#imagine: a man and a woman interact without anyone falling in love

[sedgewicke]

Hrathen: Oh no, I'm in love--

Me: No you're not. You're just dying. You've lost a lot of blood and it's got you all emotional.

[haechansdoll]

my little doll - ml x reader

Pairing : Boxer!Lee Mark x f!Reader

Description : Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

Warnings : Bloody Nose, Perversion, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Panties, Caught Having Sex, Overstimulation

Wordcount : 20k

Hormones.

You dearly hate them, you hate how your chest does somersaults at the mere sight of him, or the fact you have to cross your legs when his voice tickles your ear, let alone the mocking sensation of arousal that forever plagues your core at the sweet little pet names he sure loves giving you. From the crimson red hair that falls over his shoulders, typically pulled back with a loose-fitting clip, a matching pair of eyes that have this undeniable sultry and charming glint to them, or the scars from broken bones or other mishaps he has yet to give you a story about that stick to his powerful arms and mesmerizing torso.

If anyone were to find out about the things that run through your head, the lewd imagery, the erotic scenarios... you would never be able to show your face again. It's normal to have less-than-pure thoughts, right? You're no less human than the next person, everyone has desires and fantasies!

But does that excuse the fact you've desperately been waiting for any chance you can get to go and relieve yourself? That the more you stare at him, the more you think about how good he may be in bed? His muscles flexing with each thrust, imagining the length and girth of his cock, would his voice be gruff or husky?

The recollection of your inner desires has you aching, it is humiliating, to say the least. Especially when the man who is the center of these very thoughts just so happens to be standing behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other guiding your wrist. The close proximity has you feeling sick, between his voice right beside your ear and his hands on your arm.

To be honest, aren't you sick? Pretty sick in the head to be lewding Mark without his knowledge, what would he think of you if he were to learn of these sinful scenarios you let consume you? You simply cannot help it, any woman in your position would probably be the same, right? Thinking of all the things those hands can do, how his rough fingertips would feel between your legs, his tongue against your...

It isn't like anyone knows either, after all, it would spread like a wildfire if anyone were to find out about your less than an innocent crush. In your opinion, you do quite a good job at masking it, not too clingy to him but also not completely avoiding him. After all, he is your father's "student" if you could say that, often training under the watchful gaze of your dad.

Sometimes it still feels like just the other day when you two first interacted, him introducing himself, saying how he works under your dad. You heard of him from your father often boasting about this guy he is training. You figure it would be another older guy, rough around the edges, not good enough to be eye candy. You couldn't have been any more wrong, completely in shock to learn that this "guy" was not only a lot younger than you expected but looked like those Greek statues.

You can never quite focus when he speaks to you, eyes wandering ever so discreetly, ears deafening when you catch sight of a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, how the lump in his throat bobs while he talks or drinks water. 

Even now, as you throw another punch per his instruction, your focus is entirely elsewhere. Not on the way he tells you to twist your wrist when launching your fist from your body, but rather how good it feels when he speaks right next to your shoulder, each word making your eardrums vibrate. If only he knew that you weren't very focused on his self-defense lesson, but rather how good it would feel to have those big hands wrapped around your neck or your thigh... anywhere is fine by you.

Most nights you find yourself fantasizing about Mark…Mark, all the filthy scenarios possible flooding your already corrupted mind the whole time you feel yourself up. Gripping your sheets and pretending it's his hair, breathing into your pillow to try and mask the sounds of pleasure you just can't keep in. You feel awful every time you finish, though. Hastily fixing yourself and going to shower, hoping the water will wash away sin.

Alas, you know that any level you go to repent would never erase the tainted marks of lust from your body. You're trapped in this, like a stalkerish fan swooning over her celebrity crush. Again, thanking whomever it concerns that mind-reading is not a thing.

A hand comes down onto the top of your head, drawing you from your deeper workings, "That time was really good," Mark praised with a grin, fingers dripping from your skin, much to your dismay, "Try it again without me guiding you, put your all into it!" If you had any less self-control, a moan would have passed your lips from his perfect voice, each word rolling off his tongue like honey from a spoon. 

Times like now you wish you had a deeper relationship than what is now accessed, that way you could just grab at his arms and give him the prettiest bats of your lashes all for the sake of begging him to take you somewhere private. That's all you want right now, to feel his soft lips on yours, to taste his tongue that probably will feel minty from the gum he is currently chewing. The simple privilege of being able to kiss him would surely kill you.

You throw another punch and really start to feel that ache in your shoulder, but Mark calls it a "good burn", something you remember even your father saying back when you were little. Your eyes glance to the clock hung on the wall, usually, you are hoping time will fly by, but right now? You hope it goes painfully slow, who knows when the next time will be when you have him so close with his hands all over you.

"I think you've mastered how to punch someone, I'm a little scared by how quick you are..." The playfulness in his voice does more than make you smile, it also contributes to the arousal that continues to soak into your panties, which you can probably assume are ruined at this point, "Let's practice a kick for if you're being restrained by two people." 

The last thing you expect is to feel him come up from behind and wrap his arms around your torso, restraining your arms and keeping you firmly pressed to his solid front. You would have cum right there if it wasn't for how focused you were on the veins in his arms or his flushed knuckles, "So if someone comes from behind, they'll most likely grab you in a way to trap your arms." His voice vibrates in his chest, which in turn vibrates against your back. 

Mark gives you a bit of a squeeze, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips not because of the restriction on your lungs but rather how if you arch your back just enough... you would probably feel the one thing you daydream about. The one thing you imagine fucking you every night when you touched yourself. 

"It'll be hard to elbow them, and depending on how tall they are you may not be able to head-butt them... so you can take one of your legs and then jab your heel into the arch of their foot, the point is to fracture or break those bones because then it'll either make them immobile or they won't be able to run after you when you get away." You nod your head along to his words, "Or, some people say to put as much as you can to lean forward because attackers expect you to thrash in their arms or try to hit them."

Mark lightly nudges you as a means to lean forward, you almost think not to, afraid of the hormones that are already driving you up the wall. But you do it anyway, leaning forward, despite the fact he is pressed into every inch of your backside, "Take both of your hands and grab at one of my legs, whichever you think is easier, and then you're gonna pull as hard as you can to try and knock me off."

You almost feel bad, but you assume that since he is giving you this lesson, he expects to get roughed up a little. So despite your inner conflict not to, you lean forward as much as it takes to grab the leg closest to you, that being his right leg, and firmly gripping his calf and pulling his leg towards you. You're almost surprised by how easy it was, one second he is holding onto you, his breath wafting against the back of your neck, and now he is flat on his back.

"That caught me off guard," He says in disbelief, without your knowledge his crimson eyes watch how you slowly stand up straight after successfully breaking free of his grasp, "I shouldn't underestimate you considering how intense your father is with training." He notices your panties peeking through the fabric of your yoga leggings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, and staring until the red fabric is no longer peaking through.

"When I was little he taught me some basic things," You turn around to offer him a hand, which he gratefully takes, "But I don't think the moves I learned when I was little will be much assistance now." You help him up with a smile, for a moment you forget the tension that had previously been eating you, "Thank you for helping me, you make it more fun than it should be."

The crimson-haired boxer offers you one of his signature smiles, flashing those pearly white teeth you always think of dragging your tongue over, "You're adorable," His fingers playfully give your cheeks a pinch just to see you pout, "Let's do one more move before you gotta close up, I think you have it in you to give it a try." Who are you to argue? After all, it means more time to ogle over him, to feel his hands, to dream up filthy scenarios that have your pussy throbbing.

What you don't expect is to feel one of his hands fall on the dip of your waist to stabilize you, the other coming down to hook under your knee and slowly lift your leg, "You're pretty flexible, I expected that... naturally everyone's legs are stronger than their arms. So sometimes if you see an opening, go for a nice high kick right into either their chin or nose." So that's why he is holding you like this.

His words, just for a moment, blur as you look at his hands on your body. The position is oddly provocative, it is easy to just picture you both nude, his cock driving in and out of you just like this. His hands holding your soft thighs wide open for him, one leg hooked over his arm as those very fingers tease your clit, his other hand snaking up your front to tweak your nipples and torturously squeeze your tits.

It's disgusting, filthy that all he is doing is holding you like this to guide you and you're imagining him fucking you just like this. It's horribly wrong, sickening - but oh, it would probably feel so good like this. His tip would rub against that sweet stop your fingers can barely reach, his breath against the very shoulder he would mark with hickeys...

"There we go," His voice sounds so close it nearly makes you flinch, "Okay, you want to aim with your heel and not the tip of your shoe because it can strain your ankle or even hurt the arch of your foot. So lock your leg as you swing it up and pretend like you're jabbing someone with your heel." You wish his cock was jabbing your insides, but nonetheless, you strike your heel into the air effortlessly.

Mark whistles at the power in your leg, what he would give to see you beat the shit out of someone. He is sure you could probably even take him out if you tried, which is another reason he hopes he never gets on your bad side. The first reason being that your dad would kill him.

"Maybe I should start practicing with you," He muses when you smoothly bring your leg back down, "I bet you'd be able to break me down, especially with a kick like that." What you would give to simply watch him train with your father, you've seen it a handful of times. How he drives his fists into the punching bag, or the muscles in his thighs stiffening when he tries to knock his sparring partner down. He always leaves you drooling, hoping to feel those very hands wrapped around your throat or to ride his thighs while he teases you for being such a slut. 

As much as you would love to spend the time with him, you know you wouldn't be able to handle all the touching, to see him sweating and his muscles showing through his less-than-covering tank top. Sometimes he even goes shirtless, which is ten times worse and even more hormone-inducing. If only there was a way to confidently tell him, "I've wanted to have sex with you since I first saw you, so please do whatever you want with me."

"I think you'd probably break me..." The words weren't meant to come out sounding so sexual, leaving a pinkish blush on his cheeks and at the tip of his ears, "But we can always practice like this whenever you want." You miss how he shuffles in place, trying to knock your first sentence from his head. Break you? He knows what you meant... but even he has some not-so-innocent thoughts.

With it being time to close, regulars gradually leave the gym, bidding you a farewell per usual, the machines slowly becoming empty. Though the only person who patiently remains, discreetly watching passing figures as they leave the building, is the redhead you have been eyeing all day. It is rather exciting, watching the final person pack up their things and leave, finally granting you the privacy you've desired all day.

You begin the process of locking up the gym, working the locks on the alternate entrance, as well as pulling the drop-down fence that cages the windows. You two often leave through the back door, so you always lock up the front earlier than you both intend to depart. Whenever he stays a little later than usual, he often waits for you to close and you will leave together. 

Being so focused on closing the main entrances and front of the gym, you don't notice the figure approaching you from behind, not until a shadow casts over you and you notice the lighting change. Not until a hand falls onto your shoulder, to which you peer behind you to see Markall packed up, "Did you bring a sweater? It's supposed to be cold out."

"I didn't, but it's fine because my car is right there." He knows it is, but he also knows that you tend to park quite a bit away from the apartment you share with your father because it didn't have a parking garage, "I'll be fine! Worst case scenario I catch a cold and can't come to work tomorrow." That's when you remember an important detail about tomorrow, one that you've been looking forward to all week.

"You have a match tomorrow, right?" Comes your voice amid his needless thinking, "Dad is making the plans, he's been running around all day... I think he may be more excited than you." You try to change the subject, knowing he will be persistent regarding you taking his sweater.

"Yeah, and that's another reason you should take my hoodie... that way you don't get sick and you can be there to cheer me on." His words make you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, is he really that worried? Does he really want you there to see him? It's too much, you may just pass out knowing he wants you to cheer for him in the crowd!

You heard rumors of professionals possibly attending, managers of some sort. It all sounds a little too good to be true, but knowing your father he is always pulling strings. To locals, it's considered a big deal because of the chance to gamble bets, entertainment... The matches are memorable. Mark likes the attention, to hear people chant his name and praise him, that adrenaline he gets when he is so close to winning. It is a drug, an addiction he just cannot shake. He needs support.

Finally, you take the hoodie from his hand, pulling the thick fabric over your head and covering yourself, "Thank you, Mark." He is so sweet, it makes you feel guilty for letting these thoughts ravage your brain. For allowing yourself to lewd him constantly, he has been nothing but respectful with you and all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sit on his face right now.

"Are you gonna be there to give me some good luck?" His words catch you off guard, give him some good luck? you never really see him before his matches, usually, only after will you congratulate him and offer to take him out for something to eat, per request from your father. It is a tradition to celebrate after a successful fight. Most of the night you will ogle over him, how good he looks with a slightly swollen lip, or how you would kill to lick the little bit of blood sticking to the fresh wound on his brow.

What could you possibly do to give him good luck? You will have to think of something, you can't disappoint him, "Since tomorrow is a big deal, I guess I have to make sure you have as much luck as possible, right?" Your words bring a grin to his face, you've always been so kind yet carefree. He likes that a lot about you, how you don't take everything so seriously, and never feels like he has to walk on eggshells around you. 

Whatever it may be, he likes getting some sort of recognition from you before he fights, you leave this positive and sweet taste in his chest. He finds that he tries harder with you around, whether it be to impress you or earn plenty of praises and compliments when the match is over. He doesn't care what you come up with, so long as it's from you.

Mark Remembers that you're off the clock and should get home before it's too dark, "A-Anway," He clears his throat and adjusts his gym bag over his shoulder, "Let's get out of here, I think we both could use a shower..." Despite his words, he is eyeing how exhausted you look, sweaty and your eyes a little swollen from overworking yourself. It reminds him of the time you went on a run with him, an innocent invitation he gave you since he never really sees you outside of the gym.

To his surprise, you weren't at all a bad runner, but unfortunately, your stamina does not nearly match his and he can still remember how cute you looked, tripping over your feet and waving your hand for him to slow down. The sweat that stuck to your face, neck, chest... how you were shivering all the while scraping to regain some oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers holding onto his arm, leaning into him with your eyes closed. 

You had looked so pretty that day, but all he could think about was whether or not you'd look the same if he were to have sex with you. Would the sweet bead up the same? Would your eyes get heavy once it was over? Would you pant and cling to him like now, doing your best to keep up and not collapse from exhaustion? That was the first time he ever thought of you other than as a friend, and ever since it feels like the daydreams have gotten a little worse.

Not nearly as explicit as yours, though.

God, you want to fuck him so bad. You want to ride him until your thighs burn, to feel his teeth marking your skin with every push of his hips, to open your mouth just so he can spit in it... reminding you that you're nothing but a perverted, disgusting, awful whore. That's exactly what you are. A brainless, hormonal...

Right, you're supposed to be leaving. With a final adjustment to the sweater he had kindly given you, you lead the way to the back door of the gym. You wish you didn't have to depart so soon, just before he had his hands all over you! Touching your legs, holding your waist... can't you turn back time just enough to go through that all over again? Even if it's just him guiding you to a proper punch. 

What you would give to feel those hands on your tits, or cupping the apex of your thighs. Would it feel different from when you touch yourself? Probably. His fingers are bigger, thicker, rough... you can only imagine the way they would curl to rub that special spot inside of your walls. You bet he would be able to make you squirt, you can only imagine it... if only.

"Make sure you sleep early," He chimes from beside you, "That way I can see you early before I have to go prepare for tomorrow night." It is bizarre how insistent he is on seeing you before the fight, did you do something different to yourself? Deep down, you're praying he may just have a little crush on you, but you doubt it. He could like anyone, he would never choose you... right?

Nonetheless, you don't let your selfish thinking distract you from the handsome man beside you. What doe sit matter whether he likes you or not? At least he talks with you. But every human has selfish desires, yours just happens to be wanting the crimson-haired boxer beside you to be yours, "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you," The words come out faster than you could bite your tongue, but with the cat out of the bag you roll with it, "Maybe I could bring you something to eat?"

The suggestions noticeably brighten him, the two of you coming out of the back door which you begin to lock for the night, "That would be nice, remember those grape leaves you had made that one time? I'd kill for those..." Neither of you misses how his voice noticeably quiets, as if he only wants you to hear that, for the huskiness in his tone to catch your ears. 

To say it doesn't cause a million and one butterflies to waltz in from your stomach into your chest, would be a lie. It would be a lie to deny how the most minuscule quirks he has always leave you in a state of your own temporary bliss. You wish you could hear him whisper over and over, to come up behind you like in those cliche romance films from the 60s. For his arms to encase your midsection, lips meeting the shell of your ear, telling you how his day is better now that he is home with you.

Oh, what you would give to live out a shitty romance film from however many decades ago with Mark. To be that mindless trophy wife even if for a day, to forget all responsibility and for him safely coming home to you to be your only worry. To spend your hours cooking and cleaning, making yourself look your prettiest if it means letting him use you to destress.

You just want to make him happy, is that so wrong? Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make you some," You say back, eyes falling from his to instead look at your sneakers, "W-Well, I'll see you early tomorrow... I'll be sure to bring your sweater back." You miss the subtle smile due to your eyes being elsewhere, a smile that lasts until you look back up to him, "Drive home safe, I can't wait to see the fight tomorrow."

The two of you bid your farewell, Mark keeping his eye on you up until you safely enter the comfort of your car, and only then does he get into his own. You always miss those gentlemanly gestures he does, how he never leaves until he sees you're safely in your car, always keeping an eye out for you whenever you go off to the bathroom. He gets so worried over you being just a minute too long, and part of him excuses it for a "need to protect" urge in him.

But a very small part of him has already learned to accept he may or may not have feelings for you, whether they are romantic or platonic, he cannot pinpoint; especially because he hasn't even fully accepted the fact he has potential feelings for you. 

Regardless, you drive away, unaware of how he waited for you to leave first. The entire ride home, all you could focus on was the cologne that stuck to the hoodie he let you borrow. How the masculine odor filled not only your nose but the car. It felt mocking like the hoodie knew how down bad you are forMark, but you try not to let it get to you. You try not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face into his shoulder and smell the cologne stuck to his skin.

That familiar heat floods between your legs, reminding you of how awful you are. Even with him gone, you can't stop the dirty thoughts. Maybe you just need to get laid? Maybe it's less that you like him, and just you being horny and deprived of intimacy. 

You know that isn't the case, but it's nice to pretend it is.

What would his favorite position be? Would he prefer you on top? Bent over? If you had to decide, you'd want to be able to see his face, to watch how good you can make him feel. No amount of brainstorming could probably compare to how sexy he would look engulfed in pleasure, nor how he would sound. You take him for someone who tries to hold back their moans, not wanting you to know you're being good for him.

"Oh, god..." You whisper under your breath as you continue to drive, knuckles bulging from gripping the steering wheel so hard, not to mention the ache in your lower back from how far you've arched yourself to try and ignore the throbbing in your clit. It's ridiculous, here you are driving home on an empty street, your apartment building isn't even that far away...

And yet you find yourself pulled over on the side of the road.

The entire time, you mentally scold yourself, eyes frantically looking about all the while you sick back into your seat. Your nose is buried into the collar of the sweater, the familiar scent comforting you while your hand moves under the waistband of your leggings and then under your soaked panties. Were you really this wet? Usually, you would be riddled with shame, but now? You can only thank yourself, knowing it will make it all the easier for your fingers to snake themselves inside of you.

You know that your fingers will never compare to the real thing, and most of the time you don't even get much pleasure from them being inside of you, but that minor sense of fullness somehow is just relaxing. Between your index and middle fingers being knuckle deep inside of your pulsating entrance, your walls clenching around what little space your fingers take up, and your palm grinding into your clit.

"M-Mark..." His name is always falling from your tongue, every time you find yourself viciously rubbing your clit in desperation, or grinding into the soft fabric of your pillow. Whatever you may be doing to pleasure yourself, his name is the only thing that you manage to utter during the entire process. Praising him for making you feel so good and whimpering how it's too much for you. 

If only he could see you now, curled up in your car and humping at your hand, panting and whining for the only man you've thought about for however long you've known him. If only he were here, to witness how filthy you are, that you're anything but sugar and honey - you're not sweet at all, you're just a needy nymphomaniac. 

You spread your thighs just a little more, fingers dipping in and out of your entrance only to then come out and give your neglected clit circular rubs before seeping back inside of your pussy, "I wanna cum,Mark~" Imagining it is his fingers pumping in and out of you, that it's his palm that continues to grind into your poor clit.

With the fabric of his sweater pressed firmly to your nose, it helps to muffle your pathetic sounds; strings of his name and pleas floating within the air of your car. the only other noise being the wet squelching sound of your fingers inside of you. It all feels so lewd, to be touching yourself like this in your car. If anyone were to find out, surely you would be not only shunned, but you'd never hear the end of it.

But god his hands felt so good on your thighs and waist when he was training you earlier, they were so warm, so big... his palms rough when they dragged over the skin of your arms. You wish he would've gone just a little higher

"F-Fuck... ah~ fuck me,Mark-" You squeak when your fingers nudge at your walls a little too roughly, further hiding your face in his sweater as it gradually becomes harder to contain your whimpers. The thought of him praising you, calling you his good girl, and saying you take it so well - would he pepper your teary face with kisses? Slow down to make sure he doesn't completely ruin you?

Your insides feel hot, tortuously hot. Every grind of your clit into your palm gradually brings you closer to the anticipated climax. Are you catching a fever? You know it is just your body readying itself for the oncoming bliss, the buildup in your stomach that feels like electricity, "I-I'm cumming," You breathe out a strained whine, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming... I'm cumming~!" You lose your voice as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing back and forth against the poor nerve.

"M-Mark~ fuck, fuck, fuck- nngh~!" It all happens so quick, the squirting of your climax soaking into your panties and leggings, tainting the skin of your hand and pruning fingers, luckily not too much getting on the seat of your car. But it isn't the mess, it's the pulse you feel in your clit, a neverending throb that has your walls clenching and unclenching. 

You must look wrecked, between how you've managed to bizarrely sink into your seat, your leggings and panties slightly pulled down and your fingers covered in a mess of your cum and slick. You feel ridiculous more than you look it, having just touched yourself in your car to the thought of someone who most likely sees you as nothing but a friend. 

Once again you feel like you're taking a walk of shame; pulling your panties and leggings back up despite the uncomfortable and icky sensation of how wet the fabric is, adjusting yourself in your seat, and looking around for any ongoing or incoming cars. Only when you deem it safe, pulling out of the spot you had parked to continue your trek home, all in silence as a means to reflect on yet again letting your lust get the best of you.

All you can do is hope that when you get home and take a nice warm shower and make those grape leaves poor Mark asked for, that it will somehow erase this awful encounter with yourself from your head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. Though, you doubt it will take eight hours of sleep to cure you of the hormonal devil on your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the familiar chime of your phone interrupts your mental meditation on what just happened. Though, it isn't your phone that makes things worse, but rather the fact that the very name you see in the notifications bar is the one person you were hoping to get out of your head. You almost think not to answer, let alone look at it, but you could never do that to him.

Upon opening the message, you nearly cry with guilt - how can he be so sweet? Why do you have to be so awful?

Remember that time we went for a run? I forgot I took this pic of u when we finished... after u started to vomit because u pushed urself 2 much. U looked cute tho (:

Scrolling up you hold back the urge to get on your knees before some religious statue and beg for forgiveness. There he is smiling at the camera, holding it high enough to catch himself but also you in the back, to your surprise you don't look awful. Sure, you may be on the verge of death from running so much, and even sweatier than him, but the sunset somehow brought it all together.

And did he just say you looked cute?

You bite back the urge to squeal and get into a car accident, but mostly not to verbally freak out. Does he really think you're cute? Really? You almost don't want to believe it, why would he think you're cute? You don't dwell on it too much, happily accepting the compliment and rereading the message over and over again until another one comes through.

We should do it again, I had fun <3 see u 2morrow, don't forget the grape leaves!

Why does he have to be so perfect? It's always the nice guys who are barely out of your reach. Not that you deserve Mark, someone as obsessive as you doesn't deserve that sort of happiness - not when you focus more on wanting to have sex with him every day, rather than building up the courage to just ask him out.

Maybe tomorrow you will try.

The following morning comes all too quickly, but you give yourself credit for having not had a wet dream - something that shamefully occurs often - and waking up to the sound of your early set alarm without trouble. You're never usually up at this time, but keeping your promise to the crimson-haired man you think about more than you do yourself is your top priority. It would be awful to say you will be there with breakfast, only to diss him.

And surely he would end up not liking you at all, he has mentioned being prejudice against people who do not stay true to their words. 

You like to think that you got ready so quickly, so haphazardly due to your stress over possibly being late... but you know it's because of how excited you are to see Mark and the fact he told you he wanted to see you before he would have to go and prepare for his fight.

Before you leave, you make sure to grab his sweater which you left neatly folded at your desk. When you got home after your shower, the first thing you did was throw it in the wash and put it as far away from you as possible - that damned sweater, you should have never accepted it because look what it made you do! Nonetheless, you are grateful he thought of you and your health and that is the reason you washed it, to cleanse it of any and all evidence of the sin you committed in your car last night. It is still humiliating that you allowed yourself to lose that self-control, but at least you're not in denial. 

If your father were to have seen you with that hoodie, you are almost certain he would have recognized it and interrogated you. Luckily, that didn't happen, because if it had you aren't sure you would be able to explain without the flooding images of last night filling your head and driving you up the wall.

But none of that is your concern, not when you have to make it to the gym in time for him, you're certain he should be there at this time, as well as your father who is preparing the back building where all boxing training, practice, and matches go on. Your only hope is neither of you bumps into your old man, but with how analytical he is, he practically smells when and where he needs to stick his nose into business that isn't his.

As you pull your car into the lot of the gym, noticing the familiar vehicles that belong to both the man you are excited to see, but also the one you hope you don't bump into, the butterflies begin to catch up. He wanted to see you, even to now you still replay those very words, asking you to come by earlier so he could see you before he had to go and prepare himself for the night.

The nerves are beginning to start, you never quite got over that feeling that you were stepping into unfamiliar territory. You've known Mark for quite some time by now, can't you just get over it and walk in there? It isn't even him that you're fearful of, more so the eyes that may follow you the moment you step into the gym. What will others think? You're never so early, and walking up to the redhead with a bento box? You can only imagine the rumors this will start.

Yet, you suck it up. Your father didn't raise you to run away from things, worst-case scenario is he can't talk right now and you end up looking like a fool. You doubt it, but there are a hundred and one possibilities you are anything but prepared for. But isn't that what makes it exciting? The unknown.

Not really, you hate the unknown. The entire walk to the front door of the gym, as well as entering it to see not many people you are familiar with there, which isn't surprising since you work from the afternoon until it gets dark. Nowhere in sight do you see the redhead you have been waiting to see since you last saw him yesterday evening, and you aren't even sure where he could be.

Part of you worries you may be too late, but you figure if he were to be anywhere he must be in the back building. The only issue is you would have to possibly come face-to-face with your father, not only to hand back Mark's sweater but also breakfast you prepared for him. You almost think to just bail, claim there is a ridiculous amount of traffic and you're still on the road, but he isn't stupid.

And you're also not gonna hurt his feelings.

You carry yourself towards the back doors of the building to find the separate structure where all the boxers practice and train, it is rather run down in comparison to the main gym, but it makes sense since most of the fights that go on here go on without the knowledge of authority. You aren't even sure if your father has a proper permit for this building, but he's gotten away with it before, and you're sure you've seen local officers in their casual attire attending the matches.

But all of that is beside the point, not when you enter the building and come face to face with chaos. Between people moving chairs and tables around, cleaners mopping at the floor, boxers gathered to the far end of the building where you see your father. Unfortunately, there is noMark-

Before the figure behind you can even speak, this weird tingle down your spine alerted you to an approaching figure, which you quickly look back only to be met with long red hair and a bare, sweat-tainted torso. Had he always been so tall? So big? You have no clue where to even look, your eyes jumping from his chest to his shoulder, raking over his long hair, and finally locking with the familiar crimson eyes you are used to. You feel silly for staring at him, but you just can't help it.

"You made it," Comes his voice, a grin plastered onto his face at the sight of you holding his sweater and the bento box, "I see you brought me some gifts, is this what I think it is?" The tip of his finger points at the box of grape leaves, to which you hold them out for him to take, your words trapped in your throat at the sight of him completely shirtless in front of you. 

Mark opens the box and whistles at the plentiful amount of grape leaves you had prepared for him, "You spoil me~" He hums while bringing one to his lips, taking it all in his mouth in one bite. Your eyes lock on a droplet of oil that is stuck to the corner of his mouth, how his jaw looks when he chews, the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallows. You can only imagine how much better he would look swallowing your cum, if only he was there last night to catch your juices in his mouth when you made yourself cum like that.

"How is everything coming along?" You finally find your voice, even if to just ask a question, from what you can tell most of the necessary tasks are just about done - which would leave Mark with an hour or so to get ready for the match later this afternoon - and most are just focusing on creating space to accommodate the customers coming to watch.

Nights like this your father makes the most money, charging for entry and snacks. You call him a shark for how he robs these people with his ridiculous fees, but what business is it to you? If it's what the people want, you're sure they would pay any amount just to watch some men beat each up other up. You weren't a fan of boxing until you first seen Mark, only ever wasting your time to see him in the ring.

When he swallows his third grape leaf, much to your shock, his eyes scan the room with an unsure shrug, "I'd say it looks fine, I've been trying to help out but your father refuses... keeps saying I should just go and warm up in the gym." You would figure as much, your father has favorites and those favorites tend to get the better end of the stick. 

You smile seeing how happy he is with the bento box you prepared for him, nothing makes you happier than when someone enjoys your cooking. Especially the person you like, a lot. It feels good to just be able to look at him and feel nothing but that giddy crush feeling bubbling inside of you, without the added turn-off of your anything but pure imagery that infests your less than perfect brain.

"There aren't too many people in the gym... maybe it will do you some good to stretch or something before you gotta get ready." Mark knows you're right, and he doesn't particularly enjoy doing absolutely nothing when everyone around him is up to some sort of agenda, "I don't plan on going anywhere now that I'm here, it wouldn't make sense... did you need help with anything in particular."

Of course, part of you is hoping to hear something like 'yeah, can you suck my dick?' but you know that won't happen. It is quite humiliating to even think that, how nice his thighs would feel in your palms, his cock shoved balls deep in your throat, tearing up and choking from the size. You bet he tastes just as good as he looks, and he looks like he tastes really good.

Mark closes the bento box, "Actually, yeah..." The three fingers the were covered in the thick oil that the grape leaves are cast in are one by one popped into his mouth, and oh is a sight to admire. His tongue dragging over the single-digit before dragging it out from his mouth with a light pop, "You mind wrapping my hands for me? I never do it tight enough." 

You've seen him struggle plenty of times with that hair of his, thick and down to his lower back. You aren't sure how he manages to take care of it, after all, it always looks so silky and voluminous. The women in those shampoo commercials could never compare, you're sure if Mark ever got into doing commercials he would have shelves empty within the first two seconds of the ad. 

Who wouldn't want to sit there and stare at him? His voice shaking every bone in your body, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement, his pretty white teeth, not to mention thick lashes, and the way they frame his sharp eyes. Anyone would be happy to hear him talk, let alone drag their eyes over every dip and curve of his powerhouse of a body.

Before you are quiet for too long you come back to your senses, "Of course!" It comes out rather too enthusiastic, but Mark either doesn't notice or care. Especially not when you walk past him in that pretty little skirt of yours, you look so delicious clutching his sweater to your chest, your hips swaying in the most hypnotizing way. God forbid anyone, let alone your father catches his eyes checking you out from behind.

He follows you like a lost puppy, drooling over your legs and how soft they must be, how your thighs would feel amazing to just lay his head down on them. He's always found you attractive, and your sweet personality makes it ten times better. Whenever you wear those yoga leggings, he finds himself staring too long at you, watching you walk until you disappear somewhere.

What he would give to see you in cute little stockings, holding that skirt of yours up for him to admire the adorable panties you have on. Would you be into that? Letting him stare down at you, memorize every inch of your body, rub you through your panties, and push your shirt up and over your soft tits. The things he would do to you if you gave him the chance, and today he hopes he can coax you into paying more attention to him.

The two of you enter the gym, seeing that only a few other regulars have joined the same faces from when you came. The only sound being of the equipment and the cheesy music playing through the loudspeakers. Onlookers glance for a moment, watching the two of you as you both settle at one of the benches. You know they only look because they're interested in Mark and what he could possibly be doing with you. But who cares? You get to have an excuse to hold his hand!

"Did you sleep well?" He asks while fishing into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the hand wraps, "To be honest, I was a little worried about you since it was so cold... that's why I texted you, to make sure you were okay." Every word leaves you more and more in a state of speechlessness, he truly did care. All night that's all you could wonder if he genuinely cared and it turns out he did.

You contain your excitement, not wanting it to show how happy that made you, "Really?" You squeak out, "I-I was fine... your sweater kept me warm." You hide the flustered look by focusing down at the gauze in your hands, unwrapping the elastic material, "I made sure to wash it before I brought it back, I was pretty sweaty last night."

He finds you adorable, how your pretty hands hesitantly grab one of his and hold it in your lap. Your skin is so soft, so warm, he has to hold himself back from just squeezing or dragging his palm over the exposed skin. You're so careful with how you bring the gauze over his knuckles and between his thumb and index finger, making sure it is neither too tight nor too loose.

"Too bad, you always smell really good..." He watches your expression with a smirk, not missing how you tense up, "You never answered my question about whether or not you slept..." He loses his train of words as he watches your fingers trace over his knuckles. You're gentle, treating his hand like it's the most fragile thing you ever held, between the way you've fastened the gauze just right and are now just adjusting the wrap to better cover his abused knuckles.

The only thing on your mind is whether he takes proper care of his hands or not, does he make sure to clean them up and put ice? To massage all the kinks and knots out? You worry too much for him, not that he could ever tell. The tips of your fingers trace what scars aren't being covered, admiring how much he has probably been through to get this far. You've seen the way he trains, hours without a break, and always pushing himself, that's how stars are made.

Would it be so bad...? You feel conflicted, despite your hand already gradually bringing his closer to you, has anyone ever made sure he took care of himself? You try to do so, but sometimes your selfishness gets in the way. Is there anyone he lives with that pampers him? What you would give to be that person; rubbing his aching shoulders, kissing the bruises and cuts he has, washing his hair and back for him...

"y/n-" Your name leaves his mouth with a stutter, crimson eyes caught on your lips pressing delicate kisses to his knuckles. Your lips are soft, shimmering slightly from the lip-balm you have on, not to mention the warmth of your breath wafting against his hand. He doesn't protest, more so in awe at how pretty you look, how you don't even seem to be aware of what you're doing.

To say he hasn't pictured this exact scenario a hundred times or more, you wrapping his hands before a match, kissing each finger with one of your beautiful smiles. All he can do now is soak in this mini victory, a dream come true if you will. Your eyes peering through your lashes when your lips pull away from his hand, the cutest look of shame flashing on your pretty face, "Sorry, it just looks like it hurts..."

Mark stays silent as you hold his wrapped hand, reminiscing on how your lips felt on him, wondering if they would feel even better elsewhere. He doesn't respond right away, placing his unwrapped hand in your lap with a smile, "I liked it..." He says while you start to wrap his other hand, "Y-You should do it more often." 

You never expected him to say something like that, not that you expected him to be upset with you. To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting his response to being when you pulled away. Part of you thought the atmosphere would grow awkward, unwanted even. Yet, here you are repeating the process with his other hand, the entire time you can't keep yourself from glancing up, only for your eyes to lock with his and his lips to curl into a smug smirk.

Just as you had with his other hand, you sheepishly bring the newly wrapped knuckles to your lips. Of course, this time you aren't as confident, but he finds it just as pleasurable. Your pretty eyes locked with his, kissing at the scarred flesh and trying to sit still. He can tell you're embarrassed simply by your body language, which you shouldn't be, he likes this show you're putting on for him.

Only when you finish, lowering his hand from your face and sitting up straight on the bench opposite to him, does Mark get a good look at your face. You would look good with a swollen bottom lip, irritated from his teeth nipping and tugging at it, and he wouldn't mind giving your cheek a playful bite, too. He realizes he doesn't quite want you to move away just yet, the simple act of you wrapping his hands already leaving him craving more of your attention.

"Could you help me with my hair, too?" You are only a little surprised by the question, especially since you've seen him put up his hair - despite it looking rather rough around the edges and a bit too low - and be perfectly fine with it. But you wouldn't turn down the opportunity to be close with him for a little longer. Did he ask that because he wants the same thing? You want to believe it.

Mark hands you the tie around his wrist, watching you come to a stand and circle around to stand behind him. His hair looks shiny, like layers of red silk on his head, "You have nice hair," You shyly state, putting the tie around your wrist as you start to gather his long and thick hair in your hands, "I bet you'd look nice with a half-up half-down style, but keeping it all up is probably for the best so it doesn't obstruct your vision, right?"

He wanted to answer you, but your voice sends such a chill through his spine, your warm breath hitting the back of his neck as you work to make sure not a single hair has fallen astray. Your fingers are like heaven, rubbing against his scalp, combing through the heavy bundle of red hair, "The last time I wore my hair down for a fight," He holds his tongue when you lean forward, the softness of your tummy pressing into him as you lean over his body to make sure you gather the hair in front, "I-It kept getting the way and stuck on things..."

You hum softly, not even really aware that the fact you're practically laying over his back to pull back the loose strands have him swelling in his briefs. Fuck, he would do anything to fill you up right here, let everyone watch him do it too. Pretty little y/n get her pussy stuffed for being a teasing little whore, panties around your ankle, barely fitting him inside of you. 

"You'll do great tonight," You say loud enough for only him to hear, "And um... maybe after we can go out for dinner?" Mark almost laughs at the predicament, it seems you beat him to it, "I-I mean, only if you're up for it, I just know this place with really good western dishes and I wanted-"

"Would you believe me if I said I was gonna ask you the same question after the match?" Your heart lodges in your throat, he is serious... right? Of course, why else would he say that? But it feels too good to be true! Would he really ask you out for dinner? It feels like everything is just falling together with the more the day goes by; wanting to see you before the match, wanting to ask you out for dinner, kissing his knuckles, touching his hair... it feels too perfect.

Technically it is because it seems your fifteen minutes of heaven is up when the familiar face of your father approaches you both, your fingers fall from the red hair you had been playing with, "I've been looking everywhere for you, kid... and you've been here the whole time!" His hands go up in the air, urgingMark to stand up, "Turns out we are actually behind schedule, the guys who came for the match are here an hour early so we gotta get you changed and ready to go in thirty minutes. Understood?"

PoorMark looks like a deer caught in headlights, "H-Huh? I thought the matches weren't until later...?" Even you are a tad confused by the situation, the matches are always held later in the day, wouldn't it be inconvenient to start now when there aren't even any customers?

But it turns out everything happens for a reason, "That was the impression I was under, but it turns out the new kid I hired to put up posters and shit put in the wrong damn time. So not only are people expecting a match in the next thirty minutes, but I haven't even finished getting the beer and shit out." Your father seems to be off the walls, between the anger in his tone and the way his brows are knitted close together, you don't think now is the time to upset him.

"You, go get changed and ready." Your father pushes Mark in the direction to the dressing rooms, "And you," He smiles while taking your face in his palms, "If I see that redhead getting too friendly with you I will kick his ass, now go and get yourself something to eat from the back you look half-awake." That's your father for you, even protective when the nice guys are around.

Alas, you do not argue, now is probably not the best time to tell him you wanted to go to dinner with Mark later tonight. You follow his orders to go and help with the food and beverages, you're sure he wouldn't want you working, but you figured with all the stress of the times being wrong you could help even just a little bit.

This is the most chaotic you have seen the gym, people coming with nowhere to go just yet, workers running around with chairs and tables and mops, carrying cases of whiskey and soda and things alike. If you weren't used to such disorder, for sure you would have cracked under the pressure of everything. Working a gym that also happens to have a "secret" boxing system in itself is just a mess.

Deep down, you feel bad for everyone and seeing the boxers rush in and out half-dressed in their uniforms and still trying to help, but at the same time, the fact that everything has been pushed earlier simply means you not only get to go out with Mark sooner but most likely stay out with him longer. You only hope that the stress of this mishap and the fight doesn't ruin those chances and he forgets, or even worse, just doesn't want to go out anymore.

As usual, you know that is just your overactive imagination and the pessimistic side of you, always questioning your worth and whether or not an opportunity is real or not. A lot of nights you spend laughing at yourself, how silly you were for holding so much doubt and worry over nothing; now is one of those moments.

When you should be focusing on helping to carry this case of water to the back building, you're wondering how Mark is coming along. He looked a little under pressure the last time you saw him, what if he might need help? Probably not...

But he did say he needed a little good luck before the match.

Maybe visiting him will somehow ease his nerves, despite him being a big guy with a lot of confidence, you are sure even men like him can be on edge for something like a boxing match. It's like football in high school minus being in high school and the football, right? Before game adrenaline, eyeing up the enemy, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the fight of your life. Everyone wants to win.

The only difference is that you know Markwill come out on top, you've never had as much faith in anyone as you do with him... which is why your feed deters from the back door to the second building in favor of finding which room Mark may be holed up in. Every dressing room has a name on it, and there are only five being used tonight because most of the boxers being trainees.

Your father is a big perfectionist, and if he doesn't have one hundred percent faith in you, then there is no way he will have you representing him. You learned that a lot growing up, but you think that's one of the reasons you crave perfection over minuscule things like how the gym equipment is set up, and where the towels and waters out, how things are accessible. They do say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

As you make your way down the hall of vacant and occupied doors, your eyes finally catch sight of the familiar name done in the familiar striking handwriting you have seen thousand times over. Mark has this little within quirk that you can easily identify, always sharpening his letters and irregular capitalization. You've always liked coming to work to see his name on the sign-in sheet, always so bold and pop from the rest of the list of names. 

For a moment you almost hesitate to knock on his door, but it is either now or never that you speak to him. You bring your knuckles to the door, knocking three times before stepping back and waiting. You don't hear anything on the other side of the door, could he have already left? It is a possibility, out of everyone his costume has always been the most... let's just say revealing. Mark is meant to be the eye-catcher, he is young, has bold red hair, is big and intimidating all the while looking soft.

All the boxers have their teams, and Mark's just so happens to be a nice, scary piece of eye candy. Not that you mind at all, more for you to look at! But when the door doesn't open, you come to the conclusion he isn't there, turning on your heel to head back out and see if anyone needs help. You're disappointed to say the truth, having wanted to talk with him for a second before the match, but not everything can just fall into place.

You get about ten feet from the door before you hear the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of its opening, "y/n?" The familiar voice stops you in place, you had thought the door belonged to someone else but turning to look into the crimson eyes of the person you had been hoping to see, "Hey, what's up?" He is only a little shocked to see you there, to be truthful he was hoping it was you on the other end of the door when he hurried to get to it.

But you standing there, he almost didn't believe it for a second, not until you scurried your pretty little self back the way you came to meet him at his door, "N-No! I just thought you could use a little help, you looked distressed when you had to rush out of there before." Your words sink in for a moment, you were worried. He finds it rather cute, you worrying your head over him and wanting to be a good helper.

"Is that so...?" He hums, smiling when you slowly crack under his gaze, "Can you help me get this shitty top on? Your father forgot to order a bigger size so we are trying to compromise." You're a little flustered to help him with his costume of all things, you'll be alone in a room with him and his uniform barely covers anything. Between the fact, his entire torso is revealed aside from the signature black arm sleeves, and you'll be dangerously close to him? You are melting and you aren't even entirely in his room yet.

No matter what, you refuse to turn him down, not now. You look both ways down the hall before quietly entering his room, the door shutting behind you both, "I'll be sure to order a resizing for you," You say and examine the rest of what should be a part of the top of his costume, "He must have gotten you mixed up with the new guy, but that's okay people aren't here to judge you for what you're wearing!"

Mark sits down for you, letting you adjust the arm sleeves on his arm, due to the collar and shoulder pieces not fitting him, they won't have anything to be held up with, "I find it kinda funny how big your dad is about image and impression, considering he has men beating on each other for like four hours straight." Your fingers feel hot against his skin, apply a makeshift tape to the inside of the hem of the sleeves so that it has a better grip on his biceps.

"I was thinking... maybe instead of staying for everything to finish, we could just go out as soon as my match is over?" Your heart leaps at the suggestion, you're starting to think that he can read your thoughts, that the entire time you were freaking out over that dinner date not working he heard it all and was now making sure you could rest assured. Again, once again your imagination going over the top, but it doesn't kill a girl to dream!

With nothing more to modify regarding his costume - which you realized he never needed help with it to start and he was giving an excuse for you to stick around - you circle to look him in the face, "I would like that, I don't really... I kinda only go to these matches to watch you." He knew that but you don't know that he knows, so he pretends he is shocked, "A-And because the matches are earlier than they were supposed to, maybe we have time before or after dinner to do something else?"

His mind wandered, he won't deny it, what could pretty y/n possibly have in mind for before or after dinner? He'd love for it to be you bouncing in his lap with your tits spilling out that top of yours, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you? Mark can just imagine how good you would look, squealing and gasping, doing your best to take his big cock, even crying a little because you don't wanna mess up and not be good enough for him.

Fuck, you look so tantalizing standing there, your fingers messing with one another in front of you as you wait for a response, "What did you have in mind?" Mark wants to know what sort of ideas you have brewing in your head. Here is he wanting to fuck you whenever he gets the chance, and poor you have no clue. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if you have fantasies of your own, it's always the one who acts all sweet and sugary that ends up being sour and spicy.

"I-I'm not sure... but we could figure it out later, right?" He is a little disappointed you didn't have anything specific you wanted to do, but he figured as much since everything is so last minute. Nonetheless, he can't wait to see what happens later, he knows you'll make it work just like you always do.

The silence that falls for a few brief seconds doesn't last long when a knock comes at the door, to which you look over in horror. You don't need someone walking in and seeing you here, especially if that is your father. But Mark has it under control, going over to the door and peeking out. You can't see who it is, but you can hear their conversation from start to finish.

"You're on in five, so get that uniform finished and get out there, 'kay?" You figured it was your father with how strict he is when it comes to time, "Also, have you seen y/n?" You freeze up at the mention of your name, you'll be dead if he so much as smells you in this room, which is the reason you sink further into the corner and as far away from the door as possible.

"I haven't, but I'll be done in a minute, don't worry." Less is more with your father, and thankfully you can hear the sound of him going on with whatever it was he was doing before checking on Mark. The door clicks shut and only then do you let out the breath you had been holding, "Shit, that was close..."

If only he knew how badly your heart was racing, and you wish you could say it was out of fear, but all you feel is hot, that adrenaline of your father finding his sweet little girl in the room of one of his scary boxers. What would he think? Sure he would tie you up in the tallest tower, but he would for sure hasMark's head on a pike in the gym. You almost miss that he is beginning to gather his things and ready himself to go out to the ring.

You still haven't given him any sort of good luck; no pep talk, no awkward friendship bracelet, no bouquet of cheap flowers. Why were you even here then? You wonder if he is disappointed, he did specifically say 'are you going to give me some good luck?' yesterday and here you show up empty-handed. But the last thing you want is to leave him with no sort of confirmation that you wish him the best.

Before he can leave, you are quick to make a move, "Mark-" You stop him with a grab to his wrist, crimson orbs look over broad shoulders to meet your own, "You said you needed good luck before the game..." What are you doing? You have nothing to give or show...

Markwaits in suspense, he had entirely forgotten the very words he said yesterday. He didn't mean it he was just teasing you a little like he always does. But the fact you remembered? He is flattered, albeit confused because he doesn't see anything in your hands and you don't have a bag or pockets on you... his head wanders, maybe a kiss? He would be more than just happy with that, through the roof even!

But as he watches you, tense where you stand and caught in some sort of conflict, the last thing he expects is to see you bend forward. He isn't quite sure what it is you're doing at first, but then your hands shimmy up and under your skirt.

What makes it even more of a smack to his face is when he sees something pink and lacy being slipped down your legs. Maybe it was how dumbfounded he was, but until you slipped your pretty legs out from the fabric and hold it out for him, does he realize that little pink lace is your panties, "A-A good luck charm for Red Riot from his... from his number one fan."

The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, did you kill him? He looks almost dead where he stands, his eyes wide, and locked on the bundle of fabric in your hand. You almost worry you did too much, "Kick some ass." You quickly take his hand and shove your panties in them, hurrying out the room with the most flustered yet satisfied grin on your face. You did it, sure it may have been a bit much, but your feelings are out there and the ball is in his field. Now it's his job to decide whether he accepts it or not.

You hurry out to the back building, knowing your father is most likely being driven up the wall by not knowing where you are. You concoct an excuse in your head, you were just in the bathroom because something you ate didn't sit right. He would believe that, right? He's always doting after you like you're still his little princess dressing up and walking around in sequins and glitter.

The building is a lot more crowded than you expected, but it is easy to find your father after shimmying through the crowd, "Where the hell were you, y/n? I was asking everyone and running around like crazy, I thought some psycho had-" You stop him with a gentle pat to his back, oh if only daddy knew what exactly it was you were doing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, right? You're here, and you better be making sure you leeches don't go over and try to steal snacks."

Almost directly after, your father is surfing through the crowd to try and sell gym merch, memberships, popcorn, and peanuts. He has always been a businessman at heart, and you are anything but shocked to see him with his bag of random foods and trinkets to sell to customers.

The chaos doesn't last long, the familiar ring of the bell that calls attention to the crowd has the room quieting. You are familiar with the process of hyping up the crowd, when you were little and watching boxing matches on television with your father, you would imitate the spokesperson to make him laugh. You always wanted to do something like that, have all eyes on you as you do nothing but talk.

But you grew out of it inevitably, though it doesn't mean watching someone else do it makes it any less enjoyable, "Anyway, let me stop boring you all with meaningless conversation... let me welcome the man representing this very ring, Red Riot!" Everything else was a blur, Mark happily coming out, but if anyone could tell something was off it was you. The way his eyes wolfishly searched the crowds, as if he is expecting something or someone to be there...

Only after the spokesperson finishes introducing the redhead to the crowd of wild and returning fans, does he return to that strange behavior of looking around, he doesn't even pay attention to his opponent who is trying to antagonize and rile him up. What you least expect is for him to walk straight across the ring to where you are and lean down so you can get a good look at his face, "You're crazy," He whispers with one of the scariest smiles you've ever seen, "I think I figured out what we could do before dinner, you better be in that dressing room when this is over."

If anything could describe the things you felt right then, it would be both fear and excitement. Especially when he shamelessly reaches through the ring, knowing your father is completely distracted and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and pulls you forward. You trip over your own feet, holding down your skirt when you remember you gave your panties to the crimson-haired man that has you in the palm of his hand.

Mark presses the sweetest kiss to your cheek, and if it weren't for the fact you both were in public, you would have grabbed his face and smashed your lips right onto his. But you take what you can get and flash him your prettiest smile before he has to let you go and return his attention to the man he is supposed to fight.

Everything feels surreal, your fingers constantly reaching up to touch the exact spot his soft lips had found your skin. God, if you were to die you would be totally fine with it after having that kiss, the match feels like a blur. Usually, you are ready to cheer him on, but now? All you can manage to do is watch and wait for it to be over, and with the way, the fight is going? You're certain the poor guy he is against is going to fall any second. 

Mark dodges the third punch the guy has thrown, you're starting to think he is growing desperate and exhausted. Why else is he just throwing random and uncoordinated punches? You've seen it a thousand times before, they always start going wild when they are tired and desperate. And you know Mark well, he isn't a fan of a sloppy opponent. This is why, although you flinched, you're also not surprised by the force he puts into his punch to humble the man in front of him. You hate how messy things can get, the sweat on them, blood... it's like watching two wild bears claw at one another's throats.

"Ouch! Looks like you're gonna pass out there, buddy... thinking of calling it quits and handing the win to Red?" You wish he would say yes, that he would just give up and let Mark have it for the night. You can barely find it in you to worry over some boxing match when he demanded you to meet him in his room. All of these scenarios are burning through your head, and even if it isn't what you want, you would be more than happy with another kiss.

Between the punches and swings, the blood you just noticed was dripping from Mark's nose and onto the lips he had kissed you with, it is all so overwhelming in addition to your hormones going crazy. You have never wished for a boxing match withMark to be over so badly, and it isn't even that you don't want to see him fight! You just want to see him elsewhere, specifically in private... specifically where he is undressed.

But when you see the man get Mark in a headlock, your heart drops for a second, he has this, right? You know he does, but you hate how long it's taking him to get out of that. You always get nervous for him when he takes a few seconds too long to take the advantage back, "Oh, do we have a possible turn around?" You can't stand him being stuck like that.

The only thing you know that could possibly give him the energy he needs to get out of that headlock is someone cheering for him. And sure the whole room is cheering from him, but he specifically told you, 'hearing you cheer is different from hearing everyone else, so use your voice!'

With all you have, you take a deep breath and cup your mouth to amplify your voice, "You got this,Mark!" And if anyone can pick your name from the crowd, it is him. It's like watching someone suddenly going through a drug boost, the way his arms coming up and tug himself free of the grasp around his head, all you can do is continue to cheer for him until he finally lands a good enough punch stun the guy. Red eyes find you in the crowd, and although he looks scary with the swollen lip and blood from his nose, you still get butterflies when he gives you that charming smile and a wink.

"Never mind, Red Riot has once again held his ground! Don't forget to place your bets in the back on who will win and possibly receive a free gym membership for two months!" It feels like you have been standing there for a million years, the snack table isn't even at the top of your priority list right now, you couldn't care less if they stole everything including the table!

The fight is already in the hands of the very man you have been cheering for this whole time, you didn't doubt it for a second. It is only a matter of either that man tapping out or Mark knocking him out and you don't care which it is. You are on the tips of your toes with how things are looking, Mark has insane stamina but you can tell he is getting a little fed up and tired, "Knock him out, Mark!" 

He lands a punch to the abdomen, the man curling over to armor his stomach, which anyone knows is the worst thing you can do. Right then and there, you knew it was over, especially when right after Mark knocks him directly in the nose and the guy goes falling back. He may not be unconscious, but his body language, the wooziness to his movements... you know he is finished.

"Aaaand~" Everyone counts down from three, "We have checkmate! But are we surprised with who is the winner? No!" You don't even listen to what the man has to say, not when the referee climbs the ring to hold Red Riot's fist in the air, a formal symbol that he has taken this week's fight. 

And when he looks right at you with that goofy smile of his, you can't help but to practically jumping in place with your biggest smile, blowing him a kiss. Of course, you didn't forget his demand for you to meet him in the dressing room. The moment you see him climbing out of the ring, you are high tailing out of that building. Could your father be calling for you? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not.

Not when you are holding down your skirt and running double-time right out of that humid building to get to where you need to be. Every muscle in your body is aching, every nerve aflame. If you could describe what it was you were feeling, it's like teetering over the edge right before you cum. To feel everything in your body working, like a thousand electric shocks straight to your core. 

You're so focused on getting down that hallway and into that room, your ears are deaf to the oncoming footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, "Gotcha!" A scream catches in your throat when you recognize the arms that wrap around your midsection and pick you up, no one else wears black arm sleeves like this, "C'mere." His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look back at him just so his lips could finally meet yours.

And you should be disgusted by the blood from his nose rubbing off on your upper lip, or how you can taste the iron on your tongue. But you have waited so long to kiss him like this, even if it wasn't you imagined a hundred times over, it feels better than you could ever concoct in your imaginative brain. His lips are not at all chapped, they are soft and plush and perfectly mold with yours. 

Only when his tongue playfully swipes at your bottom teeth do the two of you break apart for air, eyes locked together in a moment of silence. You've never felt like this, as if you have a million and one little feathers moving around all inside of you, "I don't what I'm gonna do to you first." His voice is like a growl against your nape, the vibrations deep and rumbling into your sensitive skin.

He doesn't let you go yet, his arms remain tight around your torso as he carries you in front of him the rest of the way to the room with your toes barely touching the ground, "What are you going to- ah~!" Your eyes tear up when he sinks his teeth into your neck, slamming the door behind him with his heel, "M-Mark... mm~" He doesn't let up on your neck, sucking at the already darkening bite mark he has created. If someone were to tell you that you would be in this situation, with Mark Markholding you snug against his front and forcing you to bend over the vanity in his dressing room, you wouldn't believe them.

"Fuck, I was so close to grabbing you and dragging you right back in here when you gave me these," He digs your panties from his pocket, "You thought that was cute, huh? Tugging these off right in front of me like that?" You know he isn't expecting an answer, but you can't expect but to give him the smuggest nod you can while looking at him in the mirror, "You think you're so cute, don't you?"

The way he speaks with you, it's almost on the dot with every fantasy you have had. To feel like the perfect bittersweet brat just for him, if this is the reaction you will get then you plan to push his buttons more often. Every word that leaves him has you further hooked on his line and you will do anything just for him to keep whispering those things in your ear, for him to grab your face and make you meet his eyes.

"I wanna kiss again..." You give him your sweetest pout, doing your best to peer over your shoulder and trying to reach behind you to bring him closer, but he is having none of your little needinesses. Your hands are gathered easily in one of his big palms, pinned in front of you at the desk, "Mark, please~" 

He gives you a shake of his head, his free hand coming up to grab your chin and keep you still for him, "Nuh-uh, look at you..." His thumb swipes at your upper lip, "Got blood all over you, babe..." You felt it and tasted it the moment you kissed him, but you couldn't care less, your tongue dragging over your upper lip to clean it up. And you didn't miss the wolfish look in his eyes, watching your tongue drag over that blood and smear it even more.

Before your tongue can retract back into your mouth, he is quick to lean forward and press his lips to yours so his tongue can pry its way into your mouth. You don't fight it either, this is exactly what you had wanted and you are getting it. His tongue tastes like mint and a hint of iron from his busted bottom lip, but it is all good to you, if you could you would dance your tongue with his until you were on the brink of asphyxiation.

But you know that isn't possible, not when he is already pulling away from the kiss in favor of leaving a trail of them down your tender neck. It tickles, but you take it like you're supposed to, only somewhat flinching when he finds the bruise he had already left. It feels like needles, burning under the playful tracing of his tongue over the bite marks in your flesh. 

"Jerk..." You're silenced with a sharp spank, and you should be whining over it, but you've wanted this time and time again. You have no room to complain that it left your poor ass burning, not when it has you craving another. He likes your little resistance, how you give him something to dance around. As much as he enjoys the idea of you being his submissive little lamb, this little game you have going on is all the more interesting.

Without warning the bottom of your skirt is tugged up, your bare and wet pussy coming right into view, "Look at you, walking around with nothing under this... I bet you enjoyed that, look at how wet you are." Mark's hand is so hot on your ass, tugging it to pull your pussy nice and open for him to look at. You look so soft, so sweet, if he could he would take a nice bite out of you right now.

"Fuck, you think you can fit it?" You try to answer, you really do, but you can't stop focusing on his hand mocking you. The way it slowly circles your ass, the pad of his thumb barely grazing at your slit, "You want it, don't you?" You nod slowly while watching him through the mirror, how his abdominal muscles flex with every movement of his body, the sweat that sticks to his skin, not to mention the evident strain in his pants.

Everything feels hot, from the tip of your nose down to your toes, it's like you've been engulfed in hellfire... in a good way. Everything he does to you feels good, even if it's just locking eyes with you in the mirror, or readjusting your hips to take in every dip, curve, and roll on your pretty self. It doesn't matter what he does, and you know that the reason he has you so worked up is simply that it is him.

You are aware that the two of you are strapped for time, being here and like this is as unconventional as it can get. You know you can't be too loud, and you both can't take as long as you want, but you plan to make the most of it. If anything, you still have time to possibly exchange that dinner date for something else and you're sureMark wouldn't mind that, not with how you can feel his breath down your spine.

As much as you dreamed of your first encounter with him to be romantic, the moment you slipped off your panties and put them in his hand drew the line between a romantic night out and the potential that night you both won't be able to keep your hands to yourselves, "You're gonna watch me fuck you," He points at the mirror for you to look, not that you haven't been staring at yourselves through it this whole time, "I want you to see the slutty faces you make."

For a moment, you actually believed that he would finally fuck you, as foolish as that is, but rather than pulling off his own pants he is guiding you to sit on the vanity desk with your front showing in the mirror. The awkward position forces your pretty thighs open, giving you a look at just how ruined your pretty little cunny is, how your slick sticks to it and dribbles just a little onto the vanity you are sat on.

No words are exchanged between the both of you, his eyes are locked on your changing expression while yours are locked on his wandering hands. His fingers snake their way from your waist, gradually moving upward and under your shirt. His palms are rough and calloused, still wrapped in the gauze you had done prior to the fight, pulling at the sensitive skin of your torso. The fabric has the hairs on your neck standing up and when his large hands grope your tits through your bra you feel a familiar electric shock goes straight to your core.

"What're you making that face for?" You hadn't realized the way your face scrunched up in response to his hands, and the cocky smirk on his face only makes you all the more embarrassed, "Are you sensitive here...?" To test his intuition, his fingers push under your bra to feel at your bare tits, grinning at how soft they are and the way they fit so nicely in his palms.

You hate how it makes you feel, how every swipe of his thumb over your nipple has your hips bucking just a little, "M-Mark... mm- ah!" You're caught off guard by the mean pinch he gives your pert nipples, giving the sensitive buds an observant twist, watching your every reaction and every little twitch of those soft thighs. You look perfect, completely at his mercy and leaning back into him as his hands do what they please under your shirt, "Hah... y-you don't have to be so harsh..."

"No?" You shake your head in response, a cute little pout pulling at your bottom lip, "But I like how you react and look," One of his hands pull from beneath your shirt in favor of hiking up the bottom of your skirt to reveal your swollen and dripping pussy, "You seem to like it, too... making a mess all over yourself." He isn't wrong, you love it. You love the burn of your nipples with every painful twist, how your tits feel sore from his tight squeezes.

But simply touching them aren't enough for him, he wants to see them. You're already a pretty little thing, he doesn't doubt for a second your tits will only add to the list of things he likes about it. As well as to the list of things that turn him on, you being at the very top of that list.

You peer over your shoulder expectantly, eyes flicking from his down to his lips, you give him the only hint he needs to lean forward and slot his lips with yours. His tongue tastes just as good in your mouth as it did before, dancing teasingly and brush under your tongue. It's a wet, icky feeling but also one you wouldn't want to share with anyone but him. And with you so distracted by his tongue dancing with yours and tracing over your teeth, it gives him the perfect chance to do as he pleases.

One hand is swift with guiding your shirt up and over your tits, and it doesn't take much effort for his two fingers to get the clasp behind your back to snap open. The only obstacle being the straps that prevent him from completely taking the article of clothing off, but you're already on it, all without breaking the kiss you are sharing with him. While you work your arms out of the straps but also keeping your shirt on just in case you two have to make a run for it, Mark focuses his attention on your spread legs.

Opening just one of his eyes allows him to see the arousal that sticks to your cunny shimmers against the light of the room, all he has done was kiss you and play with your tits... you're a perverted girl, getting this wet over nothing, he bets you were thinking things that would leave even him a little shocked. Maybe later he will make it his mission to drag those fantasies out of you.

With the way you're situated on the vanity, feet planted on the desk as to give him the best view of your entire body in the mirror, it is easy for you to spread your legs impossibly wider for his hand that continues to slowly travel down your navel. The kiss breaks, only for you to little his jaw and neck with kisses, stopping right under his ear to begin sucking your own hickey into the sensitive skin.

Nothing could have prepared you for when his fingers finally met your throbbing clit, dragging over the neglected nerve, barely applying pressure with how he circles your clit and smears your arousal over your pussy, "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" A pathetic hum of agreement passes your lips at his question, one you know he didn't expect you to answer. But he doesn't pay too much attention to that, not when he is dragging his fingers down between your folds to spread you open, "Fuck, you're so tight..."

Mark prods his middle finger at your not-yet-prepped entrance, watching how your walls suck his finger inside in desperation for some sort of relief. All this teasing and beating around the bush has your poor insides churning from the suspense. It's only one finger, but just as you expected that one finger feels a million times better than your two fingers. He knows how to curl them, to rub at the spongy patches inside of you, "Mm~! I-It feels good there..."

"Where?" He coos at your relaxed expression, "Here?" His finger rudely jabs at the spot he knows is making every muscle in your body go lax, to which you flash him a less than pleasant glare, "I'm just playing with you." His index finger is careful with how it slowly eases itself inside, pushing in with your middle fingers and getting you used to the stretch. It feels good, no discomfort in the slightest, and you can assume it's because of the way he continues to mess with that single spot that had your knees buckling.

His fingers push in as far as they can go just to mess with your walls, grinding and curling at the sensitive patches of nerves, only to remove both fingers entirely just to give your poor clit a few wet pats, "Ngh-Markiii, stop teasing it hurts..." He knows it does, he can see it in your twisted expression with every tap your clit receives, how you go from relaxing in his arms to flinching at the abuse.

But he can't help himself, not with how adorable you look bucking into his hand when he circles your clit, or your thighs twitching at the intrusion of his fingers. You look stunning, grabbing at his wrist when he is too rough, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. If it means seeing you continue to make such soft noises and to continue to breathe out his name like that, he'll keep doing what he has to do.

"If you don't want me teasing you, what do you want?" Oh, he can tell you weren't ready for that. It reads entirely in your flustered expression, and his fingers continuing to pump inside of you aren't doing anything to help... especially with the lewd squelching sounds your cunny just can't seem to stop making. It's humiliating, to say the least, how your pussy sucks his fingers inside desperately, the eroticism of watching his fingers disappear inside of you.

"M-Mark...: You don't even want to say all the things you want him to do to you, how do you tell him you've always wanted this? That night and night again you have touched yourself to the thought of him doing just about everything to you, from bouncing you in his lap, riding his face, bending you over, and having his way with you. You don't know where to start.

Mark can read it in your eyes that you have your words lodged in your throat, "If you don't tell me, this is all you're gonna get," He emphasizes his words with the pats of his fingers against your clit, "So be a good girl and speak up." You know he won't let you go until you give him exactly what he wants, the words are right on the tip of your tongue!

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his fingers slip out from your cunny, only to begin rubbing your clit back and forth, "I-I..." You squeak as he only seems to be rougher with you, purposely making you trip over your own words, "Mark~ fuck, fuck fuck-" Your fingers dig into his wrist, "I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" A strangled breath gets caught in your throat when he quickly pulls his fingers from your clit, "W-Wait, I was close,Mark!"

"Answer me and I'll let you cum." 

His lips on your throat make it all the more difficult, but without the added pressure of his fingers abusing your poor cunny, you finally muster up the words to tell him, "I want you..." He gives you that look, the one that shows he expects more, "I want you inside me-"

"What do you want inside?" He coos, fingers brushing under your chin to bring your focus to him, "My fingers?" You shake your head with a subtle smile, "Hm... this?" He sticks out his tongue at you, only to earn himself another shake of your head. He feigns ignorance, pretending he has no idea what you could be possibly talking about. 

Your sneaky fingers reach behind you, Mark didn't even notice because of how absorbed he was with your cute tits, cupping at the bulge in his pants, "This..." He didn't expect you to be so bold, not after how stubborn you were just being, but he likes the playful squeeze you give him, "Does that answer your question?" Your snooty little comment earns a sharp pinch to your clit.

"Yeah, it does," Through the mirror you can see him undoing the belt that holds up his pants, watching the cargo material fall around his thighs and revealing just how strained his aroused cock is against his briefs, "C'mon, get down and bend over the desk." You didn't expect him to be so quick to give you what you want, but deep down you think he still has something up his sleeve.

Without arguing, you climb down from the vanity as you were told, watching Mark in the mirror as you lean forward and put your weight on the desk. As much as you were watching him, he was also watching you. His eyes dragging down the curve of your back to your soaked pussy peaking from under the hem of your shirt, he has imagined this very scenario time and time again, and here you are right in front of him.

Somehow the real thing requires so much more thought than if it were only in his head, knowing whether you're okay, making sure you're not uncomfortable. No longer is it all just him and his dirty thoughts, he has to worry about your feelings too. And he is fine with that, but he never expected himself to feel like he has two tons on his shoulders by simply looking at you. It's one thing for you to be in his head bent over, but for you to be bent over actually in front of him? Well, let's just say his nerves aren't cooperating.

Maybe you noticed this, enough that briefly stand up from your previous position to meet his gaze, "I'm kinda nervous..." If he knows it isn't just him that's a little fearful of the unknown, there is a possibility it could bring back his confidence, "We can start slow and find our flow, right? that's how it's supposed to be." You're right, and he knows you are, maybe it was the thought that you had these high expectations that were making him nervous.

Little does he realize, as much as you want to be pretty enough and good enough for him, he wants to be just the same for you. But seeing the way you look at him, no sort of judgment or expectancy behind your eyes, giving him your signature smile, helps to melt all of that frustration and uncertainty away. You've always been good at doing that.

He isn't sure what came over him to cup your cheeks like that and pull you into a kiss, and sure the two of you knocked teeth from how urgent the kiss was at first, but the passion behind the kiss seemed to cast every sliver of doubt and second-guessing aside. All of your focus is on him, and his focus is on you in that very moment. 

The electricity that surges through you with every push of your lips against his, tugging at his lip only for him to bite back and do the same to you. It's like you two found a middle ground, the kiss connecting you both in a way nothing else could, blindly guiding you two in the position you both need to feel comfortable. Somehow you finding yourself seated on the vanity desk and his hips between your spread thighs.

You break the kiss, lungs burning from holding your breath for as long as you could, eyes falling down between your spread legs, "Ah..." Your breath catches at the sight of him beginning to push inside, you didn't get a well enough look at how big he is, but the feeling alone is a little unnerving. You aren't even sure how much is in, but it feels like more than you truly think it is.

"Don't pay attention to that," His voice is hushed, grabbing your attention and making you pick your head back up, "Does it hurt?" To be honest, it doesn't, it's more like this full stretch that is only slightly discomforting. Something you weren't prepared for but believe you can handle. You shake your head, not wanting him to think he is doing something wrong, which he isn't.

His hair looks so soft, albeit messy because of the fight, but nonetheless still silky and you can't keep your fingers from combing into it, "I want another kiss," Your fingers tug the tie from his hair and watch the red locks fall to lay over his broad shoulders, "Unless you're too nervous to kiss me, hm?" 

Your challenge ignites a fire within his chest, you sure know what things to say and when to get him riled up. And what you just said about him being too nervous? Oh, he isn't having it. Mark doesn't even need to speak for you to see the "game on" look in his eyes, and it doesn't make you any more shocked when his hand finds your throat and uses it to pull you forward.

The air is knocked from your lungs at the jerk of your body forward to meet him halfway, but you don't complain for a second, not when he gives you the confidence you had thought disappeared. It feels good to have that authoritative role back in him, for him to be taking back control with how he wants you and what he wants to do to you. Through the sloppy kiss that he has you locked in, you can feel your body being laid back on the vanity.

To your surprise, you have enough room to properly lay back, and with that Mark takes advantage of it. The desk perfectly supports your weight, allowing him the chance to grab your right leg and hoist it over his shoulder to create a more open angle for him to have you in. Immediately you can tell the difference in the feeling with this position, it pushes deeper at your walls rather than just rubbing past those spongy patches.

"Ngh... fuck, th-there it..." You can't form the right words to tell him how good it feels, even with the slow and controlled pace he has set for you, "Mark, I can take more. Please." You don't even try to hide the need in your tone, how it comes out as almost a whine rather than a polite little request. And he doesn't mind the demand, if you need more he is going to give it to you. After all, you're used to being daddy's little princess.

"You really think you can take more?" You nod your head, your hum of affirmation coming out as a moan, "Yeah? I don't think you can." His words contradict his actions, his back arching forward as he picks up the pace. No longer is the room echoing with nothing but moans and the obnoxiously wet sounds of your overwhelmed cunny, but the added volume of skin slapping skin makes what you both are doing here all the riskier. 

His cock is ruthless, no matter the pace he uses you can feel every vein and the slight curve of his member, it feels too much even if he isn't giving you enough. The size itself is a problem, and he likes to use that to tease you; you're too small, you can't take it... it doesn't matter. If he finds a way to make you feel little and weak in comparison to him? He goes for it.

And you don't mind, you like the dominance, how he keeps you pinned down with one hand on your throat and the other pinning your left thigh down. You feel completely at his mercy where you lay, unable to do anything but take it, "Mark, fuck, fuck-" 

"Shh," He warns you, "Don't forget where we are." And you haven't, the whole time you two have been doing this all you could do was worry over someone walking in or by or something, "Don't need your father finding out his little girl is getting her sloppy pussy stretched open... and it'll make it worse if he finds out I'm the one doing it." You know that, but you're a big girl, you don't need your father's permission to get laid!

Unfortunately, you keep that attitude too. Why should you have to keep quiet? You're having fun, that's no one's business but yours and Mark's. "B-But... but I like it-" You gasp when your right leg is brought down from your shoulder in favor of both knees being pinned to your shoulders, "Ah- too much, too much, too much~!" 

Mark, as much as he loves your sexy moans and cutesy whimpers, he doesn't love the idea of either of you getting caught like this, and what better way to fix the noise problem than shoving the panties you kindly give him right in your mouth? And it's only better that the pink of your panties looks nice hanging from your glossy lips. 

"That's what you get, babe..." He pants out each word and adds salt to the wound by flashing a cocky grin, "Bad girls who can't keep quiet when they're told get dirty panties in their mouth." If only he knew the things he was doing to you, the strikes to your core his cock cause, how his intimidating dominance over you has your insides turning, "But you don't need your voice to make you feel good, right? Look at you..."

It's ironic that he asks you to take a look at yourself, a mirror is just behind you and you can't see yourself from this angle. Luckily for you, your redhead is one step ahead to make sure you can really see how slutty you look right now with those panties shoved in your mouth. Mark takes your hips, wordlessly guiding you to turn around onto your stomach and plant your feet back on the ground.

You are forced to look yourself in the eyes, to see the little tears pricking the corners of your eyes, look at your swollen lips and your panties, and to make it all the more humiliating, Mark is standing right behind you. He is staring right at you, making sure you know he is there and watching you, and if that doesn't make you nervous... you aren't sure what does.

A hand comes down to grip your chin, fixing your head to look straight at the mirror and more specifically yourself, "Don't look away from that mirror, understood?" His voice is at least two octaves lower than before, rumbling in the pit of his chest and vibrating against your back. It shakes your core, but in the best way possible, tingles running up your spine and back down.

It isn't long before the warmth and fullness of his cock is sinking back inside of your gummy walls, making itself comfortable deep inside of you to the point his tip kisses gently at your cervix, "It's all the way in, y/n..." He whispers into your ear, "You ready? You think you can take all of it?" The only right answer is to nod your head, humming desperately and letting him know you're ready, you want it. And who is he to deny that? His pretty girl wants her cunny stretched, why shouldn't he give in and let her have it just how she wants? 

Unlike before he doesn't let you prepare yourself, oh no, the pace went from zero all the way to one hundred in exactly one second. It was like being plowed into, the force of his hips bouncing you off and into the desk. And if you looked horrible and worn out before, you looked twice as bad now. Your sparkly eyes rolling back to make way for the oncoming flow of tears, your entire body trembling with his thrusts.

"Mmph~! Nngh-" Even through the panties he can hear you, muffled and incoherent but still like music to his ears. You take him so well, struggling maybe, but you don't complain for a second about him being too big... and it probably is because your panties are down your throat. But if you really did need him to stop, he is sure you would find another way.

"Feels good, right?" He can't tell if you're nodding or that's just your head moving in sync with his forceful jerks, "Having this little pussy nice and filled... bet you couldn't wait for this the entire match, right?" If you were able to answer, you would be screaming yes from the hills! But instead, you can only stare him in the eyes through the mirror, tears and all, and he can see just how drunk you are on his cock. A pretty whore for him to fuck.

If he had known you were such a perverted slut, so needy to have a dick train you, he would have grabbed you by your cheeky yoga leggings and made you ride his dick while he did bench presses. And seeing you like this? You would have done it without question.

"You're getting all tense, y/n..." His eyes trail down to watch himself disappearing inside of you, and the ripple of your ass smacking his hips, "You gonna cum? This pretty cunt gonna make a mess for me?" You're more than just close to cumming, it's like a fire in the pits of your core, and every pass of his member inside of you has your thighs jumping and twitching, "Yeah, that's it, babe."

Oh, you wish he wouldn't call you that, the things it does to you... and the overwhelming pleasure of his tip plunging into your poor cervix? You feel like you're on the verge of passing out, "Don't look away," He keeps your head straight and makes you look straight ahead at yourself, "Watch yourself cum." You aren't even sure if you have it in you to hold it in long enough to properly look at yourself, let alone the energy to keep your head up.

Your eyes are locked on the mirror, your breath fogging it up with the forceful pants your lungs push out. If you were wearing makeup, you're sure it would be leaving streaks down your cheeks from the tears. They aren't tears of pain, not even close, but rather ones of overstimulation. You aren't sure how much longer you can last, but you don't have time to dwell over it, not when you watch the hand not pinning your waist to the vanity snakes down between your legs.

If the panties weren't in your mouth, you would be protesting and begging him not to. You aren't sure you could handle it! His cock is already tearing your poor cunny in half, his fingers will surely break you. But you can only watch in fear, and anxiously wait for his fingers to meet your throbbing pearl between your legs.

"Mmph~! Mm-" Your nails dig into the desk and back arches to try and get away from his fingers, but Mark doesn't give up, "Mm! Mmm~!" He knows you're protesting, he knows it's too much for your sensitive little cunny. But he wants to see you come undone, to see more of your pretty tears and those sparkly eyes roll back in absolute bliss. And with the vicious pace his fingers inflict on your burning clit, you aren't far from that edge.

"That's it, babe... that's it, I wanna taste this pussy when finish. I bet you taste so sweet, just as sweet as you look right now..." And he isn't lying, you've never looked as stunning as you do right now. No angel could compare to you, nothing. The sweat coating your skin and your juices tainting the apex of your thighs, "I got you, baby-"

He doesn't have the chance to finish his pep talk before he feels you come undone beneath him, your squeals and whimpers completely muffled by your stuffed mouth. Your poor nerves going off of the wall, thighs jumping and nails digging at the wood of the vanity, and your pussy squirting all over his cock and onto your thighs. You're embarrassed by the mess, but to Mark? It is the biggest ego stroker he could have encountered... he got you to squirt.

"Fuck, good girl, good fucking girl..." Mark slows the thrusts, as much as he wants to cum he can see how worn out you are, "Take a deep breath, princess. Just like that," You try your best to do as he asks, but it's so difficult with how quick your climax comes and the panties being in your mouth. You put all of your weight on the vanity, fingers clawing at it as if it could help ease the electricity shooting through every inch of you.

Mark sees you and he thinks he may have been too rough, "Shh, c'mere." The panties are taken from your mouth, saliva soaked into the thin fabric and sticking to your chin, "You okay?" Fingers, although rough and calloused, gently brush over your cheek to gather your tears, he worries he may have forgotten himself somewhere and been too hard on you. 

And your expression, weak and twisted, for a moment makes him feel horrible. What had he done? This was his first time having sex with you, something he has wanted for so long, and he just screwed it up. His eyes watched your every move, lips opening to say something and hesitating for a minute, you were probably pissed at him.

"Y-You..." Little tears prick at your eyes and he panics, "You didn't even cum inside of me, was I not doing enough?" For a moment, silence befalls the both of you other than your pathetic little sniffles. Were you really... that worried over him finishing? Is that really what has you on the verge of crying? If he could, he would eat you up right where you stand in front of him, you're too cute.

Two hands cup your swollen cheeks and bring your face close, "You want me to cum inside of you? That's what you worked up?" You nod your head all while leaning into his hands, "You're so cute, but I think you need to take a break, babe. You're shaking." He can tell you're teetering right at the edge of too much, he fears if he does anymore he may actually hurt you.

"But I want..." He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose, "Then... Then I'll suck it off." You won't let up so easily, he just gave you the best climax of your life, and if he thinks you'll let him walk out of this room with blue balls he is more than just wrong. 

Mark wants to argue, he knows you should clean yourself up and you both should get out of here. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long it has been, the fights could very well be over and neither of you has any clue. But what harm can you getting on your knees do? Maybe give you a sore throat, but he is sure with how loud you were, muffled or not, you are already on the train to a strained voice.

"Make it quick, I still wanna take you to dinner." Even after all of this, somehow taking you to dinner may just be the highlight of the night. Sex is great, but for Mark Markit is the intimate, quiet moments that mean the world to him. All those times you would open early or stay late with him, he cherished those memories. Unlike him, you could not care less about dinner or memorable moments or anything, you're far more focused on what his cum might taste like. You've thought of it a million times, and finally, you will be able to know. 

You ease yourself onto your knees in front of him, Mark fixing his pants out of your way and leaning back against the desk as he watches you make yourself comfortable. If he thought you looked beautiful lying underneath him with your knees by your ears, he isn't sure what to call you on your knees. Your gorgeous eyes looking at him through those lashes of yours, tongue dragging out and over your lips.

"Don't hurt yourself, pretty girl... I saw you struggling before when I started picking up the pace." You don't like being talked down to, but you know that's just him trying to get you worked up and you won't let him have that satisfaction. 

All of your weight is put onto your knees as you lean forward, the tip of your warm tongue licking your own cum from his cock, "Be nice to me or I'll use my teeth." He can't argue with that, and he knows you will do it. Your tongue drags over the veins, tracing them carefully, breath hot and fanning over his ready-to-burst member. If he had it his way, he would grab your pretty face and fuck this squishy mouth of yours, but he already pushed it and he wants you to go at your pace now.

"Fuck, that's good... tap it on your tongue for me," You stick out your tongue and do as he says, "Shiiiit, you look so hot right now." You know you do, if anyone could see the hearts in Mark's eyes, it's you... and those hearts are practically jumping out while he watches you rubbing your tongue over his messy dick, doing everything but putting it in your mouth, "C'mon, y/n... please."

"You want me to put it in my mouth?" You feign innocence while looking up at him, giving him puppy eyes and suckling at his tip. Mark nods breathlessly, even so much as adding an extra, needy please to really show you how much he wants it. He was so kind to give you exactly what you want, it would mean not to do the same for him!

Making yourself comfortable, you open your mouth wide enough to fit his tip inside, tasting that sweetness of your juices on your tongue. Is this what heaven feels like? For him to be guiding your mouth on his dick, cooing words of praise every time you successfully ease the tip in your throat without hurting yourself or choking too much.

The two of you see, hear, and know nothing but each other at this moment. Eyes locked together and no sound other than him breathing shakily and the rare pass of your name on his tongue, mixed in with the disgusting wet sounds of your throat stretching over him. You two wouldn't have been able to pick up on the footsteps coming down the hall, or the call of two very familiar names who just so happen to be missing at the same time.

And neither of you would have been prepared for the door to open, let alone, for the one person both of you feared catching you to be standing in the doorway in shock, horror... and Mark locked eyes for just a second, a second that allowed to see the seven layers of hell in your father's eyes, before the door slammed shut and feet moved down the hall faster than you could pull off of Mark's cock. 

"I... I think we should get out of here before he comes back."

[collegetennisoriginstory]

Interesting question re: the f! versus m! versions of the LIs. This is just personal taste, I don't think any of them are more or less loveable based on gender!, but I do think f!Rayyan is more attractive to me than her male counterpart, while for G & Sam it's the opposite - I exclusively romance their male counterparts. Tobin is the same for me in both versions, but I still prefer f!Tobin simply because I prefer playing as a woman hehe. For context, I am a bisexual woman leaning more towards women, buuut I'm really into gnc women and I guess G and Sam both just feel like they fall outside a category I am attracted to :'o f!G feels more femme fatale as a woman, and f!Sam is very cute.

This is supremely intriguing, thank you so much for answering!! I absolutely live for interactions like this!

My answer became a goddamn ESSAY (holy shit I'm sorry) but I'd definitely love to hear more of you guy's thoughts on this, cause this is super interesting to me!

For G, I totally agree. I feel the pivotal traits that shape them (cynicism, stoicism about life and what life throws at them, adapting to circumstance, instead of stubbornly sticking to 'what they want', their parents' divorce, being caught between worlds and used to living in multiple places at once—Canadian-French from their mom and French-French from their dad, their intense commitment to their belief that things don't last, and you can't expect them to) feel more... attractive to me in a woman than a man (because lord knows we have enough flaky non-committal men in this world), but I think that's probably a subjective opinion.

For Tobin, I think it's inevitable that their softness/gentleness AND their queerness is influenced by their gender, and I love that idea, and I hope to explore more of that later on. For M!Tobin, I feel like they've always had to deal with the fact that they're a little "too" soft for what the world expects from them (a black american in the ultimately super-machismo world of sports), and they've always at least "fit in" with the rest of their team because of their athletic prowess AND how much attention they get from the ladies. Now, exploring their sexuality, having to come to terms with the fact that they are attracted to men as well (and what to do with that information)... I think it adds an extra layer of vulnerability.

As for F!Tobin, I think there's similar tensions—but in different ways. E.g. maybe they're the way they are, so gentle and considerate and kind because, in some ways, they're compensating (subconsciously or consciously) with the stereotype that black women athletes are "too powerful", "too fierce", and they've only ever wanted to be accepted, respected, loved, hence they've always been softer than they have to be, kinder than they have to be, more considerate etc. etc. But then they met MC, and perhaps they're learning to put that all away, and just... be. Without fear of being "too much"—with MC reassuring them that they're OK just the way they are, and that their strength and courage does not need to be tempered for anyone else's benefit.

And finally, for Rayyan, again, I absolutely agree—there's something about F!Rayyan and how, coming from a conservative immigrant Muslim family (e.g. there was that scene with a brief mention of how their dad never even thought they should be serious about turning pro, becoming a professional athlete especially because she's a girl), she's probably had to fight for absolutely everything she's wanted in this world, and that's why she's so steely on the outside, why she's so unapologetic about pursuing the things she wants because god knows the amount of sacrifice she's already put in. There's still that dimension in M!Rayyan, being an immigrant, threading that line between wanting to do their family proud, wanting to pursue their own dreams, ambition—so much ambition—but also fierce loyalty, and uncompromising, unyielding courage.

Sam feels the most... unchanged whether or not I imagine them as female or male, the experiences that made them the way they are (and how they interact with MC) are the same (e.g. being in love with your best friend, being extremely open about experimenting with literally any type of human romantically except the ONE person they actually love and trust with all their heart, scattered loveable goofball tennis nerd that they are).

[blindmagdalena]

What do you think Homelander’s attraction to Becca was? It’s not like at the Christmas party she was the only woman there, and by that point he had no idea who Butcher was. The actress that plays her is attractive, but the later scenes (season two and even just their initial introduction) between them suggest there’s something more to his attraction.

It’s obvious in the season two scenes that Homelander and Becca have, he has some lingering attraction. I think that’s primarily led by the fact that they have a son together and Homelander desperately wants a family, and also that Homelander is looking for a new woman to attach himself onto since Madelyn died. Perhaps he just wants what he can’t have especially knowing that she’s still in love with Butcher and he wants someone to love him that unconditionally. The main reason I thought of this is because in my opinion, Homelander isn’t the type of character to do something without a reason. Usually he has one even if it’s not a good reason.

ah yes, potentially one of the most contentious/controversial plot points in the fandom. canon gives us VERY little to go on here, so excuse me while I just ramble my take on the whole situation. i extrapolate a good amount. everyone you ask is going to have a different answer, and each one is as valid as any other. this is simply mine!

Homelander's greatest sin isn't wrath or pride. It's envy. He is a bottomless well of yearning for what he doesn't have, and he is viciously covetous. We see this play out most plainly in his one sided beef with a literal baby.

When he meets Becca, she's beautiful, quick witted, strong willed and independent. A career woman. Not only that, she's helping manage his career by handing his social media, which is part of his public perception. Very important to him! He already has a ton of wires crossed when it comes to the women in his life acting as both coworkers/Vought employees and emotional surrogates, i.e. Maeve, Madelyn and Vogelbaum. Plus who knows how many nanny mommies.

At this point, we don't know how long he's been with Maeve, but we have at least another 6 years before the pair breaks up. He's enjoying Maeve, but he wants more. He always wants more. Maybe he wants a wife, and she's refusing him that.

But Becca is a wife. He sees that ring on her finger and it boils his blood that he doesn't have that classic, romantic symbol of commitment. Of love. Worse yet when he meets her husband! The figurative boogeyman. The baby stealing his mommy and her milk. We're not there in the story yet, but we do see a trend here. It likely didn't start here: imagine what it was like for him to find out Vogelbaum had kids. Kids he loved. I bet that gutted Homelander. It should have been him.

Homelander, in his mind, can never win. Can never have enough. Anyone else having means they are directly taking away what should be his. It could be that it was never really about Becca specifically so much as the archetype she represented.

That carries us into season 2 where Becca takes on an additional archetype that Homelander is now lacking: mother. I think you're right on the money that a good amount of his attraction comes from the fact she's the mother of his son.

He falls pretty deep down the fantasy family rabbit hole with Becca, though. He not only inserts himself into their lives and routine, he takes a renewed interest in Becca. He snoops through her things, smells her clothes, and engages with her well beyond just interacting with Ryan. Then comes the scene where he finds her hidden stash of Billy merch, and the fantasy is shattered. She's still in love with another man. She's a wife, but she's not his wife. She's the mother to his son, but she's not someone who will fulfill those emotional needs for him. I've made this comparison before, but it's very reminiscent to the breakdown he has when he sees his baby blanket in his fake childhood home. He moves on VERY easily to Stormfront when she not only presents herself as a mother to her own child, but a potential mother for his child.

I'm backtracking a little here, but when Maeve called Homelander over from Billy and Becca at the party, I always got the vibe she was doing so quite purposefully. I wonder how much of their early relationship was Maeve feeling like she was performing damage control. Managing him, curbing his destructive behaviors. Did she see that covetous edge in his eye when he would look at Becca, at her ring? Did she try to tell him to leave her alone, play it like a joke?

We have the deleted scene where Maeve says the reason they broke up was because he couldn't keep it in his tights, but we don't really have any other explicit instances or even mentions of Homelander liberally sleeping around. Did she know about Becca, or at the very least did she make an educated guess when the woman disappeared? Maybe she felt like he did it to spite her. Did she know about Madelyn?

Ultimately we know Maeve becomes complicit in his crimes. She feels her hands are dirty with the same blood. She becomes jaded, she's no longer the hero. She's just an accessory. I definitely don't think it started that way, though.

anyways, I hope this somewhat answered your question! I have a tendency to jump around a lot and word vomit, but this generally covers my take on why that all went down the way it did.

Honestly, I would love to write a fic someday that digs more into my thoughts here. Becca deserves so much more than what she got from the narrative.

[do-angels-dream-of-starry-seas]

I just have to wax poetic about the beauty of gentlebeard, particularly why I, as an autistic person, love them so much and project onto them so badly

This might get a little long, so a read more will do

But first off, some fun brief history lesson on autistic relationships in media :). Which sucks most of the time :)))

Ok I'm really not gonna get too much into it cause most of its the same; white autistic man/white allistic woman (The Good Doctor, Adam, etc). There have been steps in more diversity when it comes to this (Jane Wants a Boyfriend and Extraordinary Attorney Woo, a flip on this trope, and Heartbreak High has an actually autistic actress as a main lesbian character) but some of these media aren't being continued anymore (Everything's Gonna Be Okay you will always be missed)

As of right now, the themes of these stories are usually about the disability, teaching allistics and just overall centers around autism itself, which considering how many of these projects aren't led by autistic people, it's shitty repetitive portrayals (The Good Doctor, Atypical, Extraordinary Attorney Woo, As They See Us, blah blah blah blah blah)

But then you got these two pirates.

And let me explain how they pressed all the right buttons for me:

1. Both neurodivergent coded

Stede Bonnet my autistic icon. Just, the way he goes about social interactions and his knowledge about things is so reminiscent of trying to understand social rules and masking and special interests. There's even the little things like his love of books and needing things spelled out to him and when he commented on the textures of the privateer clothing.

And there's definitely a reason loads of people love to read Ed as adhd: his brain thinking of plans ahead in the future, feeling stuck in life, collection of items in a "messy" room, and that fancy French party man. His reading is less overt and more nuanced to me, but I still feel connected to him like I do with Stede, like how I would feel when watching a show about autistic people.

2. Their neurodivergent relationship

I've said before that most relationships we see are with an autistic/allistic. It falls under the "teaching" category and makes me feel like its trying to make a point, like yes, autistic people can have relationships like anyone else and they are lovable enough to neurotypicals!!!1!!1!

So imagine my absolute glee at how when Stede and Ed have their first proper conversation, it goes like

Ed seemingly seeking a sensory touch from the softness of a fabric

Stede instead of judging him on doing something "weird" asks if he enjoys it

And because they find they both enjoy this certain thing

Stede shows him his safe space to Ed full of this same kind of thing Ed liked

Ed then expresses his personal feelings to Stede

And gets no judgment, in fact a show of agreement and sympathy

And then they do something that's like an inside joke that's really only funny to them

And then Ed encourages Stede to be confident by supporting him

This is thee meet-cute, nothing can ever top this cute and honest beginning of a medium-burn relationship, change my mind

Most of what autistics want more than anything, romantic or otherwise, is to feel listened to and accepted. And we get this almost immediately, with BOTH Stede and Ed feeling appreciated!!!!

3. No neurodivergent preaching

When autistic love is shown in media, it's usually never the focal point. The main thing is about the person having the disability - even shows I love and praise for its relationship representation like Extraordinary Attorney Woo and Everything's Gonna Be Okay do the same thing

Ofmd acknowledges issues existing like colonialism, racism and homophobia, yet this show is not about that. The characters are allowed to exist and be themselves and happy without having this fact shoved down their throat every waking second and the villains who keep up the systemic issues get their comeuppance, usually by that person they were hurting.

And I here what you're saying: that neurodivergency is not canon and so doesn't have the direct acknowledgement like the other issues I mentioned... well.

We don't see sexism in ofmd, yet we all understand how Mary wouldn't be able to make the same choices Stede could on leaving their family. We know that the French party were entertained by Ed, not just cause of his stories as Jeff The Accountant.

Stede was bullied in his childhood by his father and classmates for not fitting in, for standing out - yes this obviously reads as homophobia, but many neurodivergents can relate to feeling exactly like this, some i bet almost being in the same situation as Stede is when it comes to things like crying easily and liking to pick flowers

So a moment like Stede playing Stark Revelations, where he gets to make fun of people that were like those in his old life AND being able to defend his one and only friend? That felt pretty damn good to watch myself.

Even without the romance, you still have a show where the two main characters are encouraged to be themselves in every way. This is a far cry from other media where even though they aren't explicitly stated to be neurodivergent, they are generally unlikeable and/or characters around them scold and pressure them to change into something "better" (Sherlock, Big Bang Theory, etc etc). Doesn't change the fact they are read as neurodivergent and thus seen as harmful representation for people who are "similar" to them irl

Meanwhile, Ed and Stede love each other because of who the other is, no narrative about them having to fall in love with the other despite their differences... but because they found something in each other they always wanted to find, and to feel loved in return

And the narrative doesn't preach to you or tries to fix them. Instead it says "this is our main character who happens to be white and middle aged, and this is his love interest who happens to be middle-aged and a Māori man, and this is their love story". And it is so goddamn neurodivergent

[brooklynislandgirl]

💚 [For Beth and the system]

Imagine You and Me || Accepting

Beth never assumed she would become entangled with one person, much less three at a time. She absolutely understands DID in a clinical sense, even though psychiatry isn't her field of expertise {and it took one rotation in the discipline to make her blood run cold} but she also doesn't hold it against them. Instead, she takes each identity as they are, and in a way, associates it with there being three roommates living in one house, the body being her point of interaction with them. Sometimes this gives rise to certain insecurities {is this technically considered cheating or a polyandry relationship?} but beyond that, there's a certain kind of charm to it all. Beth does see Marc, Steven, and Jake as different people and not aspects of a single soul in crisis. She can usually pick up on the various mannerisms, quirks, habits of each member of the System, down to the most subtle changes in vocal tone, wording, and micro-expressions. If she's asked, she'll say honestly that Marc was the first she'd been allowed to meet ~through Mr Knight~, and potentially the one that she is closest to. It was Mr Knight who talked with her about the moon and what it means to them, what it was like growing up and not falling into the expectation of parents. It was Marc who held back things about himself, and is the nervous one. She doesn't know why her opinions about him should matter to anyone, but it seems like it does, and Marc is the one who seems to be the most protective of her. It is Marc who is the most like Andy, her point of reference for all men to compete/live up to in her own mind. Marc is the one who lets her feel like she can be a witch, a woman, and Rokea kin all at once without fear. Steven is her sweet and kind friend, the knowledgeable academic, the one enchanted in his own way by her library and her music collection, her artwork, and the world that she feels forced to be present in, even when she doesn't want to be. Steven is the one whom she thinks of when there's cocktail parties and charitable galas, the black tie affairs that involve symphonies, ballets, opera, the theatre in general. Her museum junkie, and really the one she can most easily ask about traditions, beliefs, and just general life lived, without feeling like she's saying something wrong, or that she's somehow...stupid...for not knowing about how the System works, or how to date a Jewish man. Jake is her feral bestie out of the bunch. He's so very funny and irreverent {even if he might be the most spiritual of them all} and of all of them, he feels the most authentically New Yorker. Beth has her guard down the most for Jake, and probably is most protective of him as he comes across as the most innocent of the System's alters. She loves listening to his stories, too, both from his own experiences, and in the recounting of the other two's adventures. Jake is the only one of them that would have her blessing to drive Sally. He's the one that gets invited to karaoke, and maybe even Midnight Margaritas, though sometimes she thinks that he and Jay might actually end up going toe to toe. I love the different energy and themes each member of the System share with and bring out in Beth. There's very little chance of things becoming stale, and Beth is probably one of the few people who sees absolutely no need to "cure" them. If any thing, they are the ones who actually make her feel comfortable in her own self. She's still big mad about the bone structure, though, and how she has to climb counters to look any one of them in the eye. {{11/10 because I adore the potential, the evolution, and wondering what will actually happen as we navigate where they are to where they might end up}}

[ladyempty]

"I fulfill my duties. One of them is taking care of you"

° | !English is not my first language. Sorry! | ° | pairing: Yan!Alicent Hightower x Stepson! Reader ° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life.

Alicent knew her feelings were wrong, but she just couldn't help it. It was a burning fire contained for so long that it continued to spread despite his efforts and countless prayers.

She knew that the seven would punish her for her unforgivable sins. Coveting another man besides her husband, and to make matters worse a young man she should welcome as good mother.

His stepson, who already aroused a guilty interest in her even before the recent degree of kinship formed by his marriage. Your stepson always so kind and courteous, who never refused taking to the skies with his dragon accompanied by his younger sister, much to Alicent's great fear and slight jealousy, but he also never stopped listening to her when she had something to say

You just seemed to be perfect in every aspect of the word and with a beauty that could be compared to the Gods. Shaped by the gentle hands of father and mother, far from the treacherous claws of the stranger.

The sadness she felt at Rhaenyra's growing estrangement was nothing compared to the pain she felt when you looked at her with the most disappointed look she had ever seen.

The one look of betrayal that seems like it would always be marked in your mind like a scar.

She was doomed her by desiring him intimately in a way that could only belong to her husband.

The mere thought of someone so kind, in her eyes, being considered a work of temptation just seemed the greatest absurdity she had ever heard.

But his feelings were not simply limited to impure desire. It was something sweet, as sweet as you. Innocent, budding and blooming in a bright green field.

And this served as his moral and religious relief. It wasn't lust after all. It was love, passion, something she had never felt for anyone before.

Alicent never knew anything could be like this. This heat in your chest, these feelings so big that they barely seem to fit inside your slender body. It just felt like at any moment everything was going to explode. That the heart would force itself out of your mouth and fall at your feet, still beating and anxious.

She simply couldn't help but imagine you in Viserys' place in any simple interaction she had with her king and husband.

You would certainly care for her, you would certainly support her, you would certainly be kind and devoted to her, her prince charming, a thought and dream she had time to delude herself into.

And in return, she would be nothing but perfect for you and still be the least. She was practically kissing the ground you walked on, taking your every word as the purest truth without ever doubting.

Her first pregnancy was a strong, frightening blow, the overwhelming panic making her breast beat erratically. She knew it was her duty, her only duty, as queen and woman. But she never thought she would be as bewildered as she was. A hole opened below his feet.

A baby. If it was a boy, Alicent's salvation, but if it was a girl... It would be better not to even think about it. A prince or princess...

The initial confusion and panic wasn't the worst part. That was Viserys's baby and not his love's baby. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. She was married to the king, not his son. And the growing creature in her belly was her constant reminder.

Things got worse as the pregnancy progressed, she was completely alone at court, with the nannies and maids for company who tried to help her as much as possible.

Viserys spent much of his time in the council or in his own thoughts and the constant grief over the loss of his wife. Rhaenyra couldn't even bear to be in the same room as her and Alicent had truly never been more grateful that Daemon was away.

The only person who provided the slightest amount of care was you. Of course it would be you. You prince in shining armor.

She couldn't help but melt whenever you checked on her, just making sure of her well-being, even if there is still the persistent uncomfortable barrier between you. A barrier she would like to break as quickly as possible.

And so she did. Alicent is Otto's daughter, and an apple never falls far from the tree, even a green apple.

She quickly started with her little theater the moment her belly started to grow. Constantly grumbling under his breath when he stood for a long time, or becoming breathless after a brief walk whenever he had to accompany Viserys to banquets and important political events.

She spent sleepless nights, only to be left with dark circles under her droopy doe eyes. Always with a small, weak smile on his lips, observing from the corner of his eyes his features slightly furrowed in concern.

And then... that's it, the magic was done. His presence was now more constant, much less subtle and rigidly polished in verifications. His arm always there for her when she would sit down or to hold herself steady.

At banquets, you would carefully approach her, offering her something to drink or escorting her to her seat.

This continued to progress at a rapid pace, and before you knew it, you were caught up in Alicent's web. Attracted like a moth to the light. • In one day, You weren't close to her. And in the other You was lightly caressing the woman's belly, feeling your brother give little kicks.

And Alicent? She had never been so happy, simply glowing with pure joy. Viserys was getting sicker every day, Rhaenyra will get married soon and will be very busy with her own family under construction. Soon it will just be you and her. Happy forever.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

The Boy Next Door

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and death.

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: You didn't realize why the boy next door was so intertwined with your own life.

You were a fairly sheltered child growing up. You grew safe and protected within the walls of (L/N) manor, an estate that belonged to your mother's father and your place of residence after your mother and her husband got a divorce.

She doted on you excessively as you grew up. How could she not? After all, you were her only child, the miracle baby that had been born to a sterile woman one day. She didn't care that she hadn't woken up pregnant that day, or that her infertility was the reason her husband had left because she finally had a baby girl to call her own.

You were the single most precious thing in her life.

That was probably why she protected you like the world's biggest diamond. You had yet to see the world past the fence of the manor and it was just as your mother preferred. She wanted you safe at all times and the best way to do that was to shield you from other people's sights.

She made sure no one ever knew of you, keeping you happy and healthy with her so you could never leave her.

But you never told her about how you would watch the kids next door through the window in your bedroom when they would train in the yard. They weren't like you, they had abilities and powers that you didn't share. Maybe that was why your mother had forbidden you from speaking with them.

You did spend a lot of time wondering whether you were the normal one or them.

Little did you know, you had more in common with the seven of them than you realized.

You used to dream vividly since before you could even remember. Vivid dreams were a part of your childhood, and they would be so clear and realistic that as a young girl, you usually had trouble differentiating between the two. Dreams about the world outside your big house were common.

You'd wake up all excited and giddy for the day that you'd finally be allowed to step outside of the house and meet other people. You never mentioned them to your mother, scared she would get upset at you and in your nightly dreams, you would escape to another reality.

You used to dream of the boy next door.

But that's all you thought they were; dreams.

Oh, how wrong you were.

***

"Let's run away."

You burst into laughter, turning to look at Five's serious face. He looked so determined and you couldn't help but chuckle at him. You both knew he was joking but for some reason, he looked offended that you were laughing.

"It's just school, Five. I, for one, am looking forward to my first day of public school." You said with a light tone, going back to your task of sorting your stuff for tomorrow. Perhaps it was a little too dedicated, but you were excited to finally go to school with other people.

"I already know everything that needs to be known. Why do I have to go to school?" Came his haughty response and you rolled your eyes.

"To develop social skills? To get a hold of your temper? To make other friends and ensure you don't end up dying an old man alone in your house beside a monkey? Because it's the law? Need I go on?"

He scoffed, "Why would I be dying alone? You'd be there."

You shrugged, "I dunno. Apparently high school is the perfect place for romance. According to books at least."

"That's fiction. And bold of you to assume that you'd be falling in love with anyone else without me biting their head off."

You smiled, turning to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his lips quickly, "So, you'll come?"

"Yeah, but only because Pogo isn't the best life partner. Ask my father."

***

You dreamt often of Five Hargreeves, before you even met him the first time and immediately you believed that these had to be just figment of your active imagination when you finally did interact with him.

The Five Hargreeves from your dreams was warm and always looked at you with a spark in his eyes. Like you were worth more than his life ever could repay. Like you were worth more than the entire world could ever repay.

But the boy next door was cold and looked mildly repulsed whenever you both made eye contact. Of course, you didn't interact much with him, considering you both had parents that kept a short leash on you.

You enjoyed spending time with one of his siblings.

On the days that your mother had left for work and their father was busy, you both would open your own sides of the gate and sit on the grass of your respective lawns. Ben had once suggested that you cross so you could see their house, but you were scared of your mother finding out. He said he understood.

"Why are you hanging out with the recluse from next door?" Five asked one day, haughtily sauntering into the yard and you looked up, startled at hearing the familiar voice. Of course, this was the first time he had ever spoken to you, but it was the voice you heard each night.

It was always so much gentler than the tone he was using right now, and your heart sank at the realization. You shook your head, trying to remind yourself that they were just dreams. They didn't mean anything, and you shouldn't get your feelings hurt because you were stupid enough to believe that they did.

But your mind was cruel. Because as long as you were in those dreams, the emotions you felt were real. You felt butterflies in your stomach when you woke up and your heart felt light from just a simple dream.

It wasn't real.

So why hadn't your heart gotten the message?

***

One thing you had learnt while having to live alone was that you needed to fill in your time some way or the other. As a result, you had gotten a lot of hobbies, many of which your mother greatly supported. She was always so happy to come home from work to find that you had baked her cookies or tended to her garden.

It had been a regular day for you, except you couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something you were supposed to do and no matter how much you racked your brain, you simply couldn't remember what it was.

You made dinner and dessert, updated your dream journal, finished varnishing a painting and you even had time to mend the hole you had ripped into your pants when you were pulling weeds from the garden.

Your mother came home soon after, delighted to see that you had made dinner even though she had insisted that she would do it. You didn't want her to have more work when she came home from a long day.

You told her to freshen up while you set the table and she nodded, thanking you with a kiss before she left to change. You began your task, excited for your mother to taste your food. The last time, you had accidently made it too salty, but she still ate it without complaint.

Just as your hand grasped the glasses, you felt extremely dizzy and your first thought was to sit down but before you had the opportunity, your vision clouded over and suddenly you didn't recognize where you were.

It was like a desert land, where everything was in ruins and had crumbled to dust into the ground. You felt heat and a dry, sandy wind blow past you. You looked around, only seeing destroyed buildings and dust for as long as the eye could see.

Then you heard a sound and when you turned, you could see someone rip through the air, a blue light surrounding him until he clawed his way into the world.

And there Five Hargreeves stood with a proud smile on his face before he realized where he was. He tried using his powers again, tried to shift through this world again but it failed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't teleport once again.

He was stuck there.

You gasped and the world before your eyes flashed again before you were once again in the dining room. The glasses in your hand tumbled out of your grip and shattered against the floor and you stumbled as your knees buckled and you tried to sit down.

Your heart was pumping in your chest and with shaking hands, you tried to brush strands of hair away from your face, trying to make sense of what just happened. This couldn't have been a dream, you were wide awake, it didn't make sense.

Did you simply imagine it? Why would you? You hadn't even been thinking of Five.

Something wasn't right and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, you just couldn't help but thing that something was seriously wrong. Or something was about to go wrong.

So, despite your mother’s countless warnings and despite knowing that she would be upset when you returned, you gathered yourself before sprinting out the front door and running to your neighbour’s house.

You got there just in time to see Five leave and you ran a little faster, trying to catch up to him and stop him before he could time travel. Anxiety began bubbling through your veins and each second you got closer, you were worried you would be too slow.

You were just a fraction of a second too late because just as your fingers had reached for his arm, he disappeared in a flash of blue. You felt a cold wind suck you in and you felt the floor disappear from beneath your feet.

And then all you saw was black.

***

17 YEARS LATER

"So, Five, how's the wife?" Klaus asked nonchalantly, taking a bite of his pancakes and immediately all the clatter stopped. Everyone looked at him like he was crazy.

"Are you high again, Klaus?" Came his usual snippy voice and Klaus looked around in mild confusion before he realized why everyone was staring at him like he had grown another head.

"Oh right, I just imagined that."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, I just always assumed that you got hitched and ran away with (Y/N)." He replied idly, pouring a bit of maple syrup on top of his pancakes. Five looked undisturbed, like the sound of your name hadn't rung a bell in his mind even though it did.

How could he forget your name?

The girl next door.

The prettiest girl he had ever seen in his entire life. With eyes that sparkled and a smile brighter than the sun. He remembered vaguely the amount of butterflies that aimlessly flapped their wings in the depths of his stomach whenever he saw you speaking with his brother, dress muddy from the grass but still smiling.

He had a helpless, big, fat crush on you throughout his childhood but every time he wanted to speak to you, to introduce himself to you, to say something, all would come out of his mouth was a snarky insult.

He would see the way your face would fall at his tone and so would his heart to his feet but it was difficult for him to bear his emotions to you.

When he was stuck in the apocalypse, he had looked for you, tirelessly but he never found your body. With a grieving acceptance, he realized you must have gotten to do bigger things with your life and moved far away, forgetting all about the boy next door.

"(Y/N)? You mean our old neighbour?" Allison asked, sounding like she remembered you a little too well. Klaus would have asked her about it, but it didn't really matter too much to him.

Klaus nodded, "Yeah, she disappeared around the same time Five did. I just assumed that they had some forbidden love, and they ran away. Sometimes, when I wondered where you were, I guess I just felt comforted at the thought you were married some place with a few kids."

Five looked mildly disturbed at the thought, grimacing at his brother who just merely shrugged before turning back to his food with a final comment about how they would have made a cute couple.

"She disappeared the same time as me?"

Vanya nodded, vaguely remembering the details, "The same day, if I'm not mistaken but her mother only filed a missing person’s report a few days later. I don't think she was ever found."

Five nodded, wanting to know more just to satisfy his curiosity but he kept his mouth shut, choosing to fill it with coffee and some dry toast.

That was until they heard a loud sound from their living room, the sound of wind hurling and the fabric of time and space ripping open. Five knew that sound like the sound of his own voice. It was the same sound he heard whenever he time travelled.

He immediately jumped to the living room, where his siblings followed, only to see a girl rip through the air and then tumble into their carpet, groaning as soon as she made impact.

You groaned lightly, feeling like your brain had split in two and your head was spinning so bad that it was difficult for your eyes to focus on anything.

"Who are you? How did you get here?"

You didn't reply, just moaning softly as you tried to get the room to stop spinning. You couldn't stop your head from lolling when Five grabbed you by the collar, instead you held onto his arms for stability, finally getting used to being on solid ground.

"Wait a second, is that? It's (Y/N) from like 17 years ago."

You stared up at Five with a disoriented expression and his hands slowly slid from your collar to support you by the arms. You gazed up at him with sparkly eyes and wide-blown pupils.

Five swallowed painfully.

You were still so pretty.

Fuck.

When it felt like the world had finally stopped shaking and you could think clearly, your eyes fluttered open to find 6 of the Hargreeves siblings staring at you with apprehensive expressions. You wondered just what you should say to them, how to start this conversation but before you could open your mouth, your stomach interrupted you, grumbling loudly.

'Ah, that's right, I didn't have dinner.' You remembered, feeling the familiar but also foreign burn of hunger in your stomach.

You gave them a sheepish smile, "Do you have anything to eat?"

***

You didn't say anything throughout breakfast, only taking time to ask them questions instead while shovelling pancakes, fruit, toast slathered with peanut butter, Nutella and jam, coffee with a lot of cream and sugar and juice into your mouth while the rest of them stared at you with mildly horrified expressions.

It wasn't your fault; you hadn't eaten for a while.

"So, what's today's date?" You asked, washing down some toast with a fresh glass of juice.

"May 23rd, 2019." You nodded, deep in thought while you tried to remember just what time you were expected to be at the location. You spared a glance at the clock, realizing that you were going to cut it a little close. You didn't really have much time to explain anything to them

You grimaced, realizing that you were going to have to ask them to trust you even though they should have no reason to. You stood up, dusting all the crumbs off your clothes before pointing at Five and Luther.

"I need you both to come with me, there's something that needs your attention."

You didn't say anything else, leaving the room so they could follow you just as you knew they would. Five and Luther would be the ones that wouldn't be able to let you go without saying something or trying to confront you. It was their personality.

Just as Luther was going to follow Five, Allison stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. The expression on her face was one that he didn't expect, she looked concerned but also was trying very hard to make him listen to what she had to say very carefully, "Listen, if she tells you to do something that doesn't make any sense, just listen to her."

His brows furrowed, "What?"

"Just trust me."

***

You didn't completely understand what happened to you when you tried to stop Five from teleporting at first. It took a while but after many years, you began to assume a theory that you had come up with was the truth. After all, no one else had gone through what you had been through.

When Five time travelled for the first time and you tried to interrupt him, you were too late. You didn't reach him in time to travel with him and instead when he ripped through the fabric of his own reality to travel forward, you had fallen through the hole before Five had managed to close it.

So, as a result, you were stuck outside of reality, in a dimension that was obsidian black, where nothing existed, not even light. You were trapped there for years, not being able to see anything other than black. Not being able to move or speak or even listen because there was no sound.

For a while you went insane. But then a few years passed and eventually the bout of insanity passed.

During this time, all that kept some pieces of your shattered mind held together was your dreams. The dreams that you thought for so long were just figments of your imagination actually turned out to be visions.

They weren't extremely vivid things that you had just fabricated in your head, they were glimpses into your future. You dreamt of Five, since he was apparently going to be very involved in your future and those visions had kept you sane, they kept you motivated.

You saw many things, some were important days like your wedding day or honeymoon. You kept track of extremely significant dates and essential things that you needed to change once you returned. Like the time Luther went on a mission alone and got killed or the time Klaus got into a bad bar fight and ended up hospitalized.

Sometimes you'd see trivial things like having breakfast with your sister-in-law or drinking with your brother-in-law. But no matter how small or ordinary it was, it had your heart feeling light.

One day, Five Hargreeves would look at you like you had strung all the stars in the sky with your bare hands.

One day you'd be able to lie down in a soft bed, in your partner's arms and feel loved and safe and present. You'd speak with others and build connections with them and have people that are significant to your life.

One day you would get the chance to leave and then everything would be okay.

You waited and waited, until finally Five decided to time travel again and he ripped open a hole through reality and time, a hole through which you were able to propel yourself through until you landed in present day.

You could see the future and it was exactly why you needed Five and Luther to finish this mission. Maybe with you and Five by his side, Luther wouldn't end up dead at the end of today.

But you were realizing that maybe you should have offered some kind of explanation as you watched Five pound his fists against this man's face. Luther stood off to the side, not bothering to interfere with his crazy brother while you both watched.

Just as you were about to say something, to tell him to stop bloodying his hands when the world stopped turning for a second. Five's hands stopped mid-punch and your eyes flashed bright. Images and pictures began flashing in your head and yet again another vision invaded your mind. When you blinked, you were back in the sealed warehouse with the others and suddenly filled with panic.

"Wait, Five! Stop!"

He didn't listen. Of course, he didn't.

When you tried to pull him off the man, he elbowed you out of the way instinctively and you turned to Luther with a helpless expression.

"Luther, stop him!"

He wasn't going to listen to you. Why should he? But then he remembered Allison's words and instead of listening to the logical part of his brain, he used his strength to pull his brother off the man that was getting beaten up.

You grabbed Five, "Get us out of here."

"What? I'm not-"

"Do it or we're all gonna die!"

There was a flash of blue light right before the room erupted into flames.

***

You tried to avoid all of their accusing eyes while you calmly sipped on your juice through a straw. They had a million questions, which they were kind of entitled to, but you weren't exactly sure what to tell them. You didn't know half the answers yourself.

"How did you know that the room was going to blow?"

"Why did you bring us there in the first place?"

"How are you here?"

"How did you get into our living room?"

You were trying to wrap your mind around it yourself when finally, Allison spoke up with a definite tone instead of an interrogative one.

"You can see the future."

Your eyes snapped to hers to find the expression on her face was certain. This wasn't a question. She knew of your abilities. Before you could even say anything in response, she tossed a book onto the table, and you immediately recognized it.

"My dream journal?"

"Your entry from 2001, says that you had a dream about me and my daughter, Claire."

Then the room erupted into shouts and accusations about why she hadn't bothered to share this with them before and wanting to take a look at the journal themselves.

You watched them nervously, not used to being around people after so long and slinked out of the chair to get some fresh air. It was suffocating to be in that small room with so many people and even though being alone kind of scared you, you also realized that you were a little too used to silence.

As long as you could see other things you would be fine, you thought as you sat on the front steps of their porch and stared at the lit houses across the street.

It wasn't long before you were joined by someone.

"So, how long have you been alone?" Five asked, snapping you out of your thoughts with a start and looked up at him with an expression he could only compare to a frightened kitten.

You let out a flustered laugh, "I don't know wh-"

"You don't get to be my age without recognizing fear of being around people." You laughed at that, considering the person sitting beside you was merely thirteen. You both looked so young, but you were both aware that you have lived way longer than anyone could ever guess.

"I mean, I was just like you when I first joined the Commission." He said and his voice was almost so raw that you were slowly getting convinced. You didn't know exactly why you didn't want to tell anybody but for some reason, telling him had your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"So, how long?"

You gave him a sheepish smile, "A couple hundred years? Give or take."

His eyes widened. He was expecting you to say ten or twenty or maybe even fifty but to be trapped for more than a hundred years all alone was something he never could have imagined.

Maybe it was because you looked thirteen, but he knew it wasn't. It was because of the way your eyes sparkled, the gentleness of your smile, the glow of your skin, how could those beautiful and innocent things face the cruelty of isolation for so long?

"Time didn't pass there. I didn't age. I didn't need to eat, or sleep, or even breathe." You explained, assuming that his silence was because he was wondering how you survived for so long and still looked the way you did.

But Five was thinking nothing more of the pain he felt all those years alone and knowing that you had been through more than that made his heart clench in a way he didn't expect. That life was something he would only wish on his worst enemies but for you, oh so beautiful you, to have gone through the same things he did, he felt horrible.

But still your eyes shined brightly, still you smiled despite having the weight of the world on your shoulders, and he admired you for it.

Finally, he spoke.

"I don't know how you did it. I probably would have killed myself." He said it so lightly, that it almost seemed like a joke but you both knew it was more than that.

"Yeah well, I lived in a pocket dimension that didn't have anything in it, so I couldn't kill myself even if I tried." You admitted quietly. Something told Five that you did try.

"I didn't know."

"I didn't expect you to." You replied, looking up at the night sky. It was the only thing that hadn't changed. Sometimes you'd look up at the dark, clear sky and be stricken with fear that you had ended up in the same place. You could only imagine that Five felt the same way, whenever he was alone, whenever he teleported some place.

"Listen," You started, turning your body toward him and he turned his gaze to you, "I know that you're scared. I know how you feel. And I'm probably the only one who does."

Even though your mind told you not to, you reached out to gently place your hand on his. The simple touch of his skin against yours scared you slightly. It had been so long since you held someone so now when you felt his warm skin underneath yours, it was scary.

He looked so small like this and for a second you could just pretend you were two kids, but you knew that it wasn't possible for you to go on and live your lives. Not with the end of the world coming so soon.

"And sometimes, I'm going to know more than you. And I'm going to ask you to do things that you won't understand. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

You were so pretty.

Five blamed puberty for the way his heart was pounding and the heat slowly burning at his ears. Your hand squeezed his delicately and he nodded, "I can begin to trust you."

You spared him a smile, "If I say 'jump'?"

He sighed, pausing for a minute to watch your expectant gaze before relenting, "I ask 'how high?'."

You let out a big breath, trying to be optimistic but he could see right through you, "We're gonna be okay."

He didn't know why but he needed to reassure you. He wanted to make you feel sated and sheltered and safe. You both shared a glance before he leaned in.

You flinched, tightening your grasp around his hand but not pulling away. He stopped a hair away from your lips and you watched him apprehensively before realizing that he was waiting for you to give him the okay. He was waiting for your consent.

Your eyes fluttered close and Five felt your hand trembling in his when you leaned in to gently brush your lips against his. Your stomach was in knots and your chest was filled with so many butterflies that it was hard to breathe.

But it was still nice.

When Five pulled away, he watched your eyes open and you stare up at him in a mix of embarrassment and happiness before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"We're gonna be okay."

You smiled softly.

You had another vision

***

It was a serene night.

You were fast asleep in bed, curled up into yourself but still facing your husband as he slept like a log beside you. The room was big, and moonlight flittered through the curtains, tinting the room a faint blue.

A frame sat on the bedside table and a candid picture of you and Five lay within it. You were in a white dress, and he was in a suit. You had a bouquet clasped in your hand and your foreheads were pressed together intimately while wide smiles graced your faces. It looked like he had just told you something funny with the way his eyes were trained on your face as you laughed.

The door creaked open, and a sliver of light entered the room before muffled footsteps hit the ground. Five stirred, hearing the sounds, only snapping awake when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Daddy, wake up."

His eyes immediately snapped open to find his 4-year-old daughter beside him, face stricken with tears and his heart shook with panic at her expression of despair.

He sat up and pulled her into his lap, "What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream." She hiccupped, hiding her wet face in his chest and he sighed, hugging her tightly and kissing the crown of her head. She was holding her favourite stuffed toy in his arms but let go of it so she could wrap her arms around her father’s neck.

"Do you need anything? I can put our lamp in your room if you want." He murmured softly to her so as to not wake you since he knew you had trouble sleeping lately.

She shook her head against his chest, turning to look up at him, "Can I sleep with you and mommy?"

Five hesitated. It's not that he didn't want to let her sleep beside him, especially if she was frightened to return to her room but he didn't want to make a habit of it, especially since he knew there would be no more room for her in your shared bed in a few months.

But looking at her little terrified face, he couldn't bear to say no.

"Okay, but don't wake up mom. She hasn't been sleeping well."

She nodded obediently and crawled into the space beside you, turned towards her father. Five carefully pulled the covers up snug around her before lying down himself.

It was quiet for a few minutes before she tried reaching for her stuffed toy and ended up kicking you in the ribs so hard that you snapped awake.

"What happened?" You asked, noticing her blotchy cheeks and red nose, knowing that she had been crying. Relieved that you were awake, your daughter curled into your side, burrowing her head into your chest.

"Bad dream." Five explained and you nodded, turning your gaze to your daughter.

"Do you want to talk about it, baby girl?" You honestly wanted to go back to sleep but you would rather have this conversation now than remind her the next morning.

"A big, scary monster was chasing me!" She exclaimed, sounding near tears again as she huddled closer to you, and you held her tightly.

"A monster? How silly." You chastised softly, making her look up at you, "Your daddy and I are right here. Even monsters are scared of your daddy, imagine how scared they would be if he found out that one of them was chasing after his precious baby girl."

"They'd be so scared of him. They'd say 'Oh no! We're sorry! We didn't know it was your princess! We won't ever do it again!'." You said, nuzzling your nose against her cheek and she giggled, "You trust your dad to keep you safe, don't you?"

She nodded firmly, staring up at you with a look of childlike innocence and wonder and you smiled, pecking her forehead, and hugging her tightly.

Five chuckled at your theatrics, looking at you with awe and admiration at how well you were able to calm her down and came closer to take his family in his arms. You felt the slight chill of his wedding ring against your arm before giving him a loving smile.

He leaned over his daughter's head to peck your lips lightly and then lowered his hand to press against your baby bump. Your eyes fluttered shut and you drifted off into sleep.

It was a serene night.

Forever Taglist:

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sex therapy :: 10. birthday babes

chapter tags/warnings: mentions of violence. infidelity. misogyny. classism. strong language. dirty talk. use of alcohol. manipulation undertones. sexual frustration. degradation. 

word count: 3.4k

notes: enjoy the special guest appearances :P likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Roppongi, you always knew, was a special place.

As a popular nightlife district in Tokyo, Roppongi always bustled with locals and tourists once the sun went down. Growing up in a conservative family, though, you were constantly reminded that any 'proper woman like you' must stay away from something as 'cheap and degrading as clubbing.'

However, you would be lying if you said that you didn't envy Roppongi's carefree spirit—one that was full of lust, of love. And of sex.

That much you could tell from the countless times you had been chauffeured around Tokyo like a Hollywood star, passing through the neighborhood's neon signs and dance music without ever interacting with the evening scene yourself.

Until now.

"Get out," Choso ordered dryly.

Realizing you had been lost in your own thoughts, you immediately turned over to the man who unbuckled his own seat belt and then reached over to undo yours.

"What?" you chimed as your belt whipped past your neck and back into its retractor. Confused, you peered past the window and stared at the dark brick building that Choso had stopped in front of. You squinted and tried to make out the words over the facade.

Except there were none.

No words, no signs, no indication that—past the sleek doors twenty feet to your right—there was any nightclub that existed.

Brows furrowed, you turned back around to see Choso removing his ignition key. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Yes, so get out," he deadpanned and stepped off the car.

He circled around the front clad in nothing but an oversized black hoodie and gray joggers because, as you far as could tell, he could barely give a flying fuck about impressing anyone at Sukuna's nightclub.

Regardless, you must admit that he had a pretty good build that was still obvious despite the baggy clothes, not to mention that the dark ink that peeked through on his neck and forearms made him one hell of a walking eye-candy.

With one hand shoved in his pocket, Choso threw his car keys to a valet nearby with the other. "I'll be back in two hours," Choso instructed the man and then continued in his long strides.

With all that, Choso didn't even look back. Clearly, he sure as hell wasn't going to wait for you, and when you registered that, you frantically hopped off his Corvette.

"Hold up!" you shouted.

That, at least, got Choso to do a one-eighty on his spot.

He angled his head so that he could observe you above the rim of his sunglasses, his gaze somewhat irritated as he watched you stumble out of the car.

Moving more, however, was your real challenge.

After making comments about your overly fancy fit, Choso dragged you briefly into a Macy's only for you to leave with what might just be the tightest outfit known to mankind. This magenta bodycon dress? It left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

In this, you didn't miss the way Choso had stolen glances at your butt all night long because of your new fit. Not to mention that paparazzi photos of you in this dress would leave you falling down hard from grace.

Cold evening wind brushing against your bare legs, you wobbled to Choso's side as the hum of booming music became more audible, giving you some confidence that he wasn't taking you to some mere murder ring after all.

At least, you hoped so.

As though he could sense your apprehension, Choso eyed you (or more specifically, your thighs) rather curiously. He must have noticed your slight quiver because he asked, "You nervous?"

You fought the urge to crumble on the spot. "Yeah." About you.

But Choso must have thought you were referring to the nightclub behind him. Club parties, in the end, were an entirely different realm compared to the other parties—particularly, the dinner gatherings—that you were accustomed to.

When he finally had the decency to look at your face rather than your ass, he shrugged so casually that he was somewhat pissing you off again.

"There's a first for everything, kid. I'm sure you'll be a complete natural with this. With a body like yours, you'd probably leave with a new husband by the end of the night."

You rolled your eyes. "Listen, I know Naoya and I have problems but—"

Before you could finish your thoughts, Choso suddenly pulled you into his side, burying his face into the crown of your head.

"No one gives a shit," he murmured quietly even as he inhaled the floral scent of your shampoo. Then, you felt the small smile against your ear. "Remember, you're our little slut."

Who's little...what?

You glanced up at Choso for an answer only to see his expression falling flat once more. Heck, he wasn't even looking at you back.

Rather, Choso led you to the enigmatic set of gilded doors, not even giving you a chance to even comment on how tight his grip was on your hips, how handsome his studs were under the moon.

When he finally led you to the entrance, you half-expected some sort of ridiculous knock on his end. Instead, the right door swung inward almost automatically, opening to a burly bouncer right at the doorway.

The knowing exchange of glances between Choso and the other man told you that they were a little more than acquaintances. Choso was an obvious regular at this establishment, and that was obvious from the snarky tilt of his lips.

"Jealous of my bitch, Itto?"

The bouncer, so-called Itto, raised a brow. You had never seen a man quite like him before. He was handsome and tall, his downy silver hair draping down the back of his neck. His eyes were a captivating marmalade shade as well, darting from you to Choso to you and finally to…your boobs.

Whether this ‘Itto’ man was jealous of your escort at this point, you couldn’t quite tell. Nonetheless, this bouncer had a build that could easily toss Choso aside with one hand while bending you ninety degrees over with the other.

“Never seen you around,” Itto ultimately noted, his voice so deep and gruff that you had to hide a violent shudder. “Ever been here before?”

Lashes fluttering, you smiled shyly. “No, I—”

“Enough,” Choso interjected, for some reason dragging you down the corridor. “Chick’s with me. Sukuna knows her, too. You should know to not mess with our favorite girls.”

What…? Even if you wanted to ask, there was nothing you could do when Itto gave you one last look and Choso made haste to drag you down the corridor. Steering you by the waist, the latter must have noticed how you still had your neck craned over because he pinched your side. “Itto’s not even that good looking.”

Huh?! You whipped your head around at lightning speed, offended. “I…I never even said that.”

“Right,” Choso responded sarcastically. “And you sure didn’t look like you were about to drop your panties for him.”

This Choso—one who was overprotective and, honestly, rather possessive—was nowhere near the bitter Choso that you had first met.

Literally night and day, the differences.

Were they even the same person? Was he always like this? Choso didn’t appear like a man who was good at expressing his emotions, but it almost seemed like he…had some sort of interest in you. Not that you were complaining, though, given that this was a welcome change in his terrible attitude towards you.

“So, rich girl,” Choso started as you two approached a second entryway. “You want to go to a real party?”

Even if you wanted to counter his statement, your voice vanished once Choso pushed through the new set of double doors. Jaw suddenly dropped, you slowly stepped in behind him. “Wow.”  

That was all you could say because inside seemed like an entirely separate building, a whole different planet. If you thought that you were already impressed with the cushioned walls and lit-up lanterns behind you, there was nothing to describe your amazement as you absorbed the scene in front of you now.

Gone was the lifeless entryway, replaced by sleek black walls that were washed with a soft red glow from the disco lights above. At the far back corner, one large neon sign flickered with the nightclub’s name—Teyvat. A ‘Happy Birthday, Sukuna!’ banner waved right above the DJ Station.

This place was definitely luxurious and high-end in its own right. But the scene was outright insane, nothing compared to the pompous dinner galas and cocktail receptions that you frequented. So, this was a real party. This was how the other half lived.

And Sukuna owned this place?

In one corner, someone pranced around with a Manhattan. In the other corner was a scene that…you’d rather keep your eyes off of.

Nonetheless, a J-Lo song boomed from the speakers around, and beyond the small flight of stairs, crowds of clubbers bounced in their happy, carefree way.

Then, there were the girls. Hordes of some twenty-something year-olds all gossiping and swarming around the stairs, dressed in outfits that covered nothing beyond their nipples and crack, gazes all landing on Choso as he nonchalantly strolled in.

As though on cue, their eyes lit up at once and gleamed with so much desire, their lips curling into grins meant to seduce. They were all too eager to prowl like panthers on their way to him, who was quite obviously some celebrity in this establishment. It was also like you didn’t exist, like Choso wasn’t already holding you so close to him as he pushed through the crowd in the most passive aggressive way possible.

Making her way to the front, one girl batted her over-curled lashes. “Finger me again tonight, big boy?”

No response.

Someone else then placed a hand on Choso’s bicep. “How about a well-deserved dick massage, daddy?”

Choso swatted her away. “I told you before to not call me that.”

Put off by his lack of usual interest, foxy eyes—pair-by-pair—turned to you instead. Clearly, these women have had some long histories in bed with Choso, and they couldn’t stand seeing your sweet innocent figure pressed snugly against their beloved dick donor. Some rolled their eyes. Others straight up scoffed.

“Who the fuck is she?” someone had murmured.

In the end, their coy smiles soured when they took notice of little ol’ you clinging onto him, another pussy for the club to play with. Even if their tits were hanging from their dresses, G-string thongs peeking from under their skirts—there wasn’t much these cock-needy girls could do if their precious boy toys weren’t interested.

Genuinely, this shook you. Out of all the therapists, Choso always looked and acted like a bitchless bitch, but who knew that he had a strong pussy pulling game all along?

“Where are we going?” you asked when Choso quietly maneuvered you past crowded booths and drunk dancers. It was hard to discern his thoughts when his sunglasses hid the windows to his dark and dirty soul. However, turned out that your answer came in due time as you two stopped not too far from the bar.

“Zhongli!” Choso shouted above the roar of the new Tiësto beat. His voice was strikingly loud and commanding for someone as quiet as him, which only made you realize even more that you truly knew nothing about anyone. “A double vodka with Redbull,” he said and then looked over at you. “And make it two.”

The fine-looking fellow behind the counter—Zhongli, no doubt—looked up from the martini he just completed. Under his waves of brown hair, his golden eyes slowly turned from Choso to you. He held in a breath as though he was ready to say something (something about you, it seemed) but decided to instead huff a bland “Cool.”

Unlike you, Choso didn’t think much of it. Rather, he released his grasp around your waist and pocketed his joggers for the phone that displayed a caller ID on its screen. He lifted one brow. “Stay here for a bit? I have to take this.”

Was if wrong for your heart to sink a little? It wasn’t that you really liked Choso, you think, but you did have to admit that his presence did give you some comfort in this unfamiliar environment. Who were you to stop him, though? “Sure,” you chirped helplessly in the end.

At your response, Choso hurriedly placed a generous tip on the counter (which was promptly swooped up by Zhongli) and then dashed off. Now alone, there wasn’t much you knew how to do besides stare at the bar.

Zhongli, finishing up an earlier order, placed some finished cocktails on some serving trays, all of which were quickly snatched by two girls dressed in purple, their names Lisa and Raiden according to their badges. Next to Zhongli, two other bartenders—Diluc and Kaeya—bickered loudly about whose order was whose.

Another man, a runner, hurried to the counter and warned them to shut their traps on their boss’s birthday before ‘Sukuna released his wrath again’—whatever that meant. Just as this new man turned around with a defeated sigh, his honey-colored gaze landed on you. ‘Xiao,’ his tag read, and he gave you a good long stare before Lisa called out for his help in the distance.

The bar, as you could easily tell, was its own busy market, which was expected in a place made for adult-level fun. Without Choso by your side, though, you awkwardly observed the hectic congregation of bartenders, waiters, and runners. Once again, people were too busy to entertain someone like you. How ironic was it that—in a room full of people—you felt so impossibly alone?

Unsure what else to do, you creaked onto a bar stool. Although you had hoped that would make you feel better, your mind was still simply a roaring white blank of stage fright. Sighing in defeat, you angled your head back to pretend that there was something interesting on the ceiling when there, in fact, wasn’t.

“Oh hey, it’s Rich Girl!”

You lowered your gaze from the lights to the new voice in front of you. Then your eyes widened at the surprise arrival. “Su…kuna?” you peeped.

Like Choso, Sukuna dressed much differently than his office attire—a button-down with slacks that was much better than the near nothingness you saw him in last time. He was the club owner here, after all.

But it wasn’t even his outfit that you should be concerned about. It was yours.

Dressed like a thot, you certainly did not miss the way Sukuna obviously slid his gaze down your body. You could swear that this idiot wolf-whistled while taking the empty seat next to you, but that was difficult to ascertain given the loud music above. Nonetheless, Sukuna’s sudden presence turned the bantering bartenders stiff. No one dared to be on Sukuna’s bad side. Except you.

“What are you doing here?” you huffed and shot a glare.

Smirking at your defensiveness, Sukuna glided his thick fingers across the counter’s mahogany surface. He chuckled too, a sound so low and coarse. “That,” began the narcissist beside you, “is what I should be asking you, young lady. Trying to make an appointment here or something? I could get Toji, Geto, and Choso here since this place, uh, doesn’t really look like your scene.”

Sukuna then stared at you through his giddy little smile. You don’t trust his façade at all. You have both heard about and experienced first-hand just how hubristic this man could be—not only an infamous womanizer, but also infuriating, to say the least.

As a result, you chose your next words carefully.

“I’m already here with Choso,” you explained in a dull manner, hoping that Sukuna would leave you alone. “He invited me in but just stepped out since someone phoned him.”

“A booty call, probably.” Sukuna turned away as he mindlessly toyed with the silver rings that adorned his fingers. He was pushing your buttons, and he knew it. “What?” he finally asked after what seemed like an hour later. “Wishing it was you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck, no. I’d rather eat bricks than—“

“This Choso’s order?” Sukuna interrupted, gesturing to the two vodka Redbulls that Zhongli had finally placed in front of you. You had your mouth open to speak, but Sukuna didn’t even wait for your response before his fingers clasped around the nearest glass.

Instinctively, your eyes followed the motion: the angle in which he tipped the drink into his lips, the motion in which his Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp. At some point, you just realized that you were simply gaping at him because, as much of a douchebag he was, this man had the features of a god.

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to notice your gaze. “Someone might just fill your pretty mouth up if you keep staring like that, princess.”

You froze. Despite your practiced gracefulness, you puckered your mouth shut and scoffed. He’s unbelievable. What were you about to say again? “That drink,” you started and pointed to the glass happily in his hands, “that’s not even yours.”

Unbothered, Sukuna rolled his shoulders back. “Well, Choso’ll just have to order another one. Tips aside, he already gets away with not paying a single dime here, anyway.”

With narrowed eyes, you took a long hard sip from the other untouched glass. “Do you always have a stick up your ass? You still can’t do that.”

“Of course, I can do whatever I want. This is my club.” He then pointed to the DJ banner. “And today’s my birthday.”

He had a point, kind of. Nevertheless, you glared begrudgingly at Sukuna, who—from the cocky tilt of his head—was waiting for the magic words. Well? his sadistic little gaze seemed to say. Anytime now.

What a cocky bastard. Everything in the world had to be about him, huh? Frustration made you to chug the rest of the cocktail down in one go, leaving you slamming the empty glass against the counter, surprising not only the bartenders but Sukuna himself.

“Happy,” you ultimately seethed between clenched teeth and with a burning throat, “Happy…Birthday.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was a tinge of genuine disappointment in his new frown. “That’s it? No birthday kiss for the birthday boy?”

The craziest fucking thing was that you actually considered it. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking it. Or maybe this was what you truly wanted. Whatever the answer, all logic told you that this man was only interested in some birthday bitches.

Yet for some reason you couldn’t find it in you to truly dislike him because Sukuna was snarky but eloquent. His charm was almost unnatural. Had he been anyone else, the way he eyed your cleavage would normally throw you off, but his irresistible charisma made you hope he would look for just a moment longer.

You had to swallow hard in order to redirect your thoughts to the present. “So, how much did you hear?” was how you chose to respond in the end.

Sukuna, who was toying with the glass’s rim, stopped to give you a puzzled look. “What…?”

You’ve done messed up, Y/N. Internally, you braced yourself for further interrogation. Your brash question was not much better than a mini make-out session with the man you pledged to hate, yet—for now—you would prefer anything but the latter.

As Zhongli quietly appeared and disappeared to refill your drink, realization finally settled into Sukuna.

“Oh, that,” the club owner said, laughing rather pityingly. “You talking about that little quickie or whatever with Toji last week? Yeah, I’ve heard enough. You’re quite the moaner, but who am I to keep a pretty woman from a good dick-down? Good for you, honestly.”

Now, it was your turn to be confused. "What do you mean, ‘good for me?’”

A coy curl appeared at the corners of his lips. "Those genes of yours are something you'd wanna pass down for sure. Whether it’s with your husband or Toji or…”

Or with Sukuna himself.

The nerves of this jackass. Was he not at all ashamed of the sheer indecency of his suggestions? Not that it was a bad idea, but—

Get a fucking grip on yourself. You sent a slap across your own face, which undoubtedly had bystanders giving you funny looks. Not that you cared. Face flushed hot, you hastily guzzled down your second cup of vodka Redbull because if there was anything you wanted to forget about this night, it’d be…whatever the hell this entire conversation was.

And whatever the fuck this night was about to be.

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[messers-moony]

Home | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Summary: Five goes through everything with his best friend, and when they return with the announcement of their marriage his siblings are appalled. 

Request: “I can request a FiveXreader where the reader is loving, sweet and naive, Five's best friend but the reader has no powers (You can invent a way how they became best friends and they are in love with each other, cliché but I love) One day the reader was sitting in front of the Umbrella Academy and saw Five leave in a hurry (The scene that he will travel in time) In this the reader does not abandon Five and decides to travel in time with him, they end up trapped in the apocalylipse, can you make them stay together?  (Like married I don't know) And also the scene where they go back to 2019? Sorry, if this so bored”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. After a failed mission, he and his siblings decided to sneak out. Klaus had spotted a park on the way home, and that’s where they went. For the first time in years, they felt like kids again. They were all ten years old and had never experienced a playground before. Allison had never laughed as much, and Diego seemed to finally forget his insecurities while swinging from monkey bars. 

Even on occasion, Luther would help Ben cross the monkey bars. Vanya was finally included, and Klaus had never seemed so carefree in his life. But Five had his eyes on someone else. She sat at one of the navy blue tables, quite a ways away from the playground, watching the siblings with a soft smile on her face. A notebook was in front of her while she twirled a pencil in her hand. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Five was too intrigued not to sit with her. So despite this probably being the only time he could experience a playground, he sat in front of her, obscuring her vision from his other six siblings. Her eyes met green ones; they looked evergreen in the dark of the night. His hair almost looked black, but she knew it had to be dark brown. 

“Good evening.” Her voice, it sounded like heaven to him, “Evening.”

It felt awkward, and the silence could’ve been cut with a knife, “My names Y/n.”

“Five.”

“Five? That’s unique.” Y/n complimented, and his cheeks flushed, “Thanks….” 

Her vision went back to the other kids, “You’d think they’ve never seen a playground before.”

“They haven’t.” Five stated, looking at his siblings, “Our father is strict, so we snook out to come here.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as rude-“

“You didn’t.” Five smiled, looking at her e/c eyes. 

Since then, Five would sneak out a lot more. His power was a fantastic tool. When he and his siblings began to sneak out more, Five always invited her. Klaus, Diego, and Vanya seemed taken with her. Y/n was always so kind and sweet. Her laugh radiated, and it made everyone around her smile. It was like she was Aphrodite, and he was Ares. 

After becoming friends with the academy kids, Y/n had a habit of sitting outside the academy. She usually sat on the edge of the sidewalk with her notebook on her lap, pencil in hand. Five couldn’t remember a time when her hand wasn’t covered in graphite or ink from drawing. He adored it, though, because it was so her. It made him stare at his black pens, aimlessly smiling, knowing that she probably had the same color ink on her hand. 

Becoming friends with Five meant knowing his ambition. Five Hargreeves was driven by his goals and wanted to do them regardless of the consequence. So Y/n knew about his dream to time travel despite his father's wishes. On a gloomy day, Y/n sat on the sidewalk. The only thing drawing her from her daydream was the slam of a gate. 

“Five!”

He didn’t turn, “Five!”

Y/n grabbed his arm, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m- I’m going to time travel.” Five stated with that daze in his eyes, “And you need to stay here.”

“No! I’m not letting you go alone!” Y/n exclaimed incredulously, “Y/n, please.” Five pleaded. 

She shook her head, “Absolutely not. Either we go together, or we stay here together.”

“Fine.” Five reluctantly agreed, holding out his hand for her. 

Hesitantly Y/n slid her fingers through his. They were intertwining their hands together. Five was so focused on time-traveling correctly that he didn’t notice the pink flush on his best friend's face. But he did it, once and twice—finally a third time. Smoke clouded the area, and fire could be seen for miles. 

Y/n dropped his hand and covered her mouth. Five circled in his spot in shock. He felt nauseous and queasy. He couldn’t believe that he let this happen. He shouldn’t have pushed himself. They were stuck. Fucking hell, they were stuck, and he couldn’t do anything. Y/n ran back to the academy, and Five followed her. The h/c haired girl stared at what used to be the Umbrella Academy. Now in ruins. Five dropped to his knees, tears collecting in his eyes. 

“It’s- it’s gone….” 

Y/n hugged him tightly, “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.”

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna be-“ 

Five didn’t get to finish his sentence. He pushed her away and threw up to the side. When he finished, Y/n took her jacket sleeve and wiped it around his mouth—gently combing his hair from his face. Y/n had never seen Five look so drained. Seeing her in front of him, taking care of him made him break. Five broke into sobs holding onto her like a lifeline. Y/n rubbed his back and held him just as tightly. 

“I’m here, Five. I’ll keep you safe.”

Being thirteen in an apocalypse seems like a death sentence, but when you grow up the way Five did, it’s more bearable. The first few months were awful. Searching for shelter, food, clothes. It was downright hell, but they made it through. On cold nights Five would hold her close to his chest, and on hot nights Y/n would always manage to get him cold water. 

Years passed, and their friendship turned into a relationship. They needed each other to survive, and they just needed each other. Five couldn’t be more grateful that she insisted on coming. He couldn’t imagine doing this alone. But now, he had his girlfriend leaning her head on his shoulder while watching the fire. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, leaving occasional kisses on her temple. 

“I couldn’t imagine this world without you.” Five confessed, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” Y/n challenged. 

He smirked, “Oh, really?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head, smartass.” Y/n snorted, “Too late, it’s already there, my love.” Five retorted. 

She kissed his cheek, “Love you.”

“Love you too, darling.” 

Five years later. They were twenty-five, and he wanted to make it official. It was a rather cold day wherever they were, and Five was holding her closer than ever. Y/n was shivering on the old mattress they had found. She was constantly snuggling closer to Five’s chest. They laid facing each other, and Y/n’s head was tucked under his chin. Five’s hand ran through her long hair - after being unable to cut it - soothing her nerves. 

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“I want you - Y/n - to marry me.” Five repeated, looking down at her.

Her teeth chattered, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not like there’s anyone else to choose from.”

Y/n glared playfully, and Five chuckled, “Asshole.”

“So, what do you say? Make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

“I say that if my fiancé doesn’t stop being an asshole, then I won't marry him.” Y/n retorted jokingly, “I love you too, pretty girl.” Five replied, smiling softly. 

He kissed her forehead and allowed her to muzzle closer into him. Gently he pulled the two plain rings he found. They were battered, of course, and the gold was dirty, but that didn’t matter. Five slipped the ring on her finger and his. Y/n placed a gentle kiss on his lips that he gladly returned. Sweet, soft, passionate, and full of love. A description of how she was. 

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Five replied, “Now get some sleep.” 

Y/n was about to fall asleep when she heard Five mutter one last thing, “Y/n Hargreeves.”

29 years. 348 months. 1512 weeks. 10,585 days. Until a woman showed up in their shelter, offering them both a job. Five could remember pushing Y/n behind him defensively. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt in any interaction he had. The woman offered them a way home. Five turned to his wife, and she saw it. For the first time in forty-five years, she saw it. Hope. 

Y/n took Five’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. The softest smile crossed his features before agreeing with the woman’s offer where both of them became assassins—partners in crime. Nothing turned Five on more than seeing his wife fend for herself, and god, was she good at it. Y/n was so naive and innocent when she was ten. But now? At the age of fifty-six, she wasn’t that girl anymore. 

But when they reached the age of fifty-eight, Five finally found out the correct equation. They were at their last mission, make sure John F. Kennedy gets shot and everything goes to plan, but Five had different ideas. Taking Vanya’s book from his suitcase, he looked over the equations one last time. They were going back; Five would go home today. 

“Y/n.”

“Yes, love?”

Five sighed, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To go home.” 

Y/n’s smile was blissful; Five could’ve fainted on the spot, “Home?! Like- Like-“

“Home.” Five answered to his overjoyed wife. 

Y/n kissed him more passionately than ever. Five could feel her gratefulness in her kiss. His hands placed themselves on her waist, and hers were around his neck. God Five never wanted to forget this feeling. The feeling of his wife in his arms, kissing him as she would never get enough. When they pulled apart, Five opened the portal. Gripping her hand, they jumped through and landed on the leaf-filled ground in the icy rain. 

“Does anyone else see Little Number Five and Little Y/n, or is that just me?“ Klaus asked, not trusting his eyes; maybe it was an illusion from the drugs. 

Five and Y/n stood up. The first thing Y/n noticed was the ring on her finger was too big now. But Five looked down at the suit he had been wearing previously. The blazer now reached his knees instead of his waist, and Y/n’s shirt was hanging off one of her shoulders. Five and Y/n looked at each other. They were thirteen all over again. 

“Shit.” 

He grabbed Y/n’s hand and dragged her into the academy. Y/n had only been in the academy a handful of times before, and she usually was only allowed in Five’s room because she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. His siblings followed aimlessly and took their spots at the table. 

“What’s the date? The exact date.” Five inquired, grabbing different things around the kitchen. 

“The 24th.”

“Of what?”

“March.”

“Good.”

Y/n took place beside him as Five began making a peanut butter marshmallow sandwich. The same snack he used to love as a kid. Y/n could remember him trying to eat it back at their apartment the commission provided them but complained it was too sweet. It seems that being in his teenage body again made him crave the sweetness of the snack. 

“So, are we gonna talk about just what happened?” Luther questioned, but no one answered, “It’s been 17 years.”

Five scoffed, “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

The same big spatial jumped behind Luther as he began to take marshmallows from the cabinet, “I haven’t missed that.” Luther murmured. 

“Where’d you two go?” Diego asked. 

“The future.” Y/n answered politely, “It’s shit, by the way.” Five added spatial jumping beside her again and gently kissing her cheek. 

The siblings stared in shock at Five’s sudden act of affection; Five could feel their eyes on him, “What?”

“You just kissed her.” Allison stated, “And?”

Allison didn’t say anything, “Is it a crime for me to kiss my wife or something?” Five asked agitatedly. 

“Wife?!”

“Yes, wife.” Five sighed. 

“Called it!” Klaus exclaimed. 

“I should’ve listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing.” Five began as he looked through the fridge, “Jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” 

He came back with peanut butter in his hand at the front of the table, his wife beside him; he took in the appearance of his siblings, “Nice dress.”

“Oh, well, Danke!” Klaus smiled. 

“Wait, how did you two get back?” Vanya questioned. 

“In the end, I had to project our consciousnesses forward into a suspended quantum state version of ourselves that exists across every possible instance of time.” 

Diego couldn’t wrap his head around it, “That makes no sense.”

Five went to remark, but Y/n cut him off, “It doesn’t have to. All that matters is that we’re back.”

“How long were you two there?” Luther queried, “Forty-Five years. Give or take.”

Everyone looked at the two teens in disbelief, “So what are you saying? That you’re 58?”

“Well, not exactly. Our consciences are 58, but it appears that our bodies are back to 13.” Y/n answered. 

“Wait, how does that even work?”

“It seems that Five might’ve gotten the equations wrong.” Y/n replied, and Five glared at her, “I’m not mad! I’m just happy we’re home. Appearance be damned.”

Five took notice of the newspaper in front of Y/n, “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Luther inquired, “What part of the future do you not understand?” Five retorted. 

“Heart failure?” Y/n asked, “Yeah/No.” Luther and Diego contradicted. 

Five clicked his tongue, “Nice to see nothings changed.”

The teenage boy began to walk away, “Uh, that’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Allison questioned.

“What else is there to say? It’s the circle of life.”

Vanya was the first to get up and hug Y/n, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too, Vanny. Me too.”

[scuttling]

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you���re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[celestial-kit]

Everything Has Changed

I’m not sure what this is, I was just thinking about what Bakugo might be like when he first feels an attraction for someone... and then this happened. 

Pairing: Bakugo x reader 

Warnings: Fluff, brief mention of penetration, slight NSFW themes, Minors DNI

______________________________________________________________

I headcanon that Bakugo doesn’t start exploring his romantic and sexual attraction to others until after he’s graduated high school. He’s always been observant, so he could recognize when someone was attractive, but he was never actually attracted to anyone because he was so focused on everything else. Winning sports festivals, doing work studies, training to stay on top of his rivals and teammates. It just never occurred to him that he could be a hero and be in love. 

He starts to recognize that he is a romantic and sexual being when he meets you. It wasn’t love at first sight, but rather a series of events that sparked a heat inside him that he had never felt before. 

You meet because you both start working as sidekicks at the same agency right out of high school. He didn’t pay much attention to you at first because you were quiet, focused on doing your work and getting experience in the field. Your boss often paired the two of you together for patrols, your quiet nature making it so that you don’t rile Bakugo up like some of the other sidekicks. It was on your 5th patrol together that Bakugo first recognized your skill as a hero. 

It was a rather quiet day, not much happening as the two of you strolled the streets. You didn’t talk much outside of the occasional comment about where you should patrol next. As you were about to turn a corner onto a new street, a man dressed in black pushed past the two of you, running at full speed. Behind you, you both hear a woman cry, “My purse!” Bakugo briefly looks back over his shoulder to try to determine where the cry came from, while you automatically pushed forward to chase the bandit, sprinting after the man that was admittedly twice your size. When you caught up, you took your bo staff and swept his feet, making him fall forward on his face. You quickly clambered onto the man’s back, using your body weight to pin him, kicking the purse out of his reach, and zip tying his wrists together. The whole interaction took maybe 15 seconds, but it took Bakugo by surprise. He didn’t expect you to have the courage to jump into action so quickly, and he hadn’t realized that you were so strong. He knew then that he had been underestimating you, and it made him take you more seriously, and pay more attention to you.

The first time he realized he was attracted to you was the first time you sparred together. After that day on patrol, you started talking more, you learned about each other's training habits and quirks. He learned that you focused a lot of your training in martial arts. Since you were smaller, you knew you needed to know how to counter opponents that were bigger than you, and martial arts gave you the skills you needed to do that. One evening after work, you asked Bakugo if he wanted to train with you, and he said yes, expecting to pin you quickly and go home. You both agreed not to use your quirks and the winner would be the person that could pin the other for 5 seconds. 

Bakugo was much larger than you, his biceps the size of your head, bulging when he reached out to try to pin you. You skillfully dodged each of his advances, using his momentum to land your own attacks and keep him off balance. Frustrated, Bakugo finally let loose a growl and lunged at you, attempting to use the sheer size of his body to force you down. You placed a hand on his shoulder when he neared you, kicking your legs over the both of your heads into a semi-cartwheel and forcefully brought one knee down into the middle of his back, the pressure making Bakugo’s legs go numb and his body to topple to the ground. He found himself in a similar position as the bandit that you had taken down on patrol, with you sitting on his back, his arms pinned behind him and his cheek against the ground. He looked up at you from the corner of his eye, a frustrated frown painted on his face. You can’t help but to let out a quiet giggle and a simple “I win” as you give him a small smile. 

Your hair had mostly fallen out of the ponytail you had put it in before your match, pieces of it sticking to your forehead with sweat. Your eyes glowed with pride as you sat on top of him, and Bakugo could feel a faint blush creep onto his cheeks and blood rush south as he imagined you in this position above him, sinking onto his full cock with that same look in your eyes. When he got the feeling back in his legs, he pushed up on his arms, bucking you off his back and stalking towards the locker room, keeping his back to you to hide his semi-hard length. 

 After that moment, Bakugo couldn’t stay away from you. He never admitted his feelings to you, of course, but that didn’t stop him spending time with you, taking in the way you always greeted him with a gentle smile, how you never flinched when he yelled at the other sidekicks, your lightweight touch on his back as you tried to get around him in the copy room. You started getting dinner together, too. It wasn’t a date, despite what Kirishima said, Bakugo just wanted to eat dinner with a friend who he was incredibly attracted to.

You took turns recommending places to eat, trying new things, and rating them at the end of dinner. This week it was your turn and you had been craving Pho, so you recommended a restaurant near the agency that served it. You laughed at Bakugo as he piled his Pho with jalapenos and sriracha, trying to make it spicier. You enjoyed every bit of your meal, even bringing the bowl to your lips to drink the remaining broth of your soup. After you were both finished, Bakugo paid the bill and you started walking home.

“I rate it a 10,” you say, satisfied, rubbing your full belly. “What do you rate it?” You look at Bakugo expectantly.

“Tch,” he scoffs, keeping his pace slow as he walks you to your apartment. He wants to take his time, he doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. “It wasn’t that good. 5,” he shrugs.

“What? You’re too picky, that was a good meal,” You say with a pout.

“I’m not picky, I just have high standards,” Bakugo says as he feels a water droplet land on his cheek. He pulls a hand from where he had it shoved in his pocket, reaching out to feel more droplets hit his palms. He looks up to see gray storm clouds over your heads, so he reaches out to grab your hand and starts pulling you quickly to your apartment building. Just before you’re about to make it to the safety of an awning, the rain starts to pour and you both get soaked. 

After pushing inside your building, you ask Bakugo if he wants to dry off in your apartment. He nods, letting go of your hand and following you up the stairs. Inside your apartment, he finds himself lingering in your living room while you change into dry clothes and search for a towel for him. When you return, you’re dressed in sweats and a white t-shirt that does nothing to hide your hardened nipples from Bakugo’s gaze. You bring him a fluffy towel, pulling him down to your level and plopping it on his head, drying his hair yourself. 

He grunts at the action, unsure how to process the affection. When he looks at you from under the towel, he can see a smile on your face, but your eyes are dark and it’s like there is something else plaguing your mind. He watches as your eyes wander down his torso, taking in the way his dark, wet shirt clings to his muscles, and then finally lands on the space between his legs where he can feel himself hardening. You release a small gasp, but don’t pull away, instead simply bringing your eyes up to meet his for a few seconds before you lean in and place a short kiss on his lips.

Bakugo’s eyes widen when you press your lips to his, confused at first, and then closing them after he finally processes it all. You like him. You want him. And he wants you. When you pull away from him, he stands to his full height, dragging the towel off his head till it hits the floor, and then he’s grabbing you by the waist to pull you into a searing kiss. You gasp again and Bakugo takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, doing his best to make it clear how he feels, that he wants you, he needs you, and he doesn’t want to waste another moment without you. 

When you part from the kiss, Bakugo looks into your eyes, trying to gauge your reaction, and he finds you smiling with glossy eyes and bruised lips. He gives you a small smirk and you giggle at him, aware that he’s not the type to lay his heart on his sleeve, confess his love and tell you how he feels. But you know how he feels, he tells you in the way his grip tightens around your waist, in how he pulls you into his chest and tucks his head into your neck, in the way he breathes in your scent and hums against your skin. Bakugo has feelings for you, and now that he has you, he won’t let you go.

[ventisehe]

crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

     DILUC

       After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

          He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

    He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

        He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

                    Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

     And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

    But then you came to his life so suddenly.

                          "Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

              All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

          Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

                                     He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

                                                       But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

          It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

                        It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

                                      The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

                          Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

     ZHONGLI

       Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

                   But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

            How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

                               After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

                 He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

                      He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

                                         Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

                   Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

           What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

     CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

                 Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

              And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

                                       The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

             To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

                   So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

      He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

                                              How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

                          Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

             He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

                              But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

               You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

     And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

     Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

       You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

                   Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

              “Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

                        You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

            “I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

                            And fucking hell, did he protect you.

                                          He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

     AETHER

                 When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

              Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

                He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

                     "And what if she is?"

                                     Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

                 Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

       "What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

                                       Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

                "Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

              Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

                                   Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

                   At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

                                      Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

             But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

                           Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

                  It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

                                           Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

              He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

                            The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

              If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

                                 Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

     But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

                     And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

                      He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

               What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

                                   Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

     BENNETT

                 Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

                                 But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

          He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

                 It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

                                    He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

                   Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

                              You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

                  It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

           He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

                               When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

    He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

                 Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

                                  "( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

                 Archon, how are you so adorable?

                   "Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

                               "Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

                   He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

          He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

                                But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

                  It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

                                           Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

            But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

                            But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

                  With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

                                              But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

            Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

                         This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

      His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck. 

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.

[marvel-vision]

Closure

Summary - It happened and she just has to accept it.

Warnings - Death

Words - 2.2k

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A year. 

She didn't think she could make it but she managed. A year without you. 

Yelena had always been proud of the fact that she didn't need anyone, that she was strong enough to survive on her own, but then you strolled into her life and brightened the colours of the world around her and she had never been happier. 

She had finally made time to sight see around New York, she'd been to the Empire State Building and the Rockefeller Centre, in all honesty she didn't find them too interesting. The last tourist attraction she had left to see was the 'new and improved' Statue of Liberty. Looking up at the golden shield now in the statue's hand she scoffed, because of course they'd honour Captain America, the golden boy of the United States. 

"Not a fan of the makeover?" Someone asked from behind her. She knew there was a person behind her, her widow training wouldn't let her forget, but the unexpected interaction made her tense slightly, not noticeable to people who weren't trained. 

"Not really," the woman's accent surprised you, sure people from all over the world came to see the sights in America, but you'd never run into a Russian before. It was different, you liked different. "It is a bit of an eyesore." 

The seriousness of the woman's statement made your smile widen. Letting out a breathy laugh at her honesty, you continued trying to make conversation. "It is isn't it. And of course they use the shield. Can you imagine if they used Thor's Hammer or like, I don't know, Iron-man's helmet." 

The short, loud laugh that erupted from the woman made your insides twist. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but her laugh and her voice was even better. So clearly unapologetically her. 

"I'm Y/N." You introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for her to shake. 

Her grip was tight when she shook your hand. "Yelena." 

"Nice to meet you Yelena. This might be forward, but would you maybe want to like grab a coffee with me?" 

She hesitated slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "But you don't know me. I could be a serial killer, or a crazy person." 

"Well are you?" You questioned, tilting your head to the side, studying her face. 

"No." She shook her head, loose hair falling into her face. 

"Well then, I would like to know you, that was kind of the whole point of inviting you. Obviously you don't have to if you don't want to. It's totally up to you." 

Hearing you give her the option, Yelena let out a deep breath. It had been a while since she got to make her own choice, since someone offered her control of the situation. "I would love to." 

The friendship between you and Yelena grew day by day until she asked you on a date. She had never seen you so happy, and she didn't think that either of you could be happier. She was wrong. The relationship only got better and better, her friends loved you, her family loved you and she loved you. You didn't judge her when she told you about her past, or how she sometimes struggled to believe that the life you shared was real. 

There were times you'd tease her about Kate's small crush on her, it was all light hearted teasing, you loved yelena and she loved you, you knew that what you shared was perfect. 

Until the accident. 

Yelena had recently gotten into cooking, courtesy of Wanda gifting her a cookbook, and decided she wanted to try a new recipe. The only problem was it needed spices that you didn't have in the house. Being the good partner you were, you offered to go to the store to buy some. 

Staring at the rows of spices in front of you, you picked up the paprika and the smoked paprika, not sure what the difference was but wanting to get the right one for your girlfriend. You pulled out your phone and called her. When she didn't pick up you left a voicemail, hoping she'd get back to you so you could buy the correct spice. 

"Yo Yelena, it's me obviously, I'm at the store, but I can't remember what spice it was you needed. Was it the paprika or the smoked paprika that you needed for dinner tonight? What's the difference anyway? Call me back soon or I'll just buy both. Alright love you bye." 

You stood in the aisle for what felt like hours but was really just five minutes, before deciding the house needed both spices. You paid and got back into your car, driving home so that you could finally get back to your girlfriend. 

Her phone rang again, and this time, she could answer it, now that her hands were clean. Putting the phone on speaker so she could talk and cook at the same time, she expected to hear your voice come through. 

"Hello, this is Dr Micheals, is this Yelena Belova?" 

Dropping the knife she moved closer to her phone, bracing herself against the counter. "Yes, that is me. What's going on?" 

"We have you down as Y/N Y/L/N emergency contact. I think it would be best if you come down to the hospital so we can talk in person." 

Yelena shook her head, she couldn't believe it. "Are they okay?" 

"Miss, I'm sorry but I really think you should be here in person for this." The Dr's sympathetic voice worried Yelena. It was stupid, logically she knew that if he wasn't saying you were okay over the phone then it was probably bad, but she held out hope that you were fine. 

After agreeing to go, she called her sister who met her at the doors of the hospital. The news that you were in an accident and had died on impact shook Yelena and Natasha to their cores. Yelena's legs gave out as sobs escaped her, it was hard for Natasha, seeing her sister, who was usually so carefree and happy, drop to her knees in pain. Natasha kneeled next to her, surrounding her sister in her loving embrace, trying to console her as best she could. 

Your funeral was held not even a week later. Yelena stayed quiet the entire time and didn't cry, she wanted to, she wanted to mourn you, to say goodbye, but she just stared. Stared at the coffin as it was lowered. Stared at the gravestone, reading the words but never fully grasping them. When people gave her their condolences, she barely even blinked. Yelena had lost her soulmate and nothing could bring them back. 

Over the months Yelena played the voicemail back to herself, over and over again, just to hear your voice. She spent long nights wishing she picked up that day, so that she could have said goodbye to you. Maybe you'd still be here if she had answered, or if she'd never picked that recipe. But she couldn't change it, and so she settled for listening, torturing herself over what your final moments were like. 

By the time the one year anniversary of your death came around, Yelena was doing slightly better. However, it being one year since your death Yelena just wanted to stay inside and curl up in bed, listening to your voice. 

As she was preparing herself for her well made plans, her phone rang. Expecting it to be her sister wanting to talk about you, she sighed and sat at the edge of her bed. 

She nearly had a heart attack when she saw the name on her screen. Jumping to answer it, she held her breath, phone to her ear, waiting to see if it was actually you on the other end. 

"Yelena hey. I can't remember what spice it was you needed, was it paprika or smoked paprika? Was it even paprika? I honestly can't remember. Should I just get both?" 

"Y/N." She whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. She had to be hallucinating, she must have fallen and hit her head or had a psychotic break, because you were dead. You calling her was literally impossible. 

Hearing the emotion in her voice, your smile dropped. "Hey, what's wrong?" 

"I've missed you. God I have missed you so much." She bawled into the phone. Straightening up and wiping away her fallen tears, Yelena continued, "Where are you? Stay right where you are, I'll come to you." 

"I'm at the store, grabbing the spices we need for dinner, Yelena are you alright? Maybe I should just come back now, I don't think you should be driving in this state." The genuine concern in your voice filled Yelena's heart with joy. God she had missed you. 

"No, no I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm already on my way anyway, just stay on the phone with me and don't move, okay?" 

You were confused and concerned about what was going on, but for yelenas sake you agreed to stay put. You talked for the few minutes it took for Yelena to get to you and when you heard her park the car and climb out, she asked what aisle you were in. 

Hearing your answer yelena rushed to the spices, rounding the corner, praying with everything in her that you were there. But you weren't. There was an old lady browsing the shelves and a young worker restocking the shelves, but no Y/N. 

"I told you to stay where you are. Where are you?" Yelena's frantic voice came through the phone. It wasn't often that you heard her so out of breath. 

"I didn't move Yelena I swear, I'm stood right in front of the spices. I'm the only person in this aisle you can't miss me." 

Yelena's heart was beating out of her chest. "You must have moved because your not here." She cried, ignoring the strange looks she got from the people around her. 

"Yelena." The softest with which you said her name made her heart clench. You were gone. 

"Y/N," she whispered back, "What is the date?" 

Pulling your phone away from your ear you checked. "It's the 19th of February, why?" 

Yelena sighed, closing her eyes in preparation for your answer, "What year?" 

"2021" 

"Not for me." The internal battle she had with herself on whether or not she should tell you was raging on. "It's 2022 now. You died last year." 

The silence coming from your end of the phone worried her, had she run out of time, were you gone again. 

Hearing Yelena's breathing pick up you spoke. "You're not joking." It wasn't a question, there was no way she would joke about this. You could tell in her voice that she was in pain. Hanging your head, you released a deep breath, "I'm sorry." 

"Why are you sorry?" 

"I don't know, for leaving you, for causing you all this pain. If I could stop whatever happens, I would, I promise." 

"We can try. Try to stop you from dying." Her hope practically radiated through the speakers of your phone and you hated to be the one to crush it. 

"I don't think we can. I'm guessing I die on my way home?" 

Yelena sniffled and wiped at her nose with her sleeve, "You got hit by a car. Head on collision, you- you died on impact. And I never got to say goodbye." 

"Maybe that's why you picked up this time, to get to say bye this one last time." 

"I don't want to say goodbye. I want you here, with me, where you should be." 

"I'm sorry. Just know that when it happens, I will be thinking of you, of how much I love you and of how much I'm going to miss you. I love you, Yelena Belova. I really do." 

With a shuddering breath meant to steady herself, Yelena found the strength to speak. "I love you too, forever and always. You were the one for me and no one will replace you. Ever." 

"Come on, don't say that, don't hold back because of me. You don't need to replace me, you just need to find someone new, someone who can be what I was. It's okay to let me go, because I'll be waiting for you. And I don't care if that's ten years or a hundred, when it's finally your time I'll be here." Attempting to brighten the mood a bit you cleared your throat and joked, "I know Kate has a thing for you, and before I came along you sort of had a thing for her. Don't tell Natasha I let that slip she'll kill me." 

"Too soon Y/N, way too soon," Yelena rolled her eyes. 

"I'm serious though. You and Kate. I could see it. If you have kids, name one of them after me, yeah?" 

"If that ever happens I'm sure I will." 

"Good." You clapped your hands together, "Now I think it's time for me to go. I love you. Goodbye Yelena." 

"Goodbye." 

Yelena left the store feeling as if a weight had left her shoulders. Despite the full blown breakdown in the middle of the spices aisle she was finally well and truly happy after so long. Getting back in her car she drove. Not back to her house but to Kates. You had given her the closure she needed and for now your story had ended. It was time to open up a new chapter of her life, one that you had blessed.

[donutloverxo]

Princess

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

Based on a request. Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Summary - Your pussy is sore so Curtis uses your mouth.

Warnings - explicit sexual content (m/f) , age gap (reader is in her early twenties, Curtis is 34), innocent/naive reader, dub con, oral (m receiving), soft dark!Curtis, au, porn without plot.

Pairing - Curtis Everett x reader

Word count - 2k

You were jerked away when you heard the knob to your room on the snowpiercer rattling, and then being closed as his footsteps followed.

You didn't remember a lot before the train, you were just a kid when the old world came to an end. 

You saw glimpses of grass and sunlight in your dreams, you weren't sure if they were dreams or just fragments of your imagination. 

But even in your wildest dreams, you didn't imagine a bed this soft and a room this big. Big enough to fit the bed and two dressers and a large mirror. It was decadent and all you could wish for and more. 

So it should make you happy to be here. In a comfortable bed like a princess. Shouldn't it? 

It didn't. You wanted to enjoy this time while it lasted, but your gut told you that you were temporary. Just here to warm the leaders bed. 

"Curtis…" your face heating up as he studied you, his powder blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, getting rid of his coat and cap. Goosbumps erupted all over your body as you held your soft comforter upto your chest,to give you some sense of modesty and dignity even if Curtis had taken it all from you and made you a woman just weeks ago. 

You used fantasy to escape your grim reality quite often. It's easier to dream of a Prince Charming riding on a white horse to save you then to accept reality for what it is that you would've been stuck working in the greenhouse for the rest of your life… all alone. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he hissed, tearing the comforter away from you, holding onto your wrists to reveal your beautiful breasts to him. "You're mine now. You can't hide from me."

"I'm sorry…" you hung your head in shame, and so you wouldn't be caught peeking a glance at Curtis pulling his shirt over his head, followed by him unbuckling his belt. 

He was… beautiful. You never knew anyone could be so handsome. His shoulders wide, a light scattering of hair all over his torso, multiple scars on his body. But they only, strangely, made him more appealing to you. 

He climbed on top of the mattress, nudging your knees apart and situating himself between them. He growled as he looked at your bare sex, using two of his fingers to part your lips as you hissed in pain. 

"It's… I'm… sore," you explained when he looked up at you. 

He nodded back to you, pushing barely an inch of his forefinger inside you, he didn't want to hurt you. Your pussy was clearly swollen and overworked. If he gave into his urges he would be sure to cause you pain, and even worse, lose what little trust you have in him. 

He had suffered enough to last him seven lifetimes. He already knew he was going to hell for all that he had done. It wasn't like he could doom himself anymore by forcing you to be with him. And he deserved you. After all that he had gone through. You were his light at the end of one long and shitty tunnel. 

He pulled his hand away when he looked at your face, pinched in pain. Instead settling on fondling your breast as he thought about how to take care of his erection. 

He had taken your body four times the previous night, which was why you slept the day away. How he managed to go out and get stuff done, and be the leader was beyond you. 

"You like what you see, princess?" He taunted you when he caught you staring at his hard cock. 

The little pet name was initially what he used to mock you and how shy and delicate and innocent you were, but now he had come to cherish you. He wanted to protect you as if you were his sweet little scared princess and he was your brave knight. 

You immediately averted your eyes and started sputtering nonsense, your brain froze and you literally didn't know how to answer him. And Curtis had made it very clear that when he asked you a question you were to give him a proper, clear and honest answer. Or face grave consequences. 

"Um, yes?" Which was the truth. You had seen a few male genitals in your life, they were all… not very appealing. But it was different with Curtis. His was beautiful and intimidating at the same time. 

"Then how about," putting his leg over yours, he crawled to the top of the bed, kneeling before you with his hard, pulsating length was right in front of your face. "You make me happy."

"Oh…" you simply stared. Your friend had told you that you were 'one lucky bitch' to have a man like Curtis who spends hours pleasuring you with his mouth, his fingers, and his manhood, but never forced you to return the favor. You didn't even know how you would go about doing that. 

You had explored your own body before. Partly because of your curiosity and partly for some relief. But Curtis touched you in a way no one else could, he made you climax harder than you ever had before, you were pretty sure you passed out once from the sheer intensity of it. 

But… how does one go about doing the same with a man's special place? 

"Hm," you looked at his slit, it looked somewhat similar to your bud, you held onto his length, putting your thumb over his tip where the pearly liquid oozed out of--with which he often loved painting your whole body with, or pump you full of it and just watch it seep out of you. 

You realised how bold you were, that you should seek his permission before touching him there, you looked up to see him pleased with your actions so you decided to keep going.

You lightly pressed your thumb on his slit, making him hiss, you whipped your head up and pulled your hand away. 

"Sorry…" you sniffed, your vision becoming blurry as your eyes teared up, "I've never.. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry…" you sobbed. 

"Stop," he said softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

You really were such a scared little lamb. Years of pent up frustration, where he had to make do with just his hand, didn't help making you feel safe with him either. But what the hell was he supposed to do when he had such a beautiful woman next to him as he slept? 

"Just listen to me. Can you do that?" he asked, cupping your jaw as you meekly nodded. "Open your mouth as wide as you can," he told you, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb. 

Oh. It made sense. He puts his mouth on you so you should be able to do so on him as well. You opened your mouth with an 'ah', panicking just a bit when he put his hand around your throat, but he hushed you and asked you to relax. Since your body, mind and soul really did belong to him now, you immediately calmed down, knowing that he won't hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

He pushed his length in your mouth. The taste wasn't at all what you expected. Not that you were sure what it would be like anyway. It tasted creamy and salty at the same time. You coughed and sputtered around him, your spit trailing down your chin. You thought that the mess would make him angry but then you recalled how much he enjoys the mess he makes of you. 

He stopped when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat on his palm, "Good girl," he cooed, stroking your need. "Look up here," he ordered as you looked at him through your big doe eyes, "Keep looking at me okay?"

You didn't know if you were expected to give a verbal answer, because you couldn't… Not with a mouthful of Curtis. So you nodded the best you could. 

"Hands on your thighs," he said as you put your hands on your bare thighs with the palms up. "Right now just sit there… just like that," he rasped as he pulled his hips back before bucking them forward, "And look pretty. Fuck… that mouth of yours… and it's all mine to do whatever I want with…"

He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You did as you were told, sitting and taking his assault on your mouth and throat. His ejaculate, your tears and your saliva drooling all over your lap. He was making love to your mouth, just as he did between your legs. 

You could feel slick running down the side of your leg, not wanting to ruin the pristine white sheets and to create some much needed friction you closed your legs together. 

He stopped his hips, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as he saw you squirming. "Touch yourself." He said. 

Your eyes widened as you realised what he meant. You couldn't risk pulling him out of your mouth to protest. You were too embarrassed to do that in front of him as well. 

"That's an order," he growled as he fucked in to your warm mouth, making you choke around him, pushing him closer to his release. 

A shaky hand made its way to your core, past your pubic hair and between your thighs. You tried to emulate how Curtis touched you. 

First he touched your thighs and kissed them all over. Then your ass and then he'd tease around your lips, torturing you for what would feel like forever before touching you where you most needed him. 

You gathered your intimate juices, spreading them around your vulva before rolling your pearl between your fingers, moaning around his length. 

"That's it, princess… come on, come with me," he groaned, slowly fucking into your mouth, holding off his release so he could watch you fall apart as he came in your mouth, one hand tangled up in your hair and another pinching and twisting your nipples. 

Soon you were whimpering, you tried to tell him that you were close. Thankfully he seemed to understand as he picked up the pace. Fucking into your mouth till you could feel streaks of his release on the back of your throat. 

You held onto his thigh so you could sit upright as your orgasm washed over you. Your nails digging into his skin as you screamed around his length. 

"Swallow it all," he commanded as you gulped down all that you could. 

You took in some much needed oxygen as he pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, your chest heaving as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his body.

He thought you'd want to sleep after. Since you were so swollen and tired. He'd have to take it easy on you from now on. Maybe use your mouth every now and then to give your pussy a rest. 

But then… 

Were you grinding against his cock? 

He propped your chin up so he could look at your face, the most innocent look on it. 

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Um… are you done?" you asked, tracing a scar on his chest. 

"You want something, princess?" he asked, pinching your buttock as you yelped. 

"I was thinking… we could make love? It doesn't feel right not to. You know?"

"Right, of course, princess. Since you asked so nicely." He smirked as he climbed on top of you. 

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[ruki--mukami]

(TW)

I adore how Ruki in one of the recent asks tells Karlheinz to find his own wife.

Imagine the conversation goes further:

Karl to Ruki laughing: “But I have asked you to find me a wife not a lover. Wives and lovers serve different purposes. I would imagine you of all people should know that Ruki. Perhaps I took you for something more than you really are.” Or maybe this girl blinds you."

Karl to Ruki clearly amused looking at his s/o: “How about a small bet, Ruki? You’ll find me an appropriate fourth wife and I will leave this girl to you. Will a month suffice? Or a week to make this bet more interesting? I feel generous today. I’ll give you this month.”

Karl turning to Ruki as he walks away: “And remember Ruki you are not allowed to get married without my permission.”

(Ruki’s s/o terrified: “Who is this man Ruki? He is joking, isn’t he? Why is he speaking about me as if I am not here and as if I have nothing to say in this matter?)

((Note for Admin: But Ruki is a bit of hypocrite: he only defies Karl when his s/o is involved. Otherwise, he tells (especially his sister on your blog) "endure it". Anyway, I love your portrait of Karl-Ruki relation. Maybe I should open Karlheinz blog as I’d love these two to interact more. Although I feel I couldn't write for Karl. So, I hope you do not mind my Karl-related asks.)

"That may be so, but I find a loveless marriage is destined for nothing but failure and tragedy for those involved. There may have been a time I would agree with your words without hesitation, especially after how my own mother betrayed me long ago. However, this woman… I'm willing to permit her light to quell my darkness, even if it blinds me. Karlheinz-sama, you taught me how Vampires shroud themselves in eternal umbra, rooted deep in the misery and misfortune that compels them to thrive off the life force of others," he said wistfully as a rueful frown dampened his features, "yet contrarily they also lack reason for their own feelings."

Not once did the hand on his lover's shoulder falter nor release, signifying the bond Ruki shared with the woman he valued more than others, more than his family, and even more than life itself. Possessively, the Vampire traversed the small of her back, steadying her in place to further emphasize he did not, and never will, intend to hand her over to anyone, not even his benefactor.

"Perhaps my relationship with her is one of those rare instances in which a Vampire loses all inhibition and seemingly has his fangs extracted from him as if he lost demonic sadism. Even so, to love without reason is to love unconditionally. The same cannot be said for matrimony void of any romance," he ran several digits through his hair in a forlorn motion. "Please do not misconstrue my words, Karlheinz-sama. I only voice my opinion so that my benefactor arrives at the same surprising yet beneficial revelation. Without true love, the world is nothing but pure trepidation and a step closer to chaos."

After the Vampire King would not budge from his original conniving plans, Ruki let out a heavy sigh of resignation, realizing that any further reasoning with Karlheinz would fall on deaf ears.

"Ah… One month. Very well, I will oblige to your request if doing so pleases you. Although, despite my agreeance, I must caution against such a challenge until the very end. I harbor no doubts that I will find a suitable fourth wife for you, but even so this woman will most likely meet the same fate as your previous lovers and your former wives. Mentally troubled, clouded with hubris, and surreptitiously hoping for death at every opportune moment. You could hardly call it love, if at all. Nonetheless, I will not fail you, Karlheinz-sama. You can rely on me for anything you require as always."

Once the couple had a moment alone and away from the godlike being, could only stare blankly ahead in deep contemplation, a visage of apathy crossing him. Then, he turned to his wife with solemn eyes, hints of determination lurking within.

“Forgive me for putting you through this ordeal. Karlheinz-sama is the one who granted my brothers and I a second chance at life. For the four of us, his word is absolute, but I can assure you once a fourth wife has been chosen, I will find a way for us to marry once and for all. It would be the ultimate act of betrayal, but if he cannot grant me permission to do at least that much after I fulfilled his orders, then I will rebel for your sake. To live by your side, to make you mine, and to love you for all eternity... I wish for nothing more than that.”

🧩 Yes, definitely. One of Ruki's traits is his hypocrisy to be honest, but I really love the drastic changes in his character regarding Karlheinz and his significant other. It really shows how she was able to change him, so much so that he would oppose his benefactor's wishes which is a rarity with Ruki. Also, it really warms my heart how you adore my portrayal of his relationship with Karl. T_T To be honest I always considered it similar to that of a king and his trusted knight, hahaha. Especially when Ruki only uses polite speech with Karl and no one else. It's definitely my time to shine with the proper talk and vast vocabulary. And honestly I'm so shocked I would inspire someone to want to make A KARL BLOG, OMG. THAT WOULD BE SO MUCH FUN, I'D DEFINITELY LOVE TO INTERACT. Sorry, got excited there AHAHA. Honestly, you've been writing him well so far! His reasons for doing things range from "because I was bored" to "wanting to create a new human race," so with him, anything is possible. But I understand if you feel more comfortable just sending the Karl related asks, too. Either way, I do not mind and look forward to further interactions!! ^^ 🧩