as your moans get louder, your back arches, your legs shake. And when you come: ruined, overstimulated, voice cracking from how hard you cry out. Clark follows with a deep, full groan. He never pulls out.

Rest, Ripe, and Heavy

Afterward, he’s always starving. You’re still trying to catch your breath, still aching and loose and wrecked, and Clark’s already pulling on a pair of sweats, padding barefoot into the kitchen. You call after him. “Can you give me like five minutes before you start making dinner?” He pops his head back in, cheeks pink, curls messy. “I wasn’t gonna make dinner,” he says. “Just a snack.” You laugh, rubbing your stomach. “You just blew my back out.” He shrugs, sheepish. “I’m still a growing boy.” You roll your eyes and tell him to come back to bed, and he does, climbing under the sheets with you, hand pressed to your belly, whispering he’s sorry for how sore you’ll be tomorrow. He’s not sorry.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[kiwriteswords]

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

Sweet Beginnings

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This sweetness got away from me!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Female Reader

Word Count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t one to give up easily.

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

“Same order as always?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron arched an eyebrow. “Direct?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” JJ prompted gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done,” Aaron replied with a faint nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He began typing his reply:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He typed one final response:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait,” you said softly, almost hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. Here. For him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” she said innocently, gesturing toward the tray. “I’m just stating facts.”

By now, JJ and Spencer had noticed the commotion and approached, curiosity evident in their expressions. JJ gave him a knowing look before turning her attention to you.

“You must be the owner of Sweet Beginnings,” JJ said warmly, extending a hand.

Aaron watched as you took the handshake, your shy smile making an appearance again. “I am,” you said softly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’ve got good taste, Hotch,” JJ teased, her gaze flickering back to him with a grin.

Aaron felt a faint warmth creep up his neck, but he kept his expression composed. “Let’s not make this a spectacle,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge.

Spencer stepped forward next, his natural awkwardness on full display. “I’ve read about coffee shops like yours,” he began, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. “They act as community hubs, reducing isolation and fostering social interaction. It’s a fascinating model.”

Aaron’s gaze shifted to you, watching as you smiled gently at Reid’s rambling. “That’s one of the reasons I started it,” you said, your voice soft but genuine. “I wanted it to feel like a place where people could feel at home.”

Hearing you speak about your passion made Aaron’s chest tighten. He’d always admired your gentleness, but seeing you hold your own in the midst of his team—your shyness balanced by quiet confidence—made him feel something deeper, something solid.

Penelope, never one to let a moment pass without commentary, clapped her hands together. “You have no idea how much joy this brings me. Hotch hasn’t smiled this much in years, and now you’re here with coffee? You’re a saint--Hotch, can we keep her?”

Aaron gave her a sharp look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s enough, Garcia.”

You laughed softly, your blush deepening as you glanced at him. “I should probably let you get back to work,” you said, your voice still tinged with nervousness.

Aaron stepped forward slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I’ll walk you out.”

He led you toward the elevator, the rest of the team’s chatter fading into the background. When you reached the doors, Aaron turned to face you fully, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you—your shy smile, the faint blush still lingering on your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “For coming here. For this.” He gestured toward the coffee tray still in his hand.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, though your smile told him otherwise.

“It’s not,” Aaron replied firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’ve made my day better in more ways than one.”

The elevator doors opened, and you hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. “I’ll see you soon?” you asked softly, your eyes meeting his.

“You will,” Aaron said, his voice steady but warm.

As the doors closed and you disappeared from view, Aaron stood there for a moment, the coffee tray still in his hands. His morning had started as chaos, but now, with the simple gift of your presence, everything felt lighter.

He returned to his desk, Penelope’s teasing grin already waiting for him. But as he sipped the coffee you’d brought, Aaron couldn’t help but think about how seamlessly you’d begun to fit into his life—and how much he wanted to keep it that way.

The weeks that followed were a blur of quiet mornings, shared laughter, and the slow, steady building of something undeniable between Aaron Hotchner and you. Each date felt like peeling back another layer, revealing more of who you both were beneath the carefully constructed walls life had required you to build.

Aaron found himself drawn to your world—the warm, comforting atmosphere of your coffee shop, the way you spoke about your love for creating a place where people could feel at home. He loved the way your cheeks flushed when he surprised you with flowers or when he praised your baking. You, in turn, found yourself mesmerized by the way Aaron balanced his intensity with softness, his protectiveness with vulnerability. He opened up to you in ways you knew were rare, sharing pieces of his past, his fears, and his hopes for the future.

The intimate moments between you grew, each one deepening the connection. There were stolen kisses in the quiet of your apartment, his hands gentle but firm as he pulled you closer. There were late-night phone calls when his cases kept him away, his voice low and soothing as he talked to you about everything and nothing. There were mornings where he lingered at your shop before work, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of you bustling behind the counter.

Your shyness began to ease in his presence, replaced by a quiet confidence that bloomed under his care. Aaron, in turn, found himself leaning into the romance of it all—bringing you small gifts that reminded him of you, planning thoughtful dates where he could watch your eyes light up, and holding you close as though afraid to let go.

It wasn’t long before you both realized the depth of what was forming between you. Love, quiet and sure, began to weave its way into your lives. And while neither of you said the words out loud just yet, it was clear in the way he looked at you, in the way you reached for him, and in the way you both felt when you were together: like you had finally found a home in each other.

The day you met Jack was unassuming but transformative for Aaron. He had been nervous, more than he cared to admit, as he brought his son to your coffee shop one sunny Saturday morning. Jack, curious and wide-eyed, had taken to you immediately, charmed by your gentle demeanor and the way you spoke to him with such genuine care. 

You had knelt to his level, offering him a cookie you’d saved for him and asking about his favorite games with such ease that it made Aaron’s heart ache. Watching the two of you laugh together over a shared joke—or seeing Jack cling to your hand as you guided him behind the counter to show him the “secret bakery magic”—solidified something deep within Aaron. 

In that moment, he saw not only how naturally you fit into his world but how much joy you brought to his son’s life as well. It was as if a missing piece he hadn’t realized he was searching for had finally clicked into place, and for the first time in years, Aaron allowed himself to hope for a future filled with the love and warmth you brought so effortlessly into their lives.

The soft hum of the heater filled the quiet of your apartment as Aaron sat on your couch, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up after a long day. The scent of tea lingered in the air, the steam curling lazily from the cup you’d placed in front of him. He felt the weight of the day still on his shoulders, but the warmth of your home—and your presence—was already easing it away.

“You wouldn’t believe the guesses I got today about the ‘secret ingredient’ in my apple tarts,” you said with a small laugh, sitting across from him in the armchair. “Cinnamon, nutmeg… someone even suggested lavender.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Lavender? In an apple tart?”

“I know,” you said, laughing as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I couldn’t tell her the truth. It’d ruin the mystery.”

Aaron watched you as you spoke, your laughter soft and genuine, the way your hands moved expressively when you got caught up in a story. It was the kind of moment he never thought he’d have again—simple, comforting, and entirely yours.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

You looked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “At what?”

“Making things feel lighter,” he replied, his gaze steady. “Easier.”

You blushed, a shy smile playing on your lips. “I think you just need more nights off.”

Aaron shook his head, his eyes not leaving yours. “It’s not about nights off,” he said quietly. “It’s you.”

The words came so easily, so naturally, that they surprised even him. He hadn’t planned to say them, but now that they were out there, he realized just how deeply he meant them.

Your blush deepened, and you ducked your head, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sweater. “Aaron…”

“Come here,” he said softly, patting the seat beside him.

You hesitated for only a moment before moving to sit next to him, leaning into his side. His arm came around you instinctively, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The room was filled only with the soft ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the heater. Aaron’s fingers traced absent patterns along your arm, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he began, his voice low but steady. “But I need to tell you something.”

You turned your head slightly, your wide eyes meeting his. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his hand stilling on your arm as he searched for the right words. But then, as he looked at you—your shy smile, your gentle eyes, the quiet strength in the way you leaned into him—he realized there was no point in holding back.

“I love you,” he said, the words quiet but firm. There was no hesitation in his tone now, no doubt. “I didn’t plan to say it, not tonight, but it’s true. And I need you to know that.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you stared at him, your cheeks flushed with emotion. “You… you do?”

“I do,” Aaron said, his voice softening as his hand moved to cup your cheek. “I know it’s fast, and I don’t want to overwhelm you. But you’ve brought something into my life I didn’t think I’d ever have again. And I mean it—every word.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and a radiant smile spread across your face as you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Aaron exhaled, relief and something deeper flooding through him. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and tender, filled with everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled—a rare, genuine smile that you knew was just for you. “You make me feel like myself again,” he murmured. “Like I’m not just… getting through the day.”

“You make me feel the same way,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his jaw.

In the quiet warmth of your apartment, with your heartbeats steady and aligned, Aaron realized that he hadn’t just fallen in love with you—he had found a future he hadn’t dared to hope for. And with you in his arms, it felt as though everything in his world had finally fallen into place.

The months that followed were filled with a quiet joy that neither of you had anticipated but both of you cherished. Aaron found himself carving out moments of calm amidst the chaos of his work, prioritizing time with you in a way that felt natural, even necessary. You, in turn, opened up in ways you never thought possible, letting him see every piece of you—your dreams, your fears, your past—and finding that he met each one with unwavering patience and care.

One evening, after a long day for both of you, Aaron arrived at your apartment with Jack in tow. The boy had insisted on bringing you a drawing he’d made—two stick figures holding hands, standing in front of a coffee shop with the words “Y/N and Dad” scrawled in his careful handwriting. The look on Aaron’s face as Jack handed it to you, beaming with pride, spoke volumes. He was proud of the life you were all building together, the way you had seamlessly become a part of his and Jack’s world.

Later that evening, as Jack dozed off on your couch, Aaron helped you clean up after dinner. The domesticity of the moment struck him—his sleeves rolled up, you at the sink rinsing dishes, both of you working in quiet harmony. It wasn’t just comfortable; it was home.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Aaron asked suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You glanced over your shoulder, your brow furrowing slightly at the question. “I do,” you said softly, drying your hands on a towel. “Why?”

Aaron turned to face you, his dark eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Because I see it. With you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parting as you struggled to find the words to respond. Before you could speak, Aaron stepped closer, his hands settling lightly on your waist.

“I never thought I’d have this again,” he admitted, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “A home. A partner. Someone who makes me want to be better every single day.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, and you reached up to rest your hands on his chest. “Aaron…”

“I love you,” he said firmly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “I’ve loved you since I walked into your shop for the first time, even if I didn’t realize it then. And I’ll keep loving you—for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your tears spilled over, and you let out a soft, breathy laugh as you nodded. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I always will.”

Aaron leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The challenges of his job, the weight of his past—they didn’t disappear, but they no longer defined him. You were his future, and he was yours.

As Jack stirred on the couch, mumbling something about cookies in his sleep, Aaron pulled back with a soft chuckle. “I should probably put him to bed,” he said, his forehead resting against yours for a moment longer.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “Stay,” you said softly. “Both of you. Stay tonight.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he nodded, his heart swelling with a quiet certainty. “We’d like that,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

That night, as the three of you settled into the cozy rhythm of your home, Aaron couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something new. Not just a chapter, but an entirely different book—one filled with love, laughter, and a life he hadn’t dared to dream of until he met you. And as he held you close, with Jack asleep nearby, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Tag List:

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[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[camille-aurelie-deveraux]

Hiii, beauty!

Could I please request some George content. His girlfriend is the secretary from Toto, so the two get to spend a lot of time together. Them being like Kimis parents and stuff.

Thank you so much and may God bless you!

Love is in the air

The hum of engines and the rhythmic chatter of paddock life was a comfort to Yn now. Years ago, when she’d first taken the job as Toto’s secretary, the sounds had been overwhelming—a tangle of chaos she hadn’t yet learned to decipher. Now, it was just background music to her world, the soundtrack to mornings spent typing schedules, coordinating interviews, and weaving through engineers with a clipboard in hand.

And then, of course, there was George.

She had been sixteen, a little more reserved, a little more unsure of herself when they met. He was seventeen, all bright smiles and boundless energy, already halfway in love with the world and very quickly, with her. Now, years later, as she passed through the garage clutching a coffee and a schedule, she felt the familiar tug on her waist.

"Gotcha," George whispered, his arm slipping around her and his hand shamelessly finding its way into her back pocket.

Yn didn’t stop walking. "George," she warned, though her voice betrayed her with the hint of a smile.

He matched her stride, completely unfazed. "What? Can’t I say hi to my girlfriend? In my defense, you walked right past me. That’s cruel, you know."

She raised a brow. "I have twenty minutes to organize Toto’s meeting with the FIA and get two media slots confirmed."

"Exactly twenty minutes to walk with me first." He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then finally landed one on her lips mid-step. It was a kiss that still made her heart skip despite knowing this boy—now man—for so many years.

"George," she warned again, although this time it was breathier. "I will spill this coffee."

"Risk I’m willing to take."

---

When Kimi joined Mercedes, it wasn’t a surprise. The whispers had been swirling for months—how the prodigious young talent would step up in 2025, the way he’d dominated F2, the way Toto’s eyes would light up every time someone brought up the name "Antonelli."

What was a surprise, though, was how quickly he became their kid.

"So...what do I even do at media day?" Kimi asked, nervously tugging at the collar of his team shirt. Yn was typing something out on her tablet while George leaned lazily against the garage wall, sipping his protein shake.

"You stand there, smile, say things like 'we’re looking forward to a good weekend,' and resist the urge to call the media stupid even when they ask stupid questions," Yn replied without missing a beat.

Kimi blinked. "What if they ask me about George’s skincare routine?"

George looked deeply offended. "That’s a very important question."

"Tell them," Yn added dryly, "that he uses my expensive serums without asking."

"They make me glow," George said, grinning.

Kimi looked between the two of them, exasperated. "You two are...weird."

"That’s code for adorable," George said smugly, bumping shoulders with Yn.

Yn gave Kimi a sympathetic pat on the back. "You’ll get used to us."

---

The dynamic settled fast. Kimi, just eighteen and still finding his voice, fell into the rhythm of the team under their watchful eyes. George, despite his teasing and golden retriever exuberance, took his role seriously. He shared tips, coached him through awkward media moments, and more than once lent him a pair of sunglasses and told him it was fine to cry after a bad race.

Yn, in her quieter way, always made sure Kimi had what he needed—snuck him snacks between briefings, reminded him to rest, and once, after a particularly rough qualifying, sat beside him in the hospitality unit and just...let him sit.

"It’s okay to not smile all the time," she said then, voice soft. "You don’t have to fake it."

Kimi hadn’t said anything, but later that night, he sent her a text: Thanks.

George saw the message flash on her phone. He didn't ask, just leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "You’re really good at that, you know."

"At what?"

"Loving people. Quietly."

She smiled, her black cat aura softening under his gaze. "One of us has to be subtle."

---

Their coupledom had become legend by now. Everyone on the grid knew about George and Yn—how she calmed his chaos, how he dragged her into it anyway, how they somehow balanced each other in a way that just made sense.

"Look at them," Pierre said one afternoon, nodding toward the pair walking through the paddock. George had his hand in her back pocket again, and Yn was reading something on her phone, completely used to his clinginess.

"One day she’s just gonna throw him over her shoulder and carry him out of here," Lando muttered.

"She could. She has that scary strength."

"And George would thank her."

Even Max, who rarely commented on anything remotely sentimental, had once said, "If they don’t get married, love is fake."

---

They didn’t talk about marriage much—not because it wasn’t on the table, but because it was just...a given.

"Do you ever think about the wedding?" George asked one night as they lay curled on the small sofa in their shared hotel room, post-race adrenaline finally wearing off.

"Sometimes," Yn admitted, her fingers combing through his hair. "Not in detail. Just...you. Me. Maybe Kimi giving a very awkward speech."

George chuckled. "He’d read it off his phone and accidentally open his Spotify."

"And then cry when he hears our first dance song."

"What is our first dance song?"

"I’m not telling you yet."

He pouted. "Tease."

"You’ll live."

He kissed her, gentle and slow. "Yeah. Especially with you."

🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦🥰👨‍👩‍👦

Hello my lovely reader! I hope you had a lot of fun reading this little piece of art. I'm always so happy to receive some requests, so don't hesitate to send some!

Cami🥰👨‍👩‍👦

[colouredbyd]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis : a sunshine-soft baker moves to town, all ribbons, sweet talk, and a habit of staring a little too long at the cowboy next door. remus lupin tries to focus on his chores, but it’s hard when she keeps calling him remmy and baking him sweets. neither mean to flirt—but the heat’s been rising like bread in an oven, and something’s bound to give

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, strong sexual themes, dirty talk, sexual tension, suggestive themes, public or semi-public sexual encounters, alot of dirty thoughts, implied exhibitionism, explicit scenes of desire, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, no penetrative sex, getting caught dry humping, spitting, fingering, eating out, panty sniffing?, making out, grinding, kinda riding? porn but with plot.

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: 100% inspired by this, all i can say is i should be ashamed for writing this...(to anyone who knows me: im sorry about the horse scene I COULDNT HELP IT)

part two masterlist

Remus Lupin swears he’s got self-control, the kind that’s been hammered into him by years of quiet mornings and grueling afternoons. 

He wakes with the sun, hands steady and weathered, working the land like clockwork—feeding cattle, fixing fences, cleaning stalls, the rhythm of routine keeping the ache at bay.

Black coffee steams beside him, boots lined neatly by the door, shirts buttoned up and clean, a man shaped by order and slow, simple needs. 

Not much stirs him anymore. Not since the war carved its scars deep into his bones, the kind of ache that settles like rain-soaked dust, dull and constant.

But then, you open your bakery—just two weeks ago—and suddenly, the world shifts beneath his boots.

The last thing Remus Lupin wants to do is lay blame—he’s a grown man, weathered by war and wind, with the calluses to prove it—but in a way, you’re the reason why.

The mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild.

It starts innocent, if only in theory.

He’s out in the field at dawn, meant to be feeding the cattle, fixing the fence, maybe even—God willing—cleaning the horse stalls. But the second your name crosses his mind, he’s gone. Useless.

He stands there with hay in his hands and a slack-jawed expression like he’s been shot in the chest with a buttercream bullet. Doesn’t even notice when the old barn cat winds around his boots or when the horses whinny for their breakfast. He just thinks about you.

And it’s always you.

You, with your little bakery nestled on the corner of Main and Maple, a bright splash of life in the dusty town.

You, wrapped in sundresses kissed by morning light, apron smudged with flour, humming soft songs as you tuck wildflowers into window boxes like secrets meant only for the breeze.

You, waving at every passerby like you’ve belonged here forever—even though you just arrived two weeks ago—and smiling at him like he’s the only thing worth pausing the world for.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’ve shattered him with nothing but kindness and sunlight.

Remus had rules once—wake before dawn, work hard, want less than a man can bear—but you slipped in with your sugar-dusted hands and your laugh like a promise, and now his quiet world is a storm. Because he can’t stop watching you.

Can’t stop craving the curve of your smile, the way flour dusts your cheek like a trace of sin, the softness in your voice when you greet him with that simple, “Morning, cowboy,” like you know exactly how those words strip him bare inside.

And what it does to him—God, it’s sinful, a temptation he’s only just learning how to fight.

You make his hands tremble, his mind stray into wicked places, and his mouth go dry with need. He’s stumbled over his own damn boots more times this week than he has in years, and every misstep is because of you.

The way you lean over that counter, offering him a piece of warm apple pie “on the house,” your scent mingling with the sweetness, setting his skin on fire.

The way you hum, soft and low, like a secret lullaby meant just to tease him. The way your dress sways around your knees, like you’ve never known a single touch that wasn’t hungry, like every inch of you is aching to be claimed.

Today, you slide a wrapped croissant into his palm—blueberry, he guesses, but all he can taste is the ghost of your fingers pressed to his skin, and he nearly drops it, heat pooling low and thick in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, voice rough like gravel scraped raw and worn down by too many restless nights and secret pains you can almost taste in the air between you.

You smile at him, warm and bright, like the sun itself had carved that grin just for him, a gentle blaze cutting through the cold edges of his quiet world.

“See you next Sunday?” you ask, voice soft but threaded with a promise that feels like it could burn through stone.

He tips his hat, trying to hide the way his ears bloom a shy, stubborn pink beneath the fabric, but you see it all—the way he’s unraveling just a little, like he’s been waiting for this moment more than he’d ever admit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, voice low and steady but soaked in something fierce and fragile all at once.

And you know, with every fiber of yourself, he won’t. Even if it kills him.

Because Remus Lupin may be a man of quiet restraint, of slow mornings stretched thin with hesitation and a heart bruised and battered far beyond what any soul should carry—but for you?

For you, he’s already halfway gone, swallowed whole by the gravity of your presence, lost somewhere between the ache and the hope you stir deep inside him.

You don’t see him turn back after he walks away, but he does—just for a heartbeat, a breath stolen in the quiet chaos of his own racing heart.

Remus glances over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp but soft all at once, catching one last fleeting glimpse of your silhouette framed in the window’s fading light.

You’re already moving, already weaving through the room with that effortless grace, already smiling at the next stranger who crosses your path, slipping away from him like the fragile morning light that dances through the leaves—too quick, too fleeting to hold onto.

He tells himself to stop thinking about the ghost of your fingers brushing his skin, the way your voice hums in his ears even now, a sacred hymn that refuses to fade.

He tells himself to forget it, to shove it deep beneath the weight of reason and restraint, but you linger in his blood like a whispered curse he can’t shake.

Meanwhile, miles away, before the sun even has the courage to rise, you’re waking with the world still wrapped in a lavender yawn.

The air holds that delicate chill of dawn, the kind that promises something new and untouched, and you slip on your short linen sundress, the fabric light as a sigh against your skin. A soft pink ribbon finds its way into your hair, tied just so, fluttering like a secret only you know.

You step out into the cool hush of morning, breath mingling with the mist that clings to the lake behind your cottage, where the world feels paused, sacred, and waiting.

The geese shuffle towards you, their honks soft and shy, and you coo at them with a sweetness that drips like honey from your lips—tossing cracked corn from your palm, murmuring, “You handsome little gentlemen,” and teasing, “Don’t be mean, Harold, everyone gets breakfast.”

In this stillness, this fragile quiet, you hold the whole world in your hands.

You like this moment—the solitude, the gentle promise it carries—because here, just here, you are the only girl in the world.

After the geese are fed and the lake has kissed your ankles like a shy hello, you follow the winding road into town, the sun barely half past seven but already spilling warmth across your skin, filling your chest with a sweetness that feels like it could burst.

“Morning, Miss Lily!” you call, your voice bright and light as you wave to the florist tending dahlias on her porch.

Her eyes crinkle with a smile, and she teases, “Well, don’t you look like a postcard—off to steal some hearts today?”

You laugh, adjusting the basket perched on your hip, “Just flour, I promise.”

She shoots back with a knowing grin, “Flour and trouble, more like.”

You wink and keep moving, bare feet gliding over the cobblestones like a secret only the earth knows — light, quiet, familiar.

The morning sun is already warm on your skin, and your soles are still damp from the pond, where you’d been feeding the geese just minutes earlier, ankles muddy, bread crusts tucked in your apron pocket. You’d kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and never quite bothered putting them back on.

Children dart past, chasing laughter through the square, their shrieks bright and wild.

You crouch without thinking, catching the youngest boy by the elbow before he trips on his own shoelaces. “Whoa, careful there, darling,” you murmur, fingers working fast to tie a double knot as he steadies against your shoulder.

He nods solemnly, wide-eyed, before beaming when you press a lollipop into his palm from your apron’s front pocket. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too sour,” you tease, tapping his nose.

He scampers off with a sticky grin, and you turn just in time to see a little girl hovering near your skirts, shy fingers twisting in her dress.

You kneel again and offer her a warm smile, pulling from your apron a carefully wrapped chocolate chip cookie — tied with red ribbon, baked fresh last night, soft in the center just the way she likes.

“There you go, Hazel,” you whisper, smoothing her curls from her forehead. “It’s the last one, so guard it with your life.”

She giggles, cheeks pink, and runs to show her mother, cookie clutched in both hands like treasure.

Then it’s onward to the bakery—your pride wrapped in pink walls nestled between the apothecary and the old bookshop, ivy crawling up the windows like whispered promises.

Rose-gold lettering gleams softly above the door, lace curtains framing the scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm peaches that wraps around you like a hug.

The bell chimes as you step inside, the shelves half-full from yesterday’s labor: lemon loaves, rosewater scones, lavender honey buns waiting to be kissed by morning light.

You hum quietly, lighting candles and watering the violets on the windowsill, feeling the quiet pulse of this place you built with your hands and your heart.

And then—just like that, as if summoned straight from the reckless corners of your mind—he’s there.

Remus Lupin.

Striding through the dusty street like a dangerous fantasy you never dared dream. His boots scuffed and weathered from god knows what, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tight over hips that speak of muscle and sin, every damn curve making your blood race and your mind spiral.

His shirt hangs half-open, teasing the sharp angles of his collarbone, the warm, rough skin beneath dusted with dirt and sweat, as if he’s just come from wrestling something wild and primal.

His hat is tipped low, but when his eyes lift and catch yours through the glass, everything inside you snaps taut and wild.

You try to hide it—pretending to wipe the counter, fingers trembling and heat burning your cheeks—but it’s a poor disguise.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his voice drips with honey and something darker, low and smooth, and it hits you right in the gut like a shot of whiskey.

“Good morning, Lupin” you breathe back, syrupy sweet, though your body is humming with a different kind of hunger, the kind that curls in your stomach and drips heat between your thighs.

His ears flush pink, and you swear it makes him ten times hotter, the shy confidence battling with the raw, untamed man beneath.

He shifts the bag of apples in his hands, eyes flickering up to yours like he’s trying to read a secret only you hold.

“Brought you something,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words taste damn good on his tongue. “Apples. From the orchard.”

You tilt your head, smile teasing, “That’s sweet of you, Remus. What, trying to win me over with fruit now?”

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that makes your skin prickle. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you. You know, without looking like a damn fool just standing outside your bakery all day.”

Your breath catches. “Oh, so you’ve been watching, huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rougher now, like he’s barely holding himself together. “God, I—I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got me—fuck, you’ve got me all tangled up.”

But all you can think about is the way those hands must grip—rough and sure—how they’d feel pressed against your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every shiver, every desperate need.

How close he could get before the ache inside you explodes. The wild scent of earth and sweat and something raw and hungry clings to him like a second skin, and it wraps around you like a promise of sin.

Your smile is all sunshine and soft wickedness. “You keep doing this and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—I mean”

You giggle and take the bag from his hands, fingers brushing once more.

“I’m just teasing,” you say, even though you're not, not entirely.

He nods, flustered, already backing toward the door like a man escaping a wildfire.

“Have a good day,” he manages.

“You too, handsome.”

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen, how he trips just slightly on the step.

And gods, it’s almost unfair—the effect you have.

But then again, you saw the way Miss Dervish from the tailor’s shop stared at him like she was ready to mount him like a broomstick right there on Main Street.

Remus Lupin really has all the ladies in town ovulating at the mere sight of him.

Truth is: the whole damn town is in love with Remus Lupin.

But only you get to see the way he looks at your mouth when you laugh. Only you get to make him blush like a boy.

And if he keeps showing up in those jeans, with that voice and that jaw and those hands that look like they could ruin and worship all at once—you’re going to forget how to bake entirely.

By midday, the bakery hums with warmth and chatter, full to the brim with townsfolk craving something sweet.

Your apron is dusted in flour and your lips are berry-stained from tasting jam. The sun outside is golden and bold, filtering through the windows like it’s falling in love with everything it touches—especially you.

You hum as you knead dough, hips swaying gently to the old French jazz playing on the radio.

There’s strawberry juice on your wrists and sugar under your nails. A tray of pies is cooling by the window, their scent thick and syrupy, while rows of rose-shaped butter cookies wait to be iced.

But something’s missing.

Chocolate.

And not just any chocolate—your favorite dark cocoa from the little cupboard at the Lupin farm, the one you tucked away weeks ago when Remus helped carry crates after the harvest fair. He’d told you to stop by for it anytime. So you do.

Not because of the chocolate, though. Not really.

You wipe your hands, untie your apron, and slip out the back door into the sun, your ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

The road to his farm is all wildflowers and bees, the kind of walk that makes you hum to yourself and twirl your skirt, completely unaware of what exactly you're walking into.

You spot him before he sees you.

Remus Lupin. On horseback.

And everything in you goes quiet.

He’s riding slow through the lower pasture, one hand on the reins, the other lifting his hat just enough to rake his fingers through his tousled hair before setting it back in place.

His shirt is undone even more now, clinging with sweat to the sharp slope of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal those tanned, veined forearms that belong in sin. The muscles in his thighs flex under worn denim as he guides the horse in a slow, powerful trot, hips rising and falling with maddening ease.

You freeze, caught like a deer in the fading light.

His every move is a slow burn—the way he eases off that horse, boots landing heavy on the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your pulse slam against your ribs.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re helpless to look away, your mouth suddenly too dry to form the words you want to say.

Your thoughts spiral, filthy and urgent—how those hands might grip your waist, rough and possessive, pulling you flush against him so close you’d feel every breath, every beat of that steady heart beneath calloused skin.

You imagine the low growl in his voice if he ever lost control, thick and desperate, the kind that shreds all your carefully built walls down to nothing.

And then there’s that hat—the stupid, perfect thing perched on his head, begging to be yanked off like a silent challenge.

You want to reach out, fingers trembling, to drag it free and whisper the words you’d never dare speak aloud: fuck me, Remus.

But you don’t. You can’t. You just watch, helpless and aching.

His gaze locks on you, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, caught on the razor’s edge of something fierce and unspoken.

He steps closer, the scent of leather and sweat wrapping around you like a promise, shirt clinging to the lines of his back like a second skin, each movement designed to make your heart race and your mind spiral into sin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and honeyed, amused like he’s got some wicked secret only you’re about to discover. “Didn’t see you there.”

You force a smile, too sweet, heart already stammering like a busted engine. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came by for the cocoa.”

He nods, eyes drifting to the horse beside him, and then his hand lifts slow and sure, stroking the mare’s neck with a touch so gentle it makes your skin itch in all the wrong places.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, thick and warm, like a promise you’re not sure you want but can’t resist.

“Was out riding my favorite girl Dai.” His palm slides along the mare’s side, fingers curling like he’s tracing a secret, a sacred line.

“Weren’t you such a good girl, huh?”

And damn, the way he says it—“good girl”—it’s filthy, all slick sin wrapped in a whisper.

The way his fingers trail over Dai’s bridle, so soft, like he’s touching something precious, something he wants to own, to protect.

You try not to squirm, but your legs suddenly wobble, knees weak like you’re caught in a heatwave you didn’t see coming, and there’s this fire burning low between your thighs that has absolutely nothing to do with flour or sugar or any damn thing you should be thinking about right now.

His eyes flicker back to you, catching the blush flaming across your cheeks, and that twitch at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly the kind of mess he’s making you into—helpless, hot, aching for a touch that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You alright?” he asks, voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch.

You nod, way too fast, words catching on a tremor you can’t hide. “Fine. Just… warm.”

“Mm,” he says. “Bet you are.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, like a rumble that shakes your bones. “That’s my favorite girl,” he says, patting Dai’s neck again, “and I reckon you’re my favorite baker.”

You have never in your life wished more to be a goddamn horse than right now.

Because the way he says it, the slow slide of his gaze over you—like he’s already imagining running those rough hands down your back, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, whispering all the things he’d do if you let him—makes your insides twist and writhe in delicious agony, caught between wanting and knowing you probably shouldn’t.

But fuck, you want it. You want him. Every filthy, sinful inch of him.

And when he turns toward the farmhouse, his voice is casual, almost teasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go get you that cocoa. Unless you forgot what you came for.”

You definitely did.

But you follow him anyway, biting your tongue, wondering if you can survive five more minutes with this man in his boots and half-unbuttoned shirt and sinful drawl calling anything a good girl.

He walks ahead a few paces, and even from behind, he’s maddening—long legs, golden shoulders beneath that half-undone shirt, a slow, easy swagger that feels like temptation incarnate.

You try not to watch him. You try not to think about what his hands would feel like if they weren’t holding reins or flour sacks. You try not to imagine what his voice might sound like pressed right against your ear.

You fail. Miserably.

The air is warmer inside the farmhouse, thick with the scent of pinewood and tobacco, and your eyes need a second to adjust as you step through the door behind him.

But you don’t get far.

Your toe catches on something—maybe the edge of the rug, maybe a boot left by the door—and your balance tilts out from under you in one horrible, slow-motion stumble.

“Oh—!”

But he’s there.

In an instant, large hands catch you by the waist, grounding you before you even fall.

One arm wraps behind your back, steady and sure, and suddenly you’re pressed flush against him, breath caught between your teeth and heart thundering in your ears.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle, eyes flicking down to check you over. “Would’ve hated to see you hurt yourself.”

You laugh a little too quickly, palms resting on his chest for balance. “I—I’m okay. Just clumsy.”

He doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes your waist without thinking, and it sends a spark right through you.

Your body is burning where he’s touching you. And his eyes—soft brown, full of quiet amusement—study your face like you’re some kind of puzzle he wouldn’t mind spending a few lifetimes figuring out.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

“Chocolate, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping back and guiding you with a light hand on your lower back. “Think I’ve got just the kind you like.”

You nod, heart in your throat. “Y-yeah. The one with the orange peel in it.”

He smiles. “Knew it. Sweet with a little bite.”

You try not to read into that. You really try.

He leads you to a wooden shelf near the back of the kitchen, cluttered with old jars, dried herbs hanging in bunches, tins of tea, and a few blocks of dark chocolate wrapped in paper and tied with string.

He crouches to rummage through the lower shelf, muttering softly under his breath.

Meanwhile, your gaze wanders again. The way his fingers handle everything with such care.

And—damn it—the way the back of his shirt clings to his waist, damp with sweat, tucked just loosely enough into those low-hung jeans.

You’re not sure how long you’re standing there trying not to ogle him when he straightens up and hands you two wrapped bars.

“Right here,” he says, tapping one. “One with orange, one with cinnamon. Just in case.”

You beam, holding both to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, easy. “Wouldn’t want you runnin’ out mid-pie. That’d be a tragedy.”

You turn to leave, already backing toward the door, your heart full and fluttering.

But before you go, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Remmy,” you say softly, voice light and sweet, ribbon swaying behind you as you walk away, leaving him standing there with a tent in his pants.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But you’ve gone and made a mess of all that.

He hasn’t been able to sit still since.

The moment you left, the house felt too empty. The kitchen too quiet. Only the faint scent of orange and cinnamon lingered in the air—sweet, stubborn reminders of you—and Remus couldn’t stop staring at the counter where your fingers had just been.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck, pacing slow in his kitchen, heart pounding like he’s fresh out of a goddamn rodeo.

It’s the way you said Remmy again, all soft and sweet like the syllables were something you wanted to wrap in lace.

The way your fingers brushed his when you took the chocolate.

The way you stumbled and he caught you, hands on your waist for one second too long—and how he’s still not sure if that flutter in your chest was nerves or something else.

Something hopeful.

Something dangerous.

He leans against the doorframe, staring out across the sunlit fields, pretending like the quiet out there might calm the storm in here. It doesn’t.

He can still see you standing in the road, squinting up at him on horseback like you were about to fall on your knees.

Can still hear the breath you took when he slid off Dai and murmured good girl to the horse, his hand smoothing over her mane—and how your eyes never left his mouth.

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

He tells himself it’s the heat, the dust, the soft haze of summer playing tricks.

But his hands still ache from where they steadied your fall. His chest still burns from the way you smiled, like he’d given you the whole damn world for the price of chocolate.

And his thoughts—his thoughts are filthy, honey-thick, clinging.

You’re too sweet. Too soft. Too kind for the way he wants you.

He wants to press you up against the counter of that bakery, sugar and flour in your hair.

He wants to take that sundress off slow, like he’s unwrapping something too delicate for a man like him.

He wants to kiss your throat, taste your laugh, ruin your lip gloss.

And worst of all—he wants to hold your hand after.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But for you, he’s starting to lose the only good sense he has left.

Which is why, only a few hours after you left, Remus Lupin found himself walking into town like a man possessed.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a visit. Just being polite.

But his boots hit the pavement harder than they should, dust kicking up behind him as he strode past Mrs. Macmillan’s garden and the old chapel, not sparing a single glance for the women who giggled behind parasols or the way someone’s daughter nearly walked into a fence watching him go by.

He didn’t notice them. Not their perfume, not their waves, not their sun-warmed stares.

His eyes were fixed ahead—on the pink-tinged little building with ivy creeping up the sides and a wooden sign that read The Wildflower Oven. On you.

The bell above the door rang softly when he stepped inside, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

There you were.

Bent slightly over the counter, piping delicate swirls of icing onto golden vanilla muffins, ribbons tied in your hair like you were spun from sugar yourself.

You were humming something soft, something dreamy and old, and when you glanced up—when your eyes landed on him, bright as sunlight through a summer orchard—you smiled.

“Hi, Rem,” you said, warm and easy.

Rem.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

That little nickname, all familiar and fond and sinful in the way it curled off your tongue.

His heart gave a desperate lurch in his chest, and he felt—viscerally—the tight pull of desire low in his stomach. His belt was suddenly too snug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he managed, stepping toward the counter as you finished your muffin with a final flourish.

“Didn’t expect to see you again today,” you said, licking a bit of frosting off your finger. “What brings you here? Another chocolate craving?”

He watched your tongue flick over the tip of your finger like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Or maybe you did.

Maybe you knew exactly how you looked, sunlight on your skin and icing on your lips, a walking fever dream of every soft thing he’s ever wanted.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice thick.

You laughed, and he knew he was done for.

You moved to grab a towel, but he caught your wrist before you could, gentle but firm, eyes locked to yours.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t.”

But you tilted your head, curious. “Shouldn’t what?”

“This,” he said—and then he pulled you in.

His mouth met yours like he’d waited a lifetime. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite.

It was needy, hot, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the counter, scattering a few napkins and flour-dusted tins.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he groaned when your hips shifted against his.

The friction nearly undid him.

You were so soft, so warm, and he wanted all of you. Every kiss, every sigh, every inch of skin under that sundress he’d memorized with his eyes.

You whimpered when he kissed down your neck, when his hand slid beneath your apron and gripped your hip hard enough to leave heat in its wake.

“Remus,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled back for half a second, just to see you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and shining.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he confessed, his voice rough with restraint he no longer had. “You’ve been driving me wild, honey. You walk around this town looking like that and expect me to act right?”

Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to act right.”

That was all it took.

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as his mouth slammed back onto yours, hips thrusting forward on pure instinct.

The counter shook beneath the weight of your desperate bodies. The kiss deepened, savage and hungry. You clung to him like you’d shatter without his touch—maybe you would.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted a leg and wrapped it tight around his waist, lowering yourself onto his rock-hard cock.

A guttural groan spilled from his lips as his hands crushed your waist, pulling you harder against him, grinding you with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, baby, can’t do that to me,” Remus groaned, voice thick and ragged against your mouth.

“I really fucking need you.” His hands tore at your dress, breaking the kiss to rip it off, then devoured your breasts with greedy fingers and mouth. He sucked your nipples hard, tugging like he needed to mark you as his.

You peeled your legs free and steadied yourself on the counter, tossing the dress aside. Remus freed his cock, rock-hard and leaking slick precum onto his jeans. Shameless, he stroked himself slow and steady.

“Keep ‘em on.” His voice was low, rough with need as he didn’t let you slide your panties off. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight around your hips and pulled you down so your back pressed flush against his broad chest.

With an effortless lift, he hoisted you up, spreading your thighs just enough with his free hand, pressing his aching cock right between them.

“Remmy…” you breathed out, tilting your head back to kiss along his sharp jawline, soft and slow.

His cowboy hat sat slightly crooked on his head, the worn brim shadowing his dark eyes—an irresistible invitation. Your fingers reached up, bold and trembling, and slowly you pulled the hat off his head, letting it slip free like a promise.

You lifted it carefully, the faint scent of leather and sun-soaked days lingering in the fabric, and slipped it over your own hair, the brim dipping low over your eyes, hiding your flushed cheeks.

Remus’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with need as he stared at you—his hat on your head like a secret you were daring him to unravel.

You were officially trying to kill him. Remus Lupin—death by pussy. A noble death, really.

His hands clenched your waist tighter, hips pressing harder against yours. “Gods, you in my hat…” His voice was low, rough with want, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned softly, heat pooling deep and thick between your legs, your voice barely more than a whisper, “You’re so big.”

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing,” he murmured, voice ragged as he looked down. Your hips moved gently, rocking back and forth, thighs curling tenderly around his cock that throbbed hard against your thin fabric.

You both gasped sharply the moment his cock brushed against your soaked, sensitive clit.

Remus couldn’t stop touching you, not if he tried. One hand toyed with the frilly hem of your panties, teasing and pulling, while the other wrapped snug around your heaving chest, fingers kneading and claiming.

“Spit on it, baby,” he growled low, heat dripping from every word.

You leaned your head down, eyes locked on the slick glistening wetness smearing your inner thighs, and without hesitation, spit right on the tip of his cock—just like he wanted—earning a deep, guttural moan vibrating straight through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed, pressing your thighs tighter together, trapping his twitching cock between them, moving just enough to drive you wild.

When he finally came, the bite he left on your shoulder was painful and possessive, hot and rough as he spilled his release all over the front of your panties.

He dragged the tip of his cock through the slick mess, spreading it, marking you thoroughly.

“What are you doing?” you blinked down at him, breath hitching. Remus knelt on the floor, hands sliding your legs apart and resting them gently on his broad shoulders.

“Cleanin’ you up.” His lips burned against the soft skin of your inner thigh, tongue flat and warm as it licked away every trace of his mess, slick and sticky.

His dark brown eyes, shadowed beneath furrowed brows and heavy lashes glistening with moisture, lifted to meet yours just as he reached your center.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding in the quiet tension.

Remus wrapped his mouth around the stained front of your panties, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate hunger.

His fingers trembled as they slid the fabric aside, revealing slick heat slicked with his cum underneath. He swallowed hard, lips curving into a satisfied grin pressed against your stomach.

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” His voice was rough, desperate, a shiver running down your spine.

You nodded quickly, breath catching as his cold fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit.

A thick bead of spit fell from his mouth, slick and wet, coating your slick folds before he replaced his fingers with his tongue, warm and insistent.

Your hand dove into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him closer, needing every inch of him against your burning heat.

His low moan vibrated against your skin, lips and nose grazing your clit, and damn—he could smell you, raw and intoxicating, making him lose himself completely.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed, pulling away just long enough to praise you, hand already palming that aching, swollen cock again.

The pain only made him harder, the desperate urge to touch himself uncontrollable.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he snapped the elastic against your sensitive skin drawing a startled whimper from your throat.

“Rem, I’m gonna come!” you whimpered, that tight knot in your stomach about to unravel.

If his mouth wasn’t still buried between your thighs, you’d have caught the smug smirk spreading across his face.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the waistband and pushed your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air—and to him.

His palm pressed firmly against your lower stomach, moving in slow, possessive circles until you cried out his name, the sound raw and needy.

“Sensitive, yeah?” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses over your clit, making you jerk and shiver.

You tried squeezing your legs shut, but Remus was relentless—elbow hooking under your thighs to pry them open wide, resting your legs on his shoulders as he dove back into your slick heat.

“Please, Rem, someone could come in!” you gasped, attempting to push him away.

“Just a little more, baby,” he slurred, tongue flicking expertly around your trembling hole.

“Gotta come,” he muttered, sharpening the tip of his tongue and plunging it deep inside you, making you gasp and tremble with pure, desperate need.

He curled his tongue inside you before pulling back and spitting wetly inside, the slick fabric pressed against your pussy.

Your eyes snapped open as his fingers slid in alongside the soaked cloth, stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, you’re sweeter than any damn pie,” he groaned, voice thick with need as he pushed himself up.

“Gonna cum all over this cunt.”

Hovering over you, your legs wrapped instinctively around his torso, clutching him tight. His cock slapped hard against your clit before he began grinding the swollen tip back and forth, moaning deep and loud.

Breath ragged, he sighed softly as hot spurts of cum dripped slick between your folds, the bunch of fabric trapped inside catching most of the mess.

“Fuck, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He let his whole weight collapse onto you, hands bracing on your shoulders to pull you impossibly close.

“So fuckin’ good, baby, best damn pussy in this town.” he muttered, words thick with filthy adoration, peppered with profanity.

Sliding down, he planted soft, worshipful kisses on your collarbone, trailing lower to your chest and stomach.

You grabbed your dress off the counter and fumbled to pull it back on, fingers trembling as you tried to find the sleeves.

“Here—c’mere, baby,” Remus murmured, stepping in to help, his hands steady where yours shook. He took his hat and put it back on his head and then guided the fabric up over your shoulders, smoothing it down gently before reaching for the ribbon that had slipped loose in your hair.

“Hold still, love,” he said, voice soft, almost fond, as he tied it back into place. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, grounding.

Before you could turn away, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He caged you gently between his chest and the counter, forehead dropping to yours. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against your lips, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your smile curved wicked. “Even right now?”

“Especially right now.”

You reached down, curling your fingers through his until his hand was yours again. Slowly, deliberately, you brought it to your mouth—and licked the remaining mess from his fingers, eyes never leaving his.

Remus Lupin was, quite officially, dead and gone for—completely wiped out at the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers, the sweet angel baker of the town now standing before him as the most gloriously obscene vision he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, Remus was absolutely, undeniably done for.

But then—

CRASH.

The bakery door slammed open with the force of a thunderclap, bell jangling like an alarm.

A deep roar of an engine echoed behind it, followed by the unmistakable snarl of tires on pavement and the lingering scent of leather and smoke.

And standing in the doorway, sunglasses low on his nose, helmet under one arm and a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—

Was Sirius Black.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled, voice like trouble and sin.

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my sleep schedule has been shitty as hell so i don’t even remember writing half of this honestly. so sorry it took so long. feel free to let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the series or any comments you have! if they’re any mistakes please let me know :)

—————————————————————————

For about two weeks, all Paige and Azzi did was orbit around each other. They were tangled in quiet routines that they created for themselves, mixed with the perfect amount of chaotic affection. Days melted into nights with no clear beginning or end, the rhythm they’d set with each other was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Azzi managed to do a few basketball workouts here and there. Small things just to keep her body moving and active during her break. During one of them, she surprisingly discovered that Paige could actually hoop. She wasn’t flashy about it, but she moved with a gracefulness when she had the ball in her hand. Azzi had grinned at her from across the gym, a little breathless from her own workout. Paige had just smirked at her before dribbling the ball between her legs and looking away.

Grocery store trips turned into adventures, Azzi throwing random snacks in the cart just to see what Paige would veto or complain about. They cooked shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, feeding bites of food from each other’s plates and slow dancing to whatever playlist was echoing through the house. Azzi always cooked what she knew Paige preferred to eat and Paige always forced Azzi to sit down while she cleaned.

And of course mixed in with their new found domestication they were all over each other constantly. The kitchen counter, the couch, the shower, the floor that one time they drunkenly didn’t make it to the bed, in front of the fireplace, the laundry room table. It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was. If Azzi looked at Paige a certain way, that was all it took and well...Azzi was always looking at Paige a certain way.

In those two weeks Azzi discovered something soft, something she didn’t know she craved until it was in front of her. Paige had a protector’s heart, and Azzi loved every second of it.

Paige always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door; Azzi learned the hard way when Paige pushed her to the other side of the bed in the middle of REM sleep the night she had gone to bed before her. Paige unlocked the car for Azzi first, waiting until Azzi was inside before locking the door back and walking around to the driver’s side. She always chose a seat with a clear view of the exit, her posture relaxed and attuned to what Azzi was saying but always somehow alert. Azzi noticed how Paige would subtly angle herself toward her when they walked through crowds, or how Paige’s hand would naturally rest on her lower back gently leading her.

Azzi had her own small habits too. She folded Paige’s laundry in the meticulous way Paige liked it—T-shirts rolled, not folded. She helped Paige wash her hair when she complained about having to do it. She traced the lines of Paige’s back with her fingers absentmindedly when they were laying on the couch, whispering soft questions that kept her alert. She learned the difference between Paige’s “I’m fine” and her actual fine, the way her voice would dip a little lower when she was overwhelmed, how her eyes would drift somewhere to the corner when she needed a break but didn’t want to hurt Azzi’s feelings and ask for one.

In two weeks, they’d mapped out the best kind of intimacy a relationship could have. It wasn’t loud, nor performative for anyone around them but perfect for their bubble. Built through sleepy forehead kisses, late-night drives when Azzi couldn’t fall asleep, and a thousand small details that they started to memorize.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, they fell even deeper for the other, neither of them saying the words but showing it in every look, touch, and act of care.

…

Present day Azzi had just gotten goddess braids for the off season and Paige hadn’t stopped staring at her since.

Paige barely blinked when Azzi first stepped out of the salon, her eyes dragging over her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. Now on the drive home, Paige couldn’t stop glancing over, mumbling half-sentences like “I feel like I’m cheating, swear to God.”

Azzi just laughed as she rested her elbow against the window and turned her head toward Paige. “Mmm you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the door.”

Paige just shook her head, biting her lip, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s hair down to her collarbone like she couldn’t help herself before drifting back to the road. “I’m tryna be respectful baby, but Jesus.”

As soon as the front door closed Paige was behind Azzi, wrapping her arms around her waist and brushing her lips against her shoulder as she spoke. “You got me a lil ready for you already, mama,” she whispered.

Azzi turned her head slightly to whisper back, “You’re the one out here in all black like you don’t know what that does to me.”

Paige hummed, a small smile on her lips. “So we thinkin’ the same thing.”

Azzi laughed and tried to walk away, to at least kick off her shoes and grab some water, but Paige wasn’t having it as she immediately tugged Azzi gently back against her. “Just lemme look at you for a second,” Paige whispered, and Azzi could hear the sincerity in her voice. She turned, slowly to face her fully now. Paige’s heart skipped as her eyes met Azzi’s again, her gaze drinking in every new detail. The braids framed Azzi’s face perfectly and they were pulled back enough to show off her dimples and her doe eyes.

Paige reached up, using her middle finger and thumb to brush one of the braids like it was something delicate. “You look perfect,” she said, quietly. “Like…fuck man.”

Azzi let her hands rest on Paige’s hips, slipping her thumbs underneath the edge of the black tank top she’d been side-eyeing all day. “Lemme see how perfect you can make me feel baby.”

Paige grinned as she gently grabbed Azzi’s chin before connecting their lips. Making sure to kiss her intentionally; hungry in that way that never seemed to go away no matter how many days they spent tangled up in each other.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige swept her arms under Azzi’s thighs and lifted her off the ground causing Azzi to gasp against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. Paige carried her to the kitchen and sat her on the counter gently to stand between her legs.

Azzi barely had time to process the cold surface against her thighs before she felt Paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands under her shirt, trailing up her sides like she already knew every inch of her skin by heart.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Paige was helping Azzi pull off her shirt. Throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. She pulled back to take a breath and her eyes roamed over Azzi’s chest, her jaw tightening slightly.

“God damn,” she mumbled, her eyes full of admiration as she leaned in again, kissing and sucking along Azzi’s chest.

Azzi messily pulled Paige’s tank up and over her head, revealing the bruises, scratches, and love bites still fresh across her skin. Azzi’s eyes dragged over each one. All of them were small territorial pieces of evidence from the other day when Paige practically dared her to make a point because Azzi was pissy over another woman touching Paige’s arm.

Her fingers ghosted over the marks on Paige’s ribs, and she smiled. “I like these on you.”

Paige smiled as her mouth continued to trail down the valley of Azzi’s chest. “Still feel it every time I move.”

Azzi’s fingers moved down to undo Paige’s belt, her breath catching when Paige pulled her bra down slightly and her teeth nipped at her nipple before soothing it with her tongue. “Good,” she whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t let other bitches flirt with you in front of me.”

Paige laughed against her chest. “Nobody was flirting with me baby.”

Azzi just rolled her eyes and pulled Paige up to connect their lips. They were so wrapped up in one another—Azzi fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, Paige pulling at Azzi’s hips to get closer, her belt clinking against the edge of the counter—that they didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t hear the keys drop in the bowl by the entrance.

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige bit at her bottom lip before sloppily trailing down her neck.

The belt clinked softly against the edge of the counter again, but it was barely noticeable over the sounds of their own breathing. Azzi moaned softly as Paige sucked on the pulse point of her neck, moving her hands down to grip the edge of the counter.

“Yo, are y’all—? Oh my God!”

Azzi was slightly startled and on instinct pulled Paige closer to her to block their view, her chest unsteady as they both turned their heads toward the kitchen entrance.

Cam spun around so fast her blonde braid whipped behind her, using her hands to cover her face as she squeezed her eyes shut in horror. “Lord, please, I am begging you to please never let me see my sister like that again. Please, God. Take the memory away.”

Rickea and Rae stood there completely frozen, their mouths slightly open, Rickea’s eyes scanning Paige’s torso in shock while Rae’s just stayed locked in place.

Meanwhile, DiJonai brushed right past them all to open the fridge like she wasn’t surprised at what she’d just walked into in the slightest. Only offering a, “Y’all better not be sweating on the counters I’m supposed to be cooking on.”

Once Azzi adjusted her bra she turned fully toward the group looking a little mortified.

Paige, on the other hand, leaned against the counter casually and seemed completely unbothered, even with her pants still undone and her abs on display.

Rickea let out a whistle as her eyes dragged across Paige’s torso. “Damn...look like somebody been busy. She been fucking you up.”

Paige glanced down at herself and smirked. “Lil bit.”

Cam, who was still turned away, groaned louder. “Why are you answering her?! Paige I cannot unsee this. I need bleach for my eyes. Therapy maybe.”

Rae blinked once, still not saying anything, but her gaze hadn’t moved away from Paige’s exposed stomach and the way her opened pants hung a little too low on her hips.

Azzi noticed and her jaw tensed, a slight possessiveness burning in her chest as she snatched Paige’s shirt off the counter and tossed it at her aggressively. “Put on a shirt.”

Paige easily caught it sliding the black tank top over her head without saying anything. She took her time buttoning and zipping her pants before looping her belt back through. Azzi could tell that her usual wall was back up without her even saying anything.

Rickea laughed under her breath, elbowing Rae. “You really couldn’t look anywhere else?”

Rae blinked again, like she finally snapped out of her daze. “I—I didn’t even realize. That was involuntary, I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Azzi said flatly, yanking her own shirt over her head. “Y’all ever heard of knocking?”

Before anyone could respond, Cam, who was still facing the other direction with her eyes on the ceiling said, “Paige, are you fully clothed now?”

Paige didn’t bother answering. She moved to brush past her before heading upstairs. Which, of course, left Azzi standing alone in the kitchen.

“So that’s what y’all be on?” Rickea teased, as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I ain’t know you were a lil kinky.”

Cam groaned.

Rae, who was leaning on the counter, decided to add her two cents, “So what’s the safe word?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible. “Y’all are annoying.”

“Annoying, or right?” Rickea grinned. “Because the evidence is all over Paige’s body.”

“It’s giving: ‘do not cook on that counter,’” Cam mumbled, finally turning around. “I swear if I ever eat toast off that counter again and catch a flavor—”

“Cam,” Azzi groaned, her face starting to burn as she reached for a water bottle to occupy her hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Cam repeated. “You had my sister shirtless with her pants open in the kitchen in the middle of the day!”

“And I’d do it again,” Azzi said under her breath, but it was loud enough to make Rickea holler.

“She said what she said!”

DiJonai, who was sitting at the counter eating grapes, finally spoke up. “Y’all acting shocked like we ain’t all see this coming eventually.”

“True,” Rickea nodded. “Still...the kitchen, though Azzi?”

Azzi took a sip of her water and shrugged. “The vibe was right.”

Before anyone could respond, they heard Paige coming back down the stairs and they all turned towards her when she walked in the kitchen. “Why are y’all in my house?”

Cam looked at her like she was confused by the question. “Umm, maybe because your entire family is in town and coming over for dinner? Or did you forget?”

Paige just blinked at her, completely void of any recognition about what she was saying.

Rickea snorted and Rae tried to hide her smile while Cam sighed dramatically. “You don’t remember, do you?” Cam asked.

“No,” Paige said dryly before walking over to reach into DiJonai’s bowl of grapes and tossing one in her mouth.

DiJonai nudged the bowl a little closer to her without looking up from her phone. “Don’t eat the green ones. They’re too sour.”

Paige wordlessly nodded before picking through the bowl until she had a small handful of red ones. When she was done she turned and made her way into the living room, sinking into the couch before throwing on a random NBA game. Muted, of course.

The others lingered in the kitchen for a few seconds before they naturally drifted after her.

“So what are we making for dinner?” Rickea asked, as she sat on the arm of the chair closest to the couch. “Cause I’m not about to eat anything Cam cooks.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “That one time the chicken was undercooked was years ago.”

“That was last summer,” Rae corrected, as she scrolled through her phone.

DiJonai walked in and said, “I got salmon when we were at the store but I’m not about to do everything myself.”

They all settled into the living room, discussing sides and who was cooking what but it started to get a little loud when Rae and Rickea were arguing over who would prep the salmon for DiJonai.

This caused Paige to break her silence without looking at them. “If you gon’ talk,” she said flatly, “at least lower your voice.”

“Damn, I thought you’d be nicer now that you’re fuckin’ all the time,” Rickea said.

Paige turned her head to give Rickea a look that was so blank it bordered on disrespectful.

Azzi, who finally wandered in the living room had two waters in her hand and passed one to Paige before easing onto the couch next to her. She glanced between Paige and the rest of the group chuckling to herself a little. “What happened to that smile you had ten minutes ago pretty?” she teased gently as she bumped Paige’s knee with her own.

Paige’s eyes shifted toward her and gave her a small grin, her eyes a little less closed off.

Azzi smiled back at her and Paige’s hand subtly reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and pulling Azzi a little closer as she went back to watching the game.

Just like that, the chatter picked back up the girls bouncing between kitchen plans, whose playlist sucked less, and whether or not Rae was going to get distracted and burn the garlic bread again. This all happened while Paige stayed sitting next to Azzi, only ever really dialed into the conversation when she was speaking.

…

Later that day when Paige’s family got there, it was immediately chaotic. The door barely swung open before her siblings were barreling in—Lauren asking for food, Drew talking trash to Cam and Ryan almost knocking over Rae trying to race to the living room to play her PS5.

Her dad was behind them, holding a tray of some store bought dessert and his current girlfriend’s hand, already in the middle of a story no one asked for. Her mom came in a few minutes later with a few wine bottles in her hands and a tight smile that said she’d already been sipping on one before she got there.

Paige’s house that was previously filled with a peacefulness that made her chest feel open was now just loud and ringing in her ears. Tipsy laughter, overlapping conversations: Rickea teasing Drew, Rae and Cam loudly debating over the music, DiJonai yelling from the kitchen about Rae almost burning the garlic bread. Azzi was the only one who didn’t make Paige want to disappear.

Paige didn’t say much. She drifted around the edges of the room, slipping between the kitchen and couch and wherever else she could avoid contact. When the adults asked her questions, she gave clipped responses. When her siblings bugged her, she tried to soften for them, but even then her voice stayed flat. She wasn’t mad, she just felt tired causing her to want to disconnect from the chaos.

Still the night was going fine, as fine as Paige could manage until her dad brought up the fight.

“You know,” he said, laughing too loudly over his whisky glass as he tossed a card on the table, “that was probably the most impressive fight I’ve ever seen from you, kid. I mean, everything about it was perfect. The setup, the speed, everything. Never seen anything more beautiful.”

Paige didn’t look up from her hand as she tossed a card down. “Thanks,” she said flatly, not bothering to fake a smile.

“Seriously I mean it, though! You were locked in like you used to be back in the day. We were all watching it on the big screen at—what was it, Sam’s place I think?” he glanced over his shoulder towards his girlfriend for confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we were all losing our damn minds. All my buddies were blown away.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it.”

Her dad looked surprised at this statement. “How do you not remember something like that?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head like he couldn’t accept that and reached for the remote. “You gotta see it. It’s everywhere. Think it has millions of views on YouTube now. Whole crowd was on their feet in the background.”

Paige's hand twitched in her lap before she pressed her nails into her palm. “I’m not tryna watch that right now dad.”

He waved her off like she didn’t say anything at all, already pulling up the video.

The second it lit up the large screen in her living room Paige saw her own face in the corner of the screen. She saw her fists taped, her eyes dark and her shoulders a little stiff. She felt her stomach twist, that same nausea from after the fight creeping in her abdomen and a metallic taste feeling the back of her throat. She couldn’t process the emptiness she saw on her own face.

Paige stood up quietly, taking the cards off her lap and putting them on the table without saying anything before walking out of the room. Tripping slightly over her foot on the way out.

From the kitchen where she was making Paige a drink, Azzi caught movement in the corner of her eye. She walked toward the living room, slightly confused when she heard the voice of a flight announcer yelling through the HD speakers of Paige’s living room.

The video seemed like it rolled in slow motion, showing Paige standing there, flexing her jaw as the ref gave final instructions. Azzi wasn’t listening to the sound coming from the TV, she was watching Paige’s face. Watching the hollowness in her expression, how empty her beautiful blue eyes looked as the camera zoomed in.

Azzi’s grip on the glass she was holding tightened. How did no one else see it? DiJonai, to her credit, looked uneasy. Her arms were crossed as she looked at the screen for a few seconds before she just tore her eyes away and pulled out her phone.

“Where’s Paige?” Azzi asked.

No one looked up, not wanting to miss the fight that just started.

DiJonai answered when she noticed nobody else was going to say anything. “I think she went upstairs.”

Azzi nodded once, pressing her lips together. “Thanks.” She moved to put her drink down on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs, the noise of the living room getting quieter.

When she stepped into Paige’s room it was empty but she noticed that the bathroom door was closed and she heard the sound of running water echoing behind it. She walked over and knocked on the door gently.

A tired, “What?” came from the other side.

“It’s me, baby,” Azzi said softly.

There was a pause. Then Paige’s voice came back noticeably softer now: “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door and stepped inside.

Paige was standing at the sink and her face was damp like she’d just splashed water on it in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes were rimmed with a redness, not quite from crying, but Azzi could tell she was close to it.

Azzi crossed the small space between them moving to weave her fingers into Paige’s hair, coming through the strands gently.

Paige closed her eyes at the feeling as she leaned into it.

“You okay?” Azzi whispered

“No,” Paige said truthfully. Then she added, “I just need a minute though.”

Azzi nodded. “Is there something I can do?”

Instead of answering, Paige reached out and pulled her in by the waist, gently, resting her forehead against Azzi’s for a moment before tilting down and kissing her softly. It was slow, the kind of kiss that silently said thank you even if she didn’t have the words for anything else yet.

Azzi always brought her back. Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s presence, Azzi was just always something steady in the chaos for Paige.

When they pulled away, Paige brushed her thumb over Azzi’s cheek and whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“Before bed?”

Paige smiled at her and confirmed, “Before bed beautiful.”

Azzi kissed her one more time before giving her one more glance before stepping back. “Don’t stay up here too long, you know I’m clingy”

Paige nodded again as she chuckled, her eyes already softer. “I won’t.”

When Azzi got back downstairs, the fight was still playing on the TV but her eyes landed on DiJonai who was sitting at the island in the kitchen. Azzi made her way over there instead of sitting on the couch, slipping into the stool next to her.

“She good?” DiJonai asked without looking up from her phone.

Azzi nodded lightly. “She’ll be ok.”

DiJonai gave a small nod.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you…you know, for being there for her when she went to Dallas.”

DiJonai shrugged like it was nothing. “Of course.”

“I know she won’t ever say it,” Azzi said, “but she appreciates you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

DiJonai laughed as she leaned back a little. “I know. She can’t hide it.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head thinking about Paige. After a moment she asked, “How’d you meet?”

DiJonai’s eyebrows raised in amusement thinking about the story. “She hasn’t told you?”

Azzi shook her head.

DiJonai let out a short laugh. “Okay, so this was Cam’s rookie year, so maybe over three years ago now? We were at this open run at a gym in L.A. Some pros, some overseas girls, just a bunch of random people. Paige was there, sitting on the side. She didn’t say shit the whole time really, was kind of just there watching.”

Azzi nodded as she listened.

“She was just staring and at first I thought she was zoned out, but it lasted for a while and eventually I was like alright she’s definitely starring. So I’m thinking, maybe she feelin’ me or whatever.” DiJonai grinned, shaking her head at herself. “So I walked up to her casually tryna be as nice as possible cause I didn’t know her and I was just like, ‘Hey, I saw you looking but I just wanted to let you know I’m taken.’”

Azzi laughed a little, trying to picture Paige in that moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I swear, I did,” DiJonai laughed. “And Paige was tone-faced as hell and was just like, ‘What?’ She said it super dry. So I say again, ‘You were staring, so I just thought I’d say something,’ and she was like, ‘I definitely wasn’t lookin’ at you.’”

Azzi fully laughed this time.

“It gets better,” DiJonai said, chuckling a little. “I tried to insist like, ‘Nah, you were definitely lookin’ at me.’ And she was like, ‘Promise you I wasn’t. You really not my type sweetheart.’ Then turns her head and went back to watching the run like I wasn’t standing there.”

Azzi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. “She’s so fucking rude.”

“Right?” DiJonai grinned. “But it was funny and after that, I kinda respected her ’cause she was for real not tryna get with me. Was barely interested in my presence, just wanted to watch basketball and that was rare in L.A.”

DiJonai leaned on her elbows as she continued. “I was in L.A. a lot around that time. Cam was always inviting me to runs, so I started showing up more, hanging out with them after. Paige was super closed off, but we kinda clicked eventually 'cause neither one of us was ever with the bullshit. No fake love.”

Azzi smiled again, her eyes drifting toward the staircase like she could sense Paige near it. “Yeah…that sounds like her.”

“Realest person I’ve ever met,” DiJonai said. Then she added, “She’s prolly the most stubborn too though, so…good luck with that.”

Paige walked in the kitchen, looking a little steadier than she had upstairs. Her hair was slightly damp from where she’d splashed water on her face, but her jaw wasn’t clenched anymore and her shoulders looked looser.

She looked down at Azzi, and said softly, “Talkin’ ’bout me?”

Azzi looked up at her and gave her a small smile before biting her bottom lip slightly to flirt a little. “Always.”

Paige didn’t say anything back just chuckled before walking past both of them and going into the living room. The fight was still on, probably replayed who knows how many times but Paige picked up the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring the protests around her. “Find somethin’ else.”

Azzi who was still sitting at the island smiled even though she couldn’t see Paige.

Paige sat in the corner of the couch, grabbing one of her throw blankets and pulling it over her lap.

The chaos of the house picked up again as they started to entertain themselves now that the fight was off. Her mom started telling a story about one of the AAU mom’s from Ryan’s team while Ryan and Drew immediately turned back on the PS5, Lauren yelling at them to grow up when they argued over who could use the custom controller. Paige sat through it in silence.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she walked in, she just scanned the room until her eyes landed on Paige in the corner of the couch and she made her way over, lowering herself next to her.

Paige adjusted the blanket to cover Azzi’s lap too before shifting to make space for her letting Azzi lean into her side. A loose braid fell across Azzi’s check and Paige reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against Azzi’s temple.

“You cold?” Paige asked softly when she noticed Azzi pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Azzi shook her head, smiling at her privately. “M’good baby.”

Her voice was quiet, but neither of them realized that the volume in the room dropped completely. Paige’s mom blinked at them mid-sentence, looking at them with a huge grin. Lauren elbowed Ryan, who looked over and finally noticed the moment too, while Drew stared openly.

None of her family had ever seen Paige like this. To them this was the same girl who could barely tolerate a group hug at family holidays. Now she was gently tucking a blanket over someone else, asking her if she was cold and inviting physical touch like she missed it.

Cam smirked from her chair. “Oh, so this is why you forgot about family dinner.”

Her mom, who was still grinning hugely, leaned over to whisper something to Lauren.

“You’re makin’ me look soft,” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Paige’s neck. “Mmm maybe a little, it’s okay though, right?”

Paige turned her head and when she did their faces were so close their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes held Azzi’s for longer than she intended to. A slight tension in each of their stomach’s as she whispered back, “Right.”

Azzi smiled at her answer as she shifted closer into Paige’s side, tuning back into the original conversation like nothing happened.

Even with this small moment with Azzi, since seeing herself on the TV Paige felt off. The noise around her: the laughter, the overlapping stories, the clatter of glasses seemed to blur in her ears. Not quite ringing but muffled, like she had water clogging her eardrum. Because of this her eyes and her mind drifted often, not fixated on anything in particular but certainly not present.

It happened a few times. When her mom asked Azzi about next season. When her dad laughed too loud at something Cam said. When Drew tried to show her something and she just blinked at him like he was speaking another language. Paige was sitting there but parts of her weren’t and Azzi noticed.

The first time she noticed that Paige zoned out, Azzi slid her hand under the blanket and gently tapped her knee twice. Paige blinked a few times, then glanced over, and Azzi gave her a slight smile, silently asking if she was ok. Paige didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened when she looked at Azzi.

When it happened again, Azzi picked up a strawberry off the table and held it in front of Paige’s mouth without saying anything. Paige stared at it for a second, before she parted her lips slowly bitting it from Azzi’s fingers, chewing absentmindedly while Azzi ate the rest of it.

At one point, Paige leaned her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Azzi let them stay shut for a while but eventually she nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “You fallin’ asleep on me big head?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t open her eyes, just gave a raspy “No.” But then she cracked a small smile just for Azzi.

Each time Paige drifted off into her own head, or just spaced out all together Azzi brought her back. Paige offering something small each time to show she appreciated it without saying it outright.

Eventually, DiJonai called out that dinner was ready and the group started moving toward the dining room. Paige stood up slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan and Azzi just laughed at her before waiting for her to walk to the table.

As everyone began picking seats around the table, Azzi started to slide into the open seat next to Cam, assuming Paige’s mom would want to sit next to her daughter but as she started to lower herself into the chair, she felt a soft grip wrap around her wrist.

Paige tugged her back toward the seat next to her. Azzi glanced at Paige’s mom who just gave her a small smile putting her hand on her shoulder before sitting in the seat next to Cam.

Dinner was filled with inside jokes from the kids and overlapping conversation. One of them tried to explain a TikTok trend to their dad who just kept saying it didn’t make any sense. Rae bragged about how everybody seemed to like the garlic bread this time and Cam tried to say they weren’t that good despite being on her second piece already. It was the perfect mix of warmth and noise.

Paige sat in the middle of it all again, quietly chewing on her food, smiling occasionally, but once again there were moments. Smakk fleeting moments where she just faded out. Her eyes would drift down to her plate and her jaw would tighten briefly before loosening again like she was forcing herself to relax.

Once again Azzi saw it each time. She’d nudge Paige’s foot with her own under the table. Whisper something dumb about how aggressive Cam was using her fork. Point out how Drew was eating like somebody was going to steal his plate. Each small effort drew the corners of Paige’s up, even if it was just for a second.

Azzi knew that seeing the fight was bothering her. Getting her stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be so she just wanted to do small things to keep her present.

But like all dads who can’t help but want to brag about their kids, her dad opened his mouth about the fight again. “You know,” he said mid-chew, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I still don’t get why you’re not more pumped about that fight kid. I mean, it was legendary. How are you not still riding that high? Figured we’d have to pull you out of the gym for dinner.”

Paige pushed a piece of a pepper around her plate with her fork before answering, “Told you. I don’t remember it.”

Her dad laughed, confused on why she kept saying this. “C’mon, how do you not remember a fight like that? You were insane out there. I’ve watched it more times than I can count and it’s only been two weeks.”

“I dissociated so bad I don’t remember it.”

There was a pause as everyone processed the words differently. Some thinking it was a good thing, others finally noticing how messed up she seems about the fight.

Her dad just grinned, eating a bite of his salmon before saying, “Man, that’s a different kind of locked in. That’s next-level. Mind of a killer.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi tried to step in, change the subject a little. “Okay, but can we please talk about how Cam is on her third piece of garlic bread tonight. I vividly remember her saying she’d never eat anything Rae touched.”

Everyone laughed. Well everyone except Paige, who didn’t even look up from her plate and her dad who was still curious about fighting.

Her dad leaned in, waving his fork around. “So what are you thinking for the next one? If it’s anything like that last fight, I gotta be there in person. Can’t afford to miss a show like that.”

Paige’s voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear over the chatter. “I’m takin’ a break.”

He blinked at her. “A break?”

She didn’t bother to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, frowning now.

“I mean,” Paige said slower, drier, “I’m takin’ a break. Not fighting.”

Her dad gave a quick scoff, like he was brushing it off. “Come on, kid. What? That was probably the best form you’ve been in since you started. You had that girl out of her league. You got—”

“I just need a break,” Paige cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

There was a brief silence until Ryan, her younger brother, piped up with a grin, trying to lighten the mood but not fully knowing any better with his comment. “She probably just wants more time up under Azzi.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it landed wrong, especially the way he said it.

Paige turned her head toward him and her expression was unreadable. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.”

The grin faded off his face, and he looked down at his plate.

Her dad sighed, clearly still not understanding. “Okay, so how long you thinkin’? Just a few weeks without hitting the gym? A month?”

“I don’t know dad.”

“Well, you better figure it out soon,” he said, voice picking up at the end of each word. “There’s already talk about someone throwing another challenge your way in a few months. Big up and comer. Could be a real headliner if everybody plays their cards right.”

“I’m reigning champ,” Paige replied, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll be fine saying no to one fight.”

“But you know how this works. Momentum matters. You slow down now, people start talking—”

Paige dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate and looked up. When she did her eyes looked tired but there was a sharpness to them. “I don’t need you to manage my career, I pay somebody for that.”

That shut him up and no one else spoke after that. The table felt still, suspended in a slight awkwardness for a second until Rickea at the far end changed the subject with a forced laugh and a comment about Rae.

Paige didn’t join in. She reached for her napkin, wiped her mouth before pushing her chair back and getting up from the table. She quietly walked towards the patio doors before slipping into the backyard.

Everyone kept eating like nothing happened, even though the energy had shifted just a little.

Azzi gave her a few minutes, enough time to breathe without an audience; gather herself if she needed to, before she quietly stood up and followed her outside.

When Azzi stepped out the night air was a little brisk so she wrapped her arms around herself before her eyes caught the light coming from the far end of the yard in the gym.

When she stepped inside, Paige’s scent filled the air naturally along with the smell of leather and lavender. Her eyes landed on the cage where she saw Paige lying flat on her back in the middle of it with her eyes fixed on the ceiling like she was trying to find answers in her ceiling.

Azzi walked into the cage quietly and eased herself down next to Paige not saying anything. She just laid there with her, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies naturally aligning like puzzle pieces.

After a moment, Paige reached over and pulled Azzi into her chest and Azzi adjusted herself to fit more comfortably, draping her arm across Paige’s waist and resting her head where she could hear the thump of her heart. It was loud, louder than usual. Like it had something to say to the rest of Paige’s body.

They laid like that, in the stillness of the gym, until Azzi spoke up. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours please.”

Paige exhaled, using her fingers to toying with one of Azzi’s braids, a grounding motion more for herself than anything else. “I just don’t feel fully here right now,” she admitted quietly. “I Can feel myself dissociating and I…I don’t like it. I’ve been fine for two weeks before today.”

“It didn’t start happening until he brought up the fight,” Azzi pointed out, watching her reaction closely.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I know.” There was a long pause before she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared past the ceiling. “My body still feels physically sick when I think about it. Like it happened today. Like I’m back there. I have to force myself not to think about it the second I wake up. Every day. Like I’m making a conscious decision to not let it spiral the moment I open my eyes.”

Azzi moved her hand up to the base of her neck, running her fingers through her hair again. “Ohh,” she said with a big grin, trying to lift the weight in Paige’s chest with a joke, “so that’s why you’ve been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, claiming you’re bored?”

Paige let out a laugh, the first real one of the night. “God forbid I need a little entertainment first thing.”

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes at the excuse before swinging her leg over to straddle Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s hips without thinking.

Azzi leaned down, her fingertips moving through Paige’s roots in a calming pattern. “The psychiatrist we found. She’s scheduled to come tomorrow, right?”

Paige nodded, as she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You still good with it?” Azzi asked softly.

“I mean…not excited,” Paige murmured, “but I know I need to talk to somebody. Can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

Azzi brushed a bit of hair away from her forehead with her thumb. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me all the time. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Paige said, opening her eyes to look down to meet Azzi’s. “It’s the only reason I’m not losing my mind right now.”

Azzi tilted her head up. “That and the fact I’m a phenomenal emotional support girlfriend.”

Paige smirked, squeezing her hips. “Mmm. Top tier, really.”

Azzi leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. “Can’t let you forget it.”

She lingered there, close enough for her breath to tickle Paige’s lips as she smiled at her. Then, gently, she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a soft kiss. It was filled with the natural affection that started to live in the space they’d carved for each other.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s sides, brushing her thumbs over her ribs as she melted into the softness of Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shifted down, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she caught Paige’s lower lip between hers. Paige’s spine pressed into the floor of the cage as Azzi pressed down further, rolling her hips once to test the waters. Then again when she heard a soft hum at the base of Paige’s throat.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s torso, wanting to be closer to her.

Then a knock on the gym door interrupted the moment.

Paige let her head fall back against the floor with a soft thud as she groaned in frustration.

Azzi immediately swatted her shoulder. “Why would you let your big ass head fall back like that?” She rolled off of Paige with a sigh when all she did was just grinned up at her.

Eventually Paige called out dryly, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and her dad poppied his head in, looking half-guilty. “We’re gonna head out, kid. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Paige gave him a thumbs up, not bothering to sit up. Her dad gave her a tight smile before pulling the door shut behind him.

The silence barely lasted a heartbeat before Paige was pulling Azzi back toward her, curling her hands around her waist again. Azzi leaned in close, letting their nose brush and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed before she whispered against her lips, “No.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted, “You’re no fun.”

Azzi grinned and gave her a quick peck. “Don’t pout. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

Paige grinned widely and she looked so cute it made it hard for Azzi not to give in to her when she said, “Why not now?”

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to answer when the gym doors slammed open with a loud bang.

“Yo stop fuckin!” Rickea’s yelled.

“We knew y’all were hidin’ in here somewhere,” Rae added as they all walked in ready to distract Paige in whatever way she needed.

DiJonai walked in last, shaking her head. “Look at this. Can’t leave y'all alone for five seconds.”

Azzi huffed, sitting up reluctantly mumbling, “That’s why not.”

Paige sighed, letting her head fall back against the mat again, mumbling to herself, “This is why I can't have nice things.”

Rickea squinted at the two of them from the edge of the cage. “Y’all makin’ out in here or having a kumbaya? I can’t tell.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes like she was trying to will the interruption away while Azzi stands up, brushing off her pants.

Cam chimed in not wanting to hear anything about what they were potentially doing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Paigey, you gotta teach Rae how to throw a punch.”

“No,” Paige said flatly without opening her eyes.

That got the whole group laughing.

“Wait, seriously though, she doesn’t know how to throw one.”

Paige finally cracked her eye’s open, locking eyes with Rae. “You deadass?”

“Unfortunately,” Rae admitted with a small shrug, clearly not proud of it.

Paige exhaled like it physically pained her to get up from where she was. Still she sat up slowly, rolling her neck before stepping out of the cage. “Grab wrap and some gloves,” she mumbled as she made her way toward a bench.

Rickea leaned over to Rae, whispering. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid or Azzi gon’ get you.”

Rae shoved her lightly, laughing under her breath as she walked toward the wall Paige pointed to.

The second Paige sat down at the bench, Azzi followed her and slid in behind her, draping her arms around Paige’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. The move seemed casual, but there was a slight deliberate possession in the decision.

Paige tilted her head back to glance at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s lips brushed her ear as she whispered, “Don’t be all touchy.”

Rae walked up holding the wrap and gloves in her hands as she plopped down cross-legged in front of Paige before she could respond. Paige just chuckled at Azzi’s whispered warning.

Without pulling away from the way Azzi was draped over her shoulders and trailing her nails across her neck Paige reached out and grabbed one of Rae’s hands as she started to work the wrap around her knuckles.

“So wait,” Cam said, as she leaned against the wall, “how you a whole D1 athlete and don’t know how to throw a punch Rae?”

“I play basketball, not Mortal Kombat,” Rae answered like it was a stupid question.

Rickea snorted. “Girl, with how you foul, I just assumed you’d be good at it.”

“See, this is why I don’t play defense,” Rae mumbled under her breath.

As Paige silently focused on wrapping Rae’s fingers, Azzi stayed behind her, practically molded to her back. Her hands moved down to casually slide beneath Paige’s sweatshirt, her nails scratching softly at the skin near her waist.

Paige’s movements stuttered briefly, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Azzi leaned in to whisper, “Just making sure you don’t forget I’m here.”

“You’re literally in my spine,” Paige muttered.

“Exactly,” Azzi grinned.

DiJonai walked up, holding up her wrapped hands for Paige to inspect, having learned to do it herself during Paige’s extended stay in Dallas. Paige glanced at them, gave her a quick nod, and DiJonai went back to her corner to put some gloves on.

Paige tightened the wrap as she worked toward Rae’s wrist. Azzi shifted behind her, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder again and starting to sway them both slightly like she was slow dancing in place.

“Ma’am,” Paige said under her breath, lips twitching to hide her smile. “Please.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Azzi said, her voice quiet for only Paige to hear as she nestled even closer into her neck. “Just supportin’ my girlfriend as she gives out free boxing lessons to other women.”

Paige glanced back at her with a faint grin. “She’s your teammate.”

Azzi only responded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Paige shook her head, finishing the last loop of the wrap around Rae’s hand. “Flex your fingers.”

Rae did as she was told, curling her fingers a few times and Paige gave a nod, jerking her chin toward the light bag.

Rae stood up, cracking her knuckles like she knew what she was doing. “Try not to judge me too hard,” she mumbled as she walked off.

Paige pushed off her knees, about to follow her, but Azzi’s grip around her waist stayed tight, holding her in place. Paige paused, chuckling as she looked over her shoulder. “Wassup, mama?”

Azzi pouted, putting her plump lips on display, as she furrowed her eyebrows like she wasn’t ready to share. Paige chuckled again before angling herself to press a kiss to her lips. Letting it linger for a few seconds.

From the cage, Cam’s exaggerated gagging cut through the moment. “Okay! We get it! Y’all like each other or whatever,” she yelled. “Go touch gloves or touch foreheads just stop doing it in front of me!”

Paige pulled back with a lopsided grin, whispering against Azzi’s lips, “You’n gotta be jealous.”

“I’m not,” Azzi whispered even though she was still holding her waist like she was indeed very jealous.

“Right.” Paige kissed her one more time before standing up and walking over to where Rae stood by the bag.

Rae stood in front of the light bag and her stance was uncertain, fists raised like she’d only ever watched boxing on TV.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Paige said, tapping Rae’s ankle with her foot to guide it. “You’re gonna wanna keep one slightly back so you can pivot. Don’t be flat-footed or it’ll take you too long to move.”

Rae adjusted before glancing over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Better. Keep your chin tucked and your hands up. Higher.” She stepped closer and lifted Rae’s left wrist. “You’re not waving at nobody. Guard your face.”

She said you look friendly as hell!” Rickea laughed from the bench, stretching her legs out.

“I am friendly,” Rae muttered.

“Yeah, and that’s how you get fucked up,” Paige said. She demonstrated a jab in the air. “Lead with your left then come across with your right.”

Rae attempted to mimic what Paige did. Her form was a little stiff, but passable.

“Not terrible,” Paige said. “Loosen up though. You throwing like you're worried about breaking a nail.”

“Because I am!” Rae shot back, shaking her hand out with a grin.

“Girl,” DiJonai said, as she practiced slow combos against her own bag.

Rae tried again and the second time she was a little more relaxed. Paige stepped in behind her, using her hands to adjust Rae’s shoulders and guiding her hip through the rotation of a punch.

From the bench Azzi narrowed her eyes. She reached next to her on the bench and grabbed a spare wrap, and threw it at Paige. It thumped against her back.

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, looking a little dryly at Paige. “You tryna spar or flirt?”

“I’m teaching.”

“You’re teaching real hands-on.”

Paige shook her head before taking a step back.

Rickea snorted. “She got real professional real quick, huh?”

Paige mumbled something under her breath, before turning back towards Rae. “Again. This time, pivot on that back foot. Don’t muscle it, snap it.”

Rae’s next punch landed with a satisfying pop that made Paige miss the sound. Rae blinked in surprise, glancing back at Paige for approval.

“There you go.” Paige gave a short nod. “Do that like ten more times. Then switch sides. Reset your stance each time.”

Rae nodded and turned back to the bag, a little more confident now and Paige backed away, strolling back toward the bench. Azzi was still sitting where Paige left her and she had one hand propping up her chin, watching with an unreadable expression until Paige got closer.

Then Azzi tilted her head up, looking up at her through her lashes. Lashes Paige knew damn well she did not need to bat like that causing her to stop in her tracks.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, tightening her jaw as she stared down at her.

Azzi smirked on purpose. “Stop what?”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You know what.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, not moving from her position. “Mmm, no I think you gotta be a little more specific, baby.”

Paige blinked at her, visibly trying to keep her expression neutral, but Azzi just tilted her head a little more to the side, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You just gon’ stand there lookin’ all tense?” Azzi asked softly. “Or you wanna admit I’m in your head a little?”

Paige huffed a laugh through her nose, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Azzi whispered, dropping her gaze to Paige’s mouth before flicking back up. “But I’m not wrong.”

Paige’s hand lifted without thinking, her fingers cradling Azzi’s jaw as her thumb brushed across her cheek, then softly over her bottom lip. The way she was touching her was gentle. Completely contrasting the way Paige was looking at her.

Azzi leaned into it, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You wanna kiss me again, or just admire the view?”

“Trying not to actually,” Paige admitted under her breath.

Azzi held back a grin and said something too low for Paige to catch.

“What?” Paige leaned down instinctively to hear.

Azzi’s smile grew, locking her eyes on hers as she made her voice a little lower and whispered, “I said...you’re going to make me forget my name if you keep lookin’ at me like that, daddy.”

Paige froze and a visible ripple of tension moved through her whole body as her jaw clenched harder this time. She didn’t even look away from Azzi as she said flatly, “I need y’all to come back tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words, then a chorus of groans erupted across the gym.

“We just started!”

“Nah, you serious?”

“Woww, that’s crazy,” Cam added, dramatically.

Still in the midst of complaining, the rest of them were moving way too slow and dragging their feet. So Paige just muttered “Whatever. Y’all can stay,” as Azzi laced her fingers through hers and tugged her gently toward the house.

DiJonai yells out after them, “Please remember I’m staying in the guest room!” Subtly telling them to not be too loud as everyone went back to what they were doing, deciding not to leave.

[plutosunshine]

What Do You Need to Leave Behind? South Node in Houses

The South Node represents habits, traits, and experiences you’ve already mastered – whether that’s from past lives, early life, or just deeply ingrained patterns. It’s like your cosmic comfort zone, the stuff you’re so good at that it’s almost second nature. But it’s also the stuff that can hold you back if you cling to it instead of moving toward your North Node – your soul’s growth path in this lifetime.

South Node in the 1st house

Alright, so if your South Node is in the 1st house, it’s basically telling you that you’ve been the main character in your past lives – like, the star of your own movie. You were all about self-reliance, independence, doing things your way, and maybe being a bit... self-absorbed. Think of it like you were the lead singer of a one-person band.

But now? The universe is like, “Okay, cool, we get it – you’re great at doing you. But it’s time to let someone else hold the mic.” The North Node in the 7th House is where you’re headed, and that’s all about partnerships, relationships, and learning to dance to someone else’s rhythm without stepping on their toes.

So what do you need to leave behind? That “me first” mentality. The lone wolf routine. The urge to go solo when things get complicated. You’re not here to be the star of the show anymore – you’re here to learn how to share the stage, harmonize, and sometimes even be the supporting act. And yeah, it might feel weird at first, like wearing someone else’s shoes. But it’s not about losing yourself – it’s about discovering how much more powerful you can be when you’re not doing everything alone.

South Node in the 2nd house

If your South Node is in the 2nd house, you’ve been the collector, the builder, the hoarder of stuff – and not just material stuff, but values, habits, comfort zones. You were all about securing the bag, holding onto what’s yours, and feeling safe through stability and possessions. Think of it like being the dragon sitting on a mountain of gold, guarding your stash like, “Mine. All mine.”

But now, with your North Node in the 8th House, the universe is like, “Alright, Smaug, time to let go of that gold and dive into the deep, murky waters of intimacy, transformation, and shared resources.” Basically, it’s not about what you own anymore – it’s about what you’re willing to share, merge, and let go of. Scary? Yeah. Necessary? Also yeah.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to clutch onto stuff, money, comfort, and old values like they’re life rafts. The “I have to do it all myself” mentality. It’s time to loosen your grip and trust that true security isn’t about what’s in your bank account – it’s about being able to face the unknown, connect deeply, and transform through intense experiences.

South Node in the 3rd house

If your South Node is in the 3rd house, you were the communicator, the curious cat, the info junkie in past lives – or even earlier in this one. You were all about collecting facts, chatting it up, staying in the know, and keeping things light and local. Basically, you were the person who knew everyone’s business and had a hot take on everything. Gossip queen vibes, but like, in a scholarly way.

Now, with the North Node in the 9th House, the universe is like, “Cool, you know a lot of stuff, but what do you actually believe in?” It’s time to zoom out, go big picture, and step into deeper, more expansive territory – think philosophy, spirituality, higher learning, and straight-up life purpose. Less small talk, more soul talk.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The constant chatter, the endless trivia, the tendency to stay in your immediate environment instead of exploring the big, wide world. You’ve mastered the art of the quick convo – now it’s time to dive into something more profound, even if it means leaving behind what’s familiar.

South Node in the 4th house

If your South Node is in the 4th house, you were the homebody, the nurturer, the one keeping the family legacy intact – maybe even the one clinging to the past like it’s a cozy old blanket with a few too many holes in it. You were all about emotional security, family roots, and staying where it’s safe and familiar. Think of it like being the ultimate couch potato in the house of comfort.

But now, with your North Node in the 10th House, the universe is like, “Alright, enough with the Netflix and nostalgia – it’s time to get out there and make a name for yourself.” This lifetime is about stepping out of the family nest, taking on some big goals, and claiming your place in the world. It’s less about where you came from and more about what you’re building out there in the spotlight.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The urge to hide away, stay small, and keep all your focus on your inner world or family drama. The past was all about comfort – now it’s about courage. It’s not that you’re abandoning your roots; you’re just learning to stand tall and make your own mark.

South Node in the 5th house

If your South Node is in the 5th house, you were the life of the party, the artist, the drama queen, the romantic – basically, the one who was all about self-expression, fun, and chasing that main character energy. You were the star of your own soap opera, all passion and flair, soaking up the spotlight like a cat in a sunbeam.

But now, with your North Node in the 11th House, the universe is like, “Okay, superstar, time to get off the stage and join the crowd.” This life isn’t about your personal spotlight – it’s about the bigger picture, the collective, the squad. Less “Look at me!” and more “How can we make a difference together?” It’s about friendships, groups, causes, and the wider community.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need for constant validation, the desire to always be the center of attention, and the tendency to prioritize personal pleasure over the greater good. You’re moving from personal passion projects to collaborating on something that benefits more than just you. It’s not about losing your shine – it’s about sharing it and making it count.

South Node in the 6th house

If your South Node is in the 6th house, you were the worker bee, the perfectionist, the one who always had a to-do list a mile long. You were all about routines, responsibilities, and getting stuff done – maybe to the point of overworking yourself or getting caught up in the little details. Basically, you were the person who couldn’t relax until everything was perfectly organized, labeled, and color-coded.

But now, with your North Node in the 12th House, the universe is like, “Hey, chill out. It’s time to let go, tune in, and vibe with the universe.” This life isn’t about micromanaging every detail – it’s about surrender, spirituality, and letting your intuition take the wheel. It’s less about the daily grind and more about the big, cosmic picture.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to control every little thing, the obsession with productivity, the constant hustle. You’re moving from spreadsheets to soul work, from checklists to dreams, from doing to being. It’s not about being lazy – it’s about learning to trust that there’s more to life than just ticking boxes.

South Node in the 7th house

If your South Node is in the 7th house, you were the relationship guru in past lives – the plus-one, the partner, the one who always had someone else to lean on or take care of. You were all about connection, compromise, and keeping the peace, sometimes to the point of losing yourself in the process. Basically, you were the person who’d say, “Whatever you want, babe,” even if it meant putting your own needs on the back burner.

But now, with your North Node in the 1st House, the universe is like, “Hey, it’s time to focus on YOU.” This lifetime isn’t about being someone’s sidekick or the ultimate team player – it’s about stepping into your own power, owning your individuality, and figuring out who you are without anyone else’s input. Less “we” and more “me,” but not in a selfish way – in a self-discovery way.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The habit of always putting others first, people-pleasing, and relying on relationships to define you. You’re moving from partnership mode to solo mission – from blending in to standing out. It’s not about cutting people off; it’s about learning to stand strong on your own two feet.

South Node in the 8th house

If your South Node is in the 8th house, you were the deep diver, the shadow worker, the intense, mysterious one. You were all about merging with others, dealing with heavy stuff like secrets, power dynamics, and deep emotional bonds – maybe to the point of being a little too entangled in other people’s drama. Think of it like being the detective in everyone’s business, always searching for the hidden motives.

But now, with your North Node in the 2nd House, the universe is like, “Hey, enough with the emotional rollercoaster – it’s time to build something solid for yourself.” This life is about grounding, stability, and learning to rely on your own resources rather than getting caught up in everyone else’s chaos. It’s less about intense, transformative connections and more about simple pleasures, self-worth, and making your own money.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The habit of getting too wrapped up in other people’s baggage, the obsession with digging for hidden truths, the tendency to rely on shared resources or emotional intensity to feel alive. You’re moving from deep waters to solid ground – from emotional enmeshment to self-reliance.

South Node in the 9th house

If your South Node is in the 9th house, you were the philosopher, the wanderer, the big-picture thinker – basically, the one who was all about seeking truth, exploring far and wide, and preaching your beliefs like you had all the answers. You were the traveler, the guru, the person with a passport full of stamps and a head full of grand ideas.

But now, with your North Node in the 3rd House, the universe is like, “Alright, professor, it’s time to bring it back down to earth.” This life isn’t about the epic quest for meaning – it’s about the everyday stuff. It’s less about shouting your truth from a mountaintop and more about having real conversations, listening to others, and staying connected to your local world. It’s about taking all those big ideas and breaking them down into bite-sized, relatable pieces.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The need to always be the teacher, the tendency to get lost in big theories while missing what’s right in front of you, and the habit of looking for answers somewhere far away instead of right here, right now. You’re moving from grand adventures to daily interactions – from searching for truth to sharing what you know in a way that people can actually use.

South Node in the 10th house

If your South Node is in the 10th house, you were the boss, the achiever, the one with the five-year plan and a LinkedIn profile that probably looked like a novel. You were all about career, status, reputation – basically, climbing the ladder, getting the gold star, and being seen as someone Important with a capital “I.” Think of it like you were the CEO of your past life, but maybe at the expense of your inner life.

But now, with your North Node in the 4th House, the universe is like, “Hey, it’s time to hang up the power suit and come home.” This life isn’t about external success – it’s about internal fulfillment, family roots, emotional security, and building a foundation that actually feels like you. It’s less about public recognition and more about personal connection.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The obsession with climbing the social ladder, the need to prove yourself through external achievements, and the tendency to prioritize work over real, heartfelt connections. You’re moving from boardrooms to living rooms – from applause from the crowd to quiet moments with people who truly know you.

South Node in the 11th house

If your South Node is in the 11th house, you were the social butterfly, the group connector, the one who was all about the collective – the friend who knew everyone, the activist, the team player. You were all about big networks, big ideas, and big visions for the future. Think of it like you were the president of every club, rallying people around a cause, but maybe forgetting about your own personal passions along the way.

Now, with your North Node in the 5th House, the universe is like, “Okay, cool – you know how to be a part of the group. Now it’s time to step into the spotlight and do your own thing.” This life isn’t about blending in with the crowd – it’s about standing out, expressing your unique creativity, and embracing a little (or a lot) of main character energy. It’s about going from “We” to “Me” – not in a selfish way, but in a self-actualizing way.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The tendency to stay detached, to focus on the greater good while ignoring your own heart, and the habit of putting the group’s goals above your own desires. You’re moving from the hive mind to the stage – from being one of many to being unapologetically, creatively, and vibrantly yourself.

South Node in the 12th house

If your South Node is in the 12th house, you were the mystic, the recluse, the dreamer – basically, the one who lived in another dimension, always lost in the spiritual or subconscious realms. You were all about solitude, surrender, and escaping reality – maybe even a little too good at disappearing into your own world. Think of it like you were the monk on the mountain, meditating for days, but not exactly grounded in the everyday stuff.

Now, with your North Node in the 6th House, the universe is like, “Hey, time to come back down to earth and get your hands dirty.” This life isn’t about floating away into the ether – it’s about showing up, building healthy routines, taking care of your body, and being of service in a practical, grounded way. It’s less about transcending reality and more about mastering the art of everyday life.

So, what do you need to leave behind? The tendency to withdraw, to avoid responsibilities, to get lost in the dreamworld instead of dealing with the here and now. You’re moving from cosmic clouds to daily checklists – from “It’s all a dream” to “How can I actually make this work in real life?”

[lacobus]

nsfw ; mark & his favorite cam streamer

tags: reader is afab but not really explicitly gendered, kind of exposition heavy, reader is a cam girl/cam boy, light discussion of porn, and masturbation

it's not really surprising mark jerks off. he's just a person, not a paragon of saintly attitude and disposition.

he can be mean, he can be pretty disgusting sometimes, it's what most people are occasionally. in the normal ways— like forgetting their manners from time to time or cracking an insensitive joke.

he's not innocent, not really anyway. he knows his way around the internet. knows which accounts on twitter to look at. its all part of the routine he's developed over the influx of hormones simmering within himself.

mark knows what he likes and what he absolutely can't stand. he always skips videos with excessive moaning, and refuses to watch hardcore kink videos because he's not really ready or interested.

he skims through couple videos sometimes and gets a little miffed at the fact that he's getting off to kissing and missionary. other times he just browses. it feels more like a chore than an outlet. he's probably gone miles and miles by just clicking and browsing. scrolling, if he's on his phone.

eventually he comes to find cam sites— they're pretty straightforward and in-your-face generally speaking. he's not even that far from the banner and almost a dozen of people are scantily clad or naked.

your video is somewhere down the line. you're not really in lingerie, just in an oversized t-shirt and panties. they hug your figure nicely, and you're just groping yourself.

mark is early, he learns, and you usually like to stretch out the teasing foreplay part of your streams. taking your sweet time to remove your shirt, and either peel or kick off your panties. moving slow like molasses.

part of what mark enjoys seeing in porn is probably authenticity. there's always a form of vunerability in porn. in the way people grind and moan and keen. he likes to see someone who's honestly enjoying themselves and you do exactly just that.

flick your nipples and laugh, muttering that it doesn't really do anything for you, but that it probably turns someone on. it's charming, and incredibly attractive in a way mark isn't very familiar with.

he's half hard when you finally decide to use your toy— tentatively, just one. set aside usually, just within reach so when you decide you're sick of preening for the camera you can finally get off.

the show isn't fancy, but mark cums anyway. he's satisfied when he does. you're still writhing and mewling when he tucks himself back into his boxers.

he likes things simple, that way they're easy to understand. mark commits your username to memory and drops by whenever he feels like it.

mark learns that you like to interact with your chat sometimes. a swarming insatiable mess of horny idiots all vying for your attention no matter how short it might be.

he usually forgets about the chatter. he isn't paying attention to random people comment about how pretty your ass is or how they want you to stick your tongue out when you cum, all he focuses on is fucking his fist to the rhythm of your bucking hips and cumming in sync.

it usually goes that way, until he's watching you entertain questions from viewers. you get a few strange ones that you don't really pay mind to, but someone starts the conversation of people you'd fuck.

of course celebrities make the list, but mark doesn't expect the conversation to talk about heroes.

"immortal?" you laugh, a little out of breath as you slowly work your way up and down a dildo. "too old, and he's not cute!"

mark grimaces, the mental image isn't cute either. a selfish and sick part of him refuses to share, but he doubts immortal even knows how to look up pornsites. he probably pages through magazines or something.

you go quiet for a bit and squint at the screen, "of course! why wouldn't i? invincible is ripped like hell."

mark's face grows hot, incredibly flattered. he gets hard when you spout out little comments about how you'd lick his neck and let him fuck your throat sore.

mark's liking for you had been mostly out of how pretty you are and how easy it is to watch you come apart. but now he knows how big of a fan you are for invincible, and he's never gonna pass up on watching you ever.

[bloomzone]

STUDY SYSTEM : DAILY STUDY ROUTINE ( EXAM EDITION)

hii looves so this blog is all abt how to optimizing your day for peak academic performance. This four-part daily system is the exact routine used during exam season especially finals to consistently achieve top grades with minimal stress. While the routine may appear complex at first glance it is built upon simple, intuitive principles rooted in human biology and psychology. It is not only practical but highly effective when followed consistently. You’ll learn to structure your day around ur natural energy cycles, use tools to boost focus, and incorporate essential periods of rest and release to maintain motivation and productivity.

SECTION 1: UNDERSTANDING UR ENERGY RHYTHM

The routine is built around the concept of the circadian rhythm, your body’s natural energy cycle throughout the day. On a standard day for example :

Energy peaks shortly after waking typically around 6:00 AM.

Energy dips mid-afternoon often around 2:30 or 3:00 PM.

A secondary energy peak occurs in the evening approximately around 7:00 PM.

Energy tapers off as bedtime approaches.

This predictable fluctuation is key to optimizing your study schedule. The two energy peaks will be your core study sessions, while the dip will be used as a rest period, and the late-night wind-down becomes your release period or bedtime .

SECTION 2: THE MORNING STUDY SESSION (STUDY SESSION #1)

◜⁠✧ Start Within One Hour of Waking Up

Your goal is to begin studying as soon as possible after waking, ideally within the first hour. Use the high energy of the morning to tackle your most challenging subjects.do ur morning routine quick as possible don't do intense workout or stuff like this cuz u will waste ur energy so always have a specific morning routine for days like these ! And u can workout go to the gym or whatever at the rest period !

Pre-Study Essentials:

1. Set Your Daily Goals (5 minutes)

Before starting, sit with a notebook or your computer and write down what you intend to accomplish. Be specific. Define exact tasks e.g. which past papers you’ll solve, which topics to review so u will be more organized during the day

2. Activate Focus with Three Optional Tools:

Caffeine — coffee, yerba mate, or tea to boost dopamine and adrenaline.

Cold Showers — a physiological wake-up that increases alertness (personally I don't do that lmao but if u can that's good !)

Focus Warm-up (1–2 minutes) — pick a point in your environment and concentrate on it intensely. This warms up your cognitive focus system before you start.

◜⁠✧Deep Work Sprint Format

Commit to a 2–4 hour study block.

Use timed work intervals: e.g., 25–30 minutes of focused work followed by 5-minute breaks.

Use a visual timer to create urgency and focus. This serves as a “deadline generator,” helping you push harder and maintain hope by offering visible progress.

─ ⊹key principle: work Like a warrior

Study in focused sprints. The more intense your focus, the less time you’ll need to study. The idea is depth over duration not 12 hours of mediocre attention, but 2–4 hours of deep concentration.

SECTION 3: MIDDAY REST PERIOD

Timing: After First Study Block Ends (~Early Afternoon)

At this point in the day, your energy naturally dips. It’s essential to give yourself permission to rest. This period is not for distractions like Netflix, YouTube, or social media.

◜⁠✧ Approved Activities:

Exercise or light sports

Socializing with friends/family

Taking a walk, especially outdoors

Napping (ideal: 20 minutes)

The goal here is active recovery choose activities that contrast focused work. Avoid anything with dopamine stimulation that mimics your “vices” or release behaviors.so this break allows your mind to reset, preventing burnout and increasing productivity in the next session.

SECTION 4: EVENING STUDY SESSION (STUDY SESSION #2)

Timing: During the Second Energy Peak (~6:00–8:00 PM)

Return for your second battle. This session is similar in structure to the morning study session, but with a few differences:

◜⁠✧ Change Your Environment:

Consider studying in a different location e.g., library, a new room, or another productive setting. (Personally I move from my desk to the guest room cuz it's far from family chaotic activities ifykyk )

This provides novelty and reduces boredom, which helps counteract distractions that are more likely to arise in the evening.

◜⁠✧ Eliminate Distractions:

If possible, leave your phone behind take that shit in another room

Create a space where your brain associates the environment with productivity.

◜⁠✧ Study Format:

Continue using timed sprints.

Session length: 2 to 3 hours, depending on your focus reserves.

The goal is to extract one final productive effort from your remaining focus reserves for the day.

SECTION 5: NIGHTLY RELEASE PERIOD

Timing: 1–2 Hours Before Bed

This period is crucial and often overlooked. It functions as your psychological release valve a scheduled time for indulging in your “vices” or desires.

◜⁠✧ why it matter

Without a controlled release period, distractions tend to creep in throughout the day. When you tell yourself you’ll “resist” TikTok or YouTube for three straight weeks during exams, it almost always backfires. You end up scattering distractions across the day, killing momentum and u will feel like shit

◜⁠✧ so solution:

Contain those activities to this specific window. Give yourself full permission to indulge whether it's gaming, scrolling, or Netflix. The only rule: Only do it at night.

◜⁠✧ psychological benefit:

You’ll find it easier to say “no” to distractions earlier in the day when you know you can give in later. It reduces the mental burden of constant suppression.

Caution:

This is not a prescription to develop new addictions or deepen existing ones. If you don’t feel the need for this release, skip it . But if you’re honest with yourself about your impulses, this structure helps you keep them in check.

◜⁠✧ ADAPTATION AND FLEXIBILITY

✧ Everyone has a unique biology. Some wake up at 5:00 AM, others at noon.

✧ Adjust the energy curve and study blocks to match your personal circadian rhythm.

✧ This is a template, not a strict prescription. Principles stay constant, execution varies.

KEY TAKEAWAYS:

🗝️ Two deep-focus sessions aligned with your body’s energy peaks yield greater results than dragging your mind across a 12-hour marathon.

🗝️ Midday rest and nightly release are components of a sustainable routine.

🗝️ Use tools like caffeine, timers, environment changes, and goal setting to maintain momentum and focus.

🗝️ Structure breeds freedom. When your day is mapped with intention, your brain is free to focus trust me with this one

✧ This daily routine is not about rigid hours or perfection. It’s about aligning your habits with your biology and respecting your mental bandwidth. When implemented consistently, this system transforms exam season from a stressful grind into an enjoyable and productive challenge.Now take what you've learned and design your daily routine with intention ✧

@bloomzone

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Still Yours

Warnings: angst, bit of unwanted attention from someone that isn't Joel, slight violence/aggressive behaviour from Joel (pretty tame for him tbh)

***

You hadn’t seen Joel much since he ended things.

No big scene. No screaming. Just one night, out of nowhere, he stood in your doorway and said it was over. Said he “couldn’t do this anymore.” That he “wasn’t good at this,” whatever this was. Then he walked away.

You didn’t chase him. You wanted to, but something in his eyes told you he wouldn’t listen. He had made up his mind. Even if his mind was telling him things that weren't true.

And Jackson moved on, like it always did.

You buried yourself in routines, kept your head down, learned to stop looking for him in every crowd. That was the hardest part. Seeing him everywhere. A small part of you actually considered leaving. Just to make it easier.

But tonight, there was no avoiding the crowds.

The town had organized some sort of gathering at the lodge—music, drinks, dancing. One of those efforts to feel normal in a world that rarely allowed it. You told yourself you’d only stay for a bit, just long enough to be polite.

You were halfway through your second drink, lingering near the bar, when a voice leaned in too close.

“Didn’t expect someone like you to be alone,” the stranger said, breath hot and unwelcome at your neck. He wasn’t from Jackson—not really. Newer face, someone who had only been around a few weeks. Tall, smug, confident in a way only someone untested could be.

You stepped away from the bar, trying to shrug him off. “Not interested.”

He laughed. “C’mon. Don’t have to be so cold about it.”

His hand caught your arm, not hard, but possessive. Too familiar.

“Let go of me,” you said, louder now.

But he didn’t.

He leaned in closer instead, eyes flicking to your chest, voice dropping with a sleazy grin. “What, your boyfriend gonna stop me? You don’t got one anymore, right?”

You stiffened.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift in the air. The sudden quiet around you, like the room itself had stopped breathing.

Then a rough hand ripped the man off of you with such force he stumbled into a table behind him, nearly knocking over a tray of glasses.

Joel stood there, jaw tight, eyes murderous. His chest heaved once, then stilled.

“If you ever touch her again,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I will break every fuckin’ finger on that hand.”

The man froze, stunned.

Joel took a step closer, slow, deliberate. “You understand me?”

The guy held up both hands like some cheap surrender, stammering. “Alright, alright. Jesus.”

“Go,” Joel growled.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted, brushing past chairs and disappearing through the back door like his life depended on it.

The room slowly returned to its rhythm, but now with that kind of electric buzz that comes after a near-fight. Eyes watched Joel. Watched you.

Joel turned toward you, his expression unreadable now.

“You alright?” he asked.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “You didn’t have to—”

“He touched you.” His voice broke a little on it, barely.

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him, really looked, and saw it there—beneath the fury and roughness. Regret. Want. Fear.

He ran a hand over his beard, shaking his head. “I tried to stay away. Thought it’d be better for you. Safer.”

“Was it?” you asked, voice quiet.

Joel looked at you like the question wounded him. “No.”

Your throat tightened.

“I ain’t askin’ for you to take me back,” he said, stepping closer, voice low so only you could hear. “But if someone ever lays a hand on you again, I won’t just threaten them next time.”

You looked up at him, blinking hard. “Joel—”

“I ain’t stopped feelin’ it,” he cut in, voice rough now. “The way I felt for you… it scared the hell outta me. Still does.”

Your breath caught.

He hesitated. “But if you’d let me try again…”

You looked at him—at the pain in his eyes, the anger, the longing. At the man who had walked away from you and still couldn’t bear the thought of someone else touching you.

Your voice was soft. “You gonna run again next time you get scared?”

Joel shook his head once. “Not if you let me stay.”

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter four

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: jack’s feelings for you grew in the dusk. then, a whispered incident shatters the stillness, and he realizes too late that something’s already broken.

⤿ warning(s): none

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.8k

Jack first saw you exactly four years ago during shift‑change—him coming in for the ER night grind, you stalking out after twelve hours in Surgical with three lunch boxes stacked like ammo. Two interns are nipping at each other’s heels until you raise a single finger; the quarrel dies in mid‑air. He watches, amused, then watches again a few minutes later when those same interns turn up in the break room wolfing down a mouthful of poppy-seed muffins that smell like pure comfort.

“Who baked that?” he asks.

They point after you with crumbs on their cheeks and fingers: a hard‑headed nurse from Surgical.

He notices you in passing—but the meeting comes much later, high above the noise.

It is barely dawn, once again shift‑change o’clock. As usual, he takes the stairs to the roof for a hit of cold air before plunging into his ER night. You are already there, arms folded on the railing, watching the river steal the first light. He almost turns back, but you don’t glance over, and the quiet feels too good to waste. So he stands a dozen paces away, breathing steam into the sky. Neither of you speaks. Five minutes later the freight elevator clangs below and you disappear down the stairwell, a ghost in gray.

That becomes routine: his night beginning where your day ends, both of you claiming the same ten minutes of sky. At first it is silence—two strangers dividing the dawn. Then a nod. Then, on a morning whipped by sleet, you mutter, “Coffee? Again?” Jack snorts, raises his styrofoam cup, and admits it is sludge. You offer no sympathy, only a sideways grin that feels like permission.

Conversations creep in. You talk about nieces who mail you science‑fair photos, about Jack’s improbable knack for fixing malfunctioning IV pumps, about cilantro storage and the best pierogi on the South Side. He learns you feed residents and med students like stray cats. You learn his leg squeaks in the rain and he deals with it by over‑tightening the socket and cursing under his breath. That way, the roof becomes neutral ground, a borderland between the hospital’s fluorescent chaos and the city’s slow river.

Jack falls for you in increments—not all at once, not with fire, but in the way late sun warms cold bones.

The first time is maybe a dry joke you lob over your shoulder in passing. The second, the way your eyes soften when a helicopter banks in low, shadows flashing across your face as you pause mid-chat. And after that, it’s everything.

He hasn’t let himself feel something like this in a long time. Not since… and even that name, even the memory, doesn’t ache like it used to—but it has left behind a hollowed-out space where nothing has taken root since. There have been flings, sure. Company here and there, something easy and understood, but nothing that lasts beyond the night or the need. He hasn’t wanted anything to last.

Until you, that is.

And so, he begins hinting—carefully. A stupid pun scrawled in the margin of a half-finished sudoku you’ve been grumbling over all day. A couple of lumpia he manages to snag—somehow, without losing a limb—from Princess and Perlah’s fiercely guarded monthly stash. A quiet confession, offered one chilly morning, that sunrise feels less sharp with company. Each gesture small, deliberate, afraid that pressing too hard might crack the quiet, steady rhythm you both come to rely on.

Because the roof has become necessary.

And still, he can’t lie to himself: the feeling scares him. The possibility of caring again, of wanting something that can’t be controlled or triaged or explained—it unmoors him a little. But it also makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t let himself feel in years. You make the hours between dusk and dawn feel less like a stretch of survival and more like something to look forward to.

And that… that is terrifying. But it is also good. Very good.

Then, four dusks in a row, you don’t show.

On the eve of the fifth night, he types a message he doesn’t plan to send: Haven’t seen you on the roof. Everything okay?

Ten minutes tick by before your reply arrives: I’m alright—just busy. See you tomorrow?

Something is off, and it isn’t the hour. He fills his thermos anyway and snags a terrible slice of cafeteria pound cake—knowing you’ll roast him for it if you ever find out—and promises himself that if dawn doesn’t bring answers, he’ll start asking better questions.

For now, he simply shoots back: Works for me. Sunrise tea?

And you, a simple but earnest confirmation: Sunrise tea.

Jack can be reckless, but war zones and widowhood have taught him this: when the strongest person in the room starts acting skittish and absent, you step closer and keep watch—especially if the room is a rooftop at sunrise, and the person is the nurse who once turns five minutes of shared silence into the best part of his day.

. . .

He arrives at the hospital, stepping through the double doors with his usual resolute gait, one hand hooked casually under the strap of his tactical backpack. His expression is calm, composed, shaded by that habitual, guarded optimism he wears for years.

But something is off.

It’s not loud. In fact, that’s what makes it strange. The usual din of residents bickering over charting, wheelchairs squealing across tile, interns nervously chugging coffee—muted. Not gone, just… held back, like the The Pitt is holding its breath.

Jack’s eyes scan the room, already sharpening beneath the calm. He catches sight of Dr. Ellis—one of his best senior residents—cutting across the ER with purposeful steps. Not rushed, not panicked. But something close to tight. Her face is unreadable, grim where it’s usually brisk.

“Jack,” she says as she reaches him. No Dr. Abbot, no pat on the arm, no idle quip. Just a quiet, urgent gesture for him to follow. “Come with me for a sec.”

His brow lifts, but he doesn’t ask questions. Not when she’s looking like that.

They weave past triage, through a set of doors into the cramped staff room. The door clicks shut behind them, and instantly the world narrows. The light feels a little too bright. The hum of the fridge too loud.

Jack leans against the counter, arms folded, expression even. “Alright,” he says, not unkindly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Parker doesn’t answer right away. She shifts, visibly uncomfortable. No sarcasm. No smirk. Just that rare, uncertain edge Jack only sees when things are about hit the fan.

“Something’s wrong up at Surgical,” she says finally. “Trauma Surgery, specifically.”

Jack doesn’t move, but his gaze sharpens. The inside of him goes still. You work Surgical long enough that his mind jumps without permission.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice steady. “Is it about a patient? A case?”

Parker shakes her head. “No. It’s personal. It’s… her.”

She doesn’t say your name. She doesn’t have to. The second she says it—her—Jack knows. The knot that’s been building for days, through missed rooftop meetings and clipped, careful texts, cinches tight, pressing into his ribs like a vice.

Of course he’s heard the way people talk. The way the nurses elbow each other when he walks past. Even Parker, just now, had paused like she expected him to flinch at the mention of you. 

But Jack doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t correct anyone, either. Let them talk.

It’s not that anything’s happened—not really. Not yet. But something’s there. Has been for a while now. He just doesn’t have the time or energy to pretend otherwise.

His jaw ticks, barely. He fights the instinct to reach for his phone, to scroll through that last short message—just tired—and see if it reads any differently now.

“She’s been dealing with something,” Parker continues, lower now. “Something bad. I don’t know the whole story. Not really. Nobody does, I think. But… word’s spreading fast.”

Jack doesn’t breathe, but he listens.

“She broke down in the middle of her shift. Not just a bad day. Panic—real panic. Security got called in. So did Gloria.”

The weight of it settles hard. He turns his eyes to a crack above the microwave. It’s been there for years, a small fracture in cheap cabinetry, but tonight it looks like a fault line.

“She alright?” he asks.

Parker gives a vague nod. “I think so. But here’s the thing—no one’s talking. I mean, not even the nurses.”

That gets his attention.

Parker goes on. “You know how they are. They could tell you what kind of gum a new hire chewed three floors down before HR finishes onboarding. But this? They’re locking it down. Close. Fierce. Like they’re closing ranks over her.”

Jack runs a hand down his face, slow. Subdued, yes—but not at peace.

“Do you know why?” Jack asks, voice low and even.

Parker hesitates, then shakes her head. “No. Not really. Just bits and pieces. Like I said, no one’s giving the full story. Not even the nurses, and you know how they are—usually you can’t get them to stop talking. But now? Radio silence.”

Jack watches her carefully. She’s being honest. He can tell.

“I can poke around,” Parker offers, almost reluctantly. “Ask some questions, feel out what’s being held back—if you want.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales, slow through his nose, as if weighing what kind of damage that might do. His fingers drum once against the thermos in his hand. Then he shakes his head, once.

“No,” he says. “Leave it. Maybe it’s not for the best.”

That stops her cold. She studies him, really looks—and the silence between them sharpens.

Because Jack never says leave it. Not when someone’s in trouble. And the line of his jaw, the way his shoulders lock down… that’s not calm. That’s containment. Worry wrapped so tight it’s just short of boiling over.

She doesn’t press. Not now.

Jack straightens, but his expression doesn’t change. If anything, it stills into something harder. More focused.

His name hasn’t come up, and that almost bothers him more. If you’d talked to someone—anyone—why not him? And now that’s too late. The missed rooftop meetings, the clipped texts, the careful way you said “I’m just tired.” It all slides into place with a sickening click.

He tugs his backpack strap a little tighter over his shoulder, eyes distant but burning behind the quiet.

“Thanks for letting me know,” he mutters. “Let’s get to work.”

Parker only nods. She doesn’t add or ask another thing.

And when they walk out of the staff room, there’s no storm in his step, no rush in his pace. But the tension radiating off him—quiet, coiled, dangerous—is enough to make two med‑students step out of his way without a word.

Something’s wrong. Someone’s hurt you. And someone else is going to regret it.

divider credit

[loveemagicpeace]

Solar Return & Your Rising🌅

✨Imagine each one as the mask of your soul for the year, coloring how you move through the world, how others see you, and the essence of your personal evolution from birthday to birthday. You have to also look where the chart ruler of the rising sign is in the house. ✨

Aries Rising in a Solar Return brings a year where your soul is set on fire. There is an urgency to begin, to act, to break free from old restraints and carve a new path. You walk through life with sharper edges and raw instincts. Your presence is bold, unfiltered, and alive with potential. This is a year of reclaiming your autonomy — not just saying "I am," but living it. You might be more assertive, even impulsive, because something within you is aching to move forward before thinking twice. Life wants you to chase what excites you.

Taurus Rising in a Solar Return invites a year of anchoring. You become more in tune with the rhythm of nature, with your body, with the beauty of slowness. This is a time when you’ll crave security, not only in material terms, but in your emotional and energetic environment. You radiate calm, and others may be drawn to your stability. Your growth this year comes from building — relationships, income, trust — with steady hands and patient timing. Life slows down so that you can truly feel it.

Gemini Rising in a Solar Return brings a year full of conversations, questions, and changes of mind. Your energy is light, curious, and perhaps scattered, drawn to new people, new ideas, and new experiences like a bee to blossoms. There’s a restlessness to this year, and your task is to explore without losing yourself in the noise. You may find yourself talking more, writing more, learning, teaching, sharing, and rethinking everything you thought you knew. The world becomes your classroom.

Cancer Rising in a Solar Return marks a tender, emotional year. You’re more protective of your heart, yet also more open to the quiet healing that comes from truly feeling. Themes of home, family, the past, and emotional safety rise to the surface. Your presence may feel softer, more nurturing, more inwardly focused. This is a time to nourish your roots and honor your inner world. Life asks you to embrace vulnerability — not as weakness, but as strength.

Leo Rising in a Solar Return lights the fire of visibility. You are meant to be seen, to create, to express the truth of who you are without apology. There is more drama in your expression this year — not necessarily conflict, but boldness. Your spirit wants to play, to shine, to fall in love, and to remind others of joy. You might feel a deeper desire for recognition or creative fulfillment. This is your stage, and the world is watching.

Virgo Rising in a Solar Return shifts the focus inward. It’s a year of refinement, of cleaning the dust from the corners of your life, and aligning your actions with your deeper values. You may appear more reserved or critical, but underneath is a deep desire to serve, to heal, and to do things right. Your attention is drawn to your body, your routines, your work, your health. It's not about perfection, but about devotion — to the details that hold your life together.

Libra Rising in a Solar Return brings a year colored by connection. Relationships become mirrors, showing you who you are through the eyes of another. There is a pull toward harmony, toward beauty, toward peace — and yet you may also feel torn by indecision or the need to please. This is a time when love, fairness, and art matter more than usual. You come off as graceful and diplomatic, even when you're spinning inside. The lesson is balance — within and without.

Scorpio Rising in a Solar Return is intense, raw, and transformative. This is a year of depth, not surface. You may find yourself withdrawing from the noise, becoming more selective about who gets close. Others may sense your power and mystery. It’s a time for inner work, for facing your shadows, for letting old versions of yourself die so something more truthful can be born. The world may not understand your metamorphosis, but your soul knows exactly what it's doing. Scorpio is associated with rebirth, power, sexuality, healing, and hidden truths — so these themes will likely dominate your solar year. People might find you more magnetic, but you might also be more selective about who gets close.

Sagittarius Rising in a Solar Return breathes expansion into your lungs. This is a year to wander, physically or spiritually. You may feel a hunger to learn more, to travel farther, to dream bigger. Your aura is open and bright, and others may be inspired by your optimism. You are the seeker now — searching for meaning, not just facts. Whether through study, belief, or bold movement, this year wants you to grow into a wider version of yourself.

Capricorn Rising in a Solar Return brings a year of structure and self-responsibility. You are being asked to grow up in some way — not necessarily to lose your softness, but to rise into your strength. This is a time of building foundations, committing to long-term goals, and showing the world what you're capable of. You may come off more serious or reserved, and life might feel heavier, but there's a quiet pride in taking full ownership of your path.

Aquarius Rising in a Solar Return calls for liberation. You are stepping outside the norm, rejecting boxes, and experimenting with new ways of living and relating. Others may see you as eccentric or ahead of your time. It’s a year to explore what authenticity really means, and how to live by your own truth without needing approval. Friendships, technology, and unexpected change may feature strongly. You are here to shake things up — starting with yourself.

Pisces Rising in a Solar Return opens the gates to the dreamworld. This is a spiritual, poetic, sometimes confusing year. You may feel more sensitive to energies, more intuitive, and more emotionally fluid. There's a softness to your aura, a dissolving of boundaries — for better or worse. You’re being asked to surrender, to trust, to create, to listen to what the world doesn’t say out loud. This is a year of divine timing, of mystery, and of deep soul renewal.

-Rebekah🌅🦋💘

[girllblogging777]

LET IT HAPPEN 𝜗𝜚

spencer reid x bau!worker reader (angst, comfort)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 2.3k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : spencer was always in control, until you. but when you walk away, he realises it might be too late to learn how to love you right.

spencer reid has a history of being in control.

of himself. of his emotions. of the way he exists in the world : quiet, precise, never asking for too much.

love, real love, has always been a theory to him. a concept. a case study. something he observes in others, like an astronomer watching stars he’d never reach.

and then there was you.

he didn’t know when it started. maybe the first time you called him spence like it was second nature, or when you leaned into his shoulder on the plane, barely awake. maybe when you took a bullet for a civilian without flinching, or when you cried in the elevator after losing a victim, and reached for his hand without thinking to find comfort.

all he knew was that one day, you’d become part of his routine and turned it all upside down. his rhythm. his sense of self.

and that scared the hell out of him.

so, he did what he always did. he kept it safe. kept you close, but not close enough. he memorized everything about you from a distance : favorite books, late-night snack choices, the exact cadence of your laugh, while never saying a word about the way his chest ached when you touched his arm.

until you walked away.

and now you weren’t beside him. and it was too quiet.

spencer sat alone in the BAU bullpen at 11:47 p.m., his tie loose around his neck and hair messy from running his hands through it too many times today. he felt numb, staring at the text you’d sent him four hours ago.

“i can’t do this anymore. not like this.”

“if you ever decide to let me in—“

“you know where to find me.”

he’d read it twenty two times, precisely. he couldn’t delete it. he couldn’t answer it either.

because the truth was that you were right. you’d waited long enough, more than anyone ever had for him.

spencer had spent so long pretending he didn’t feel what he felt. trying to fit your friendship into neat, manageable boxes. something he could file away like a solved case.

but love doesn’t work like that. you’d told him that once.

and now you were gone.

the elevator dinged behind him. he didn’t turn around. he didn’t have to.

because he knew it was you.

he knew it the way he knew the laws of physics. undeniable. inarguable. your presence had always rearranged the air around you.

“you didn’t answer,” you said quietly, observing him like you’d done too many times before.

your voice cracked something open in him. his hands clenched around his coffee cup. it had gone cold hours ago.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

you gave a small, sad laugh. “that’s the thing, spence. you know everything, but that you never do.”

he finally looked up at you.

you looked tired. beautiful. guarded.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. “but you did.”

he nodded once. swallowed hard. “I’m not good at this.”

spencer stood slowly, like his body was remembering how to do it. his chair scraped back.

and then, finally “you know what hurts the most?”

he shook his head.

“that I’m not asking you to be perfect. I never want you to be anything other than exactly who you are. but you won’t even let me see you.”

he flinched.

“you let me get so close,” you said, softer now, like it hurt you to say it. “close enough to feel everything… and then you shut the door. like I’m something dangerous.”

“you’re not dangerous,” he whispered.

“then what am I?” your mouth was set, but your eyes… your eyes looked so goddamn sad. your arms folded across her chest. a defense mechanism. not angry. just tired. like you were bracing for more disappointment.

“real.”

you froze, spencer stepped around the desk slowly, like if he moved too fast, you’d vanish.

“you’re real,” he repeated carefully. “and that terrifies me.”

he didn’t even know how to stand. his arms hung awkwardly by his sides, fingers twitching like they wanted to reach for you and couldn’t figure out how.

“all my life, I’ve been able to explain things,” he says. “I can tell you the chemical composition of love. I can list every poem ever written about heartbreak. I can quote studies on attachment and trauma and how people leave.”

there’s a beat, before he continues “I thought if I understood it, I wouldn’t feel it.”

you couldn’t do anything but blink, eyes stinging.

“but then I met you,” he said. “and you’re soft, and stubborn, and brilliant, and so alive. you walked right past every defense I had like they weren’t even there.”

his voice cracks then. he presses a fist to his mouth, trying to ground himself. you just watch him, still frozen. breathing shallow.

“I thought I could keep it under control,” he admits, each word making him feel more stupid. “this… whatever this is. I thought if I could just… hold it in, keep it neat, I wouldn’t lose you. but all I did was push you away.”

silence. he forces himself to meet your eyes, something that usually pains him to do.

“I miss you. all the time. even when you’re right in front of me.”

and you don’t know what to say. so he keeps going like he always does, because if he stops now, he’d never say any of it again.

“I couldn’t tell you how I felt because I didn’t know what it was, it didn’t feel safe. and if it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t real. that’s what I told myself. that’s what I had to believe. because… everyone I’ve ever loved has either died or left me.”

your mouth opened, but he held up a hand, begging. please let me finish.

“but you didn’t leave,” he said, “not until you absolutely had to. you gave me every chance. I wasted them. because I didn’t know how to be vulnerable and still survive.”

and the tears came before he could stop them. silent, stunned things sliding down his cheeks.

you stare at him like you don’t know whether to cry or reach for him or both. he looks so beautiful, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to keep hurting you just because I never learned how to let myself be loved.”

that breaks something in you. you take a step forward. and another. he stands before you, arms loose at his sides, face wet, chest heaving… looking every bit the baby deer in headlights you always say he is.

“I’m not asking you not to be afraid, spence…” you finally admit. “I’m asking you to let me be scared with you. that’s all I ever wanted.”

his lips tremble. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“then let’s figure it out.”

you reach up slowly, wiping a stray tear gently with your thumb. he simply leans into your touch like it’s the first time anyone has ever touched him softly and meant it.

“don’t go,” he whispers.

“I’m not trying to leave,” you whisper back. “I’m asking if you’d fight for me.”

he closes his eyes. “I let it happen,” he said. “I let myself fall in love with you. and I’m not going to pretend anymore.”

you step into him fully then, arms sliding around his neck, and Spencer folds like paper, wrapping himself around you like he’d been holding his breath for a year and just now remembered how to exhale.

and in the quiet of that almost-empty room, with his forehead pressed to yours and your hands in his hair, Spencer Reid finally gives up control.

and lets it happen.

a/n : inspired by the gracie abrams song !!first time writing something about my baby, i kinda hate this but a girl has got to start somewhere. give me requests if you’d like, and reblogs/comments are always appreciated <3

@xbluereid @gf2bellamy @iamgonnagetyouback