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pipszhou · 2 months ago

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𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭

✧ — synopsis: Top of the class? Not for long. All it took was one lecture, one remote-controlled vibrator, and Professor Caleb’s merciless control to turn you into a shaking, dripping mess. And when he calls you up to the chalkboard, you learn the real curriculum: obedience, humiliation, and being bred full by your favorite professor.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~2.5k

✧ — tags: professor caleb, semi-public sex, vibrators, humiliation, degradation, subspace, sexual overstimulation, creampie, breeding, power imbalance, dom/sub, rough sex, size kink, dirty talk, cock warming, spanking, hair-pulling, biting, marking, possessive behavior, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, begging, soft aftercare, classroom sex, pet names

✧ — notes: hello hello again i'm really horny so i wrote this within a day. not beta read, i hope you enjoy my horny endeavors! i just need more power imbalance lmao

You’re in a predicament.

The top student of the entire university—the pride of the campus—yet here you are, sitting at the back of the lecture hall with your thighs pressed tightly together, your nails digging into the edges of your seat. Your brows furrow, delicate lines forming between your temples as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, desperately trying to smother the whimpers threatening to spill out.

Because nestled deep inside you, hidden from the world, is a merciless vibrator—thick, hot, and unforgiving—pounding into your dripping cunt with devastating precision. Each thrust stretches you open wide, the fat head grinding against every desperate, soaked spot inside you. The toy doesn't just vibrate; it fucks into you, grinding in deep, twisting and pulsing like a real cock seeking to wreck you completely. Your walls flutter helplessly around it, clenching and spasming in pathetic pleasure.

As if that wasn’t enough, a suction toy clamps tightly onto your swollen clit, tugging and slurping with obscene, wet noises, like it's trying to suck your soul straight out through your trembling folds. Every pull sends white-hot sparks through your body, every pulse making you jolt and tremble.

All because of him.

Professor Caleb. Your childhood friend. Your Gege. Now the most sought-after artificial intelligence lecturer on campus—the heartthrob every girl wanted. And the man who had no mercy for you.

This was his game. His twisted, cruel judgment: could you endure, maintain your perfect, untouchable image... while the toy he prepared tore you apart from the inside out?

Or would you crack, humiliate yourself by running to the bathroom to finger yourself raw like a desperate little thing?

You refused to lose.

Your pride was too fierce.

Your stubbornness, too stupid.

So you stayed in your seat, trembling, thighs sticky and slick, grinding ever so slightly against the chair in a desperate bid for relief. Hands clamped over your mouth, you prayed no one would hear the faint, wicked buzzing between your legs. You clenched, you gasped, you endured.

Until the voice you dreaded most called out, slicing through your fragile composure like a blade.

"Class number 13," Caleb said smoothly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Please come up and solve the problem. What is the predicted value output of this activation layer in the full network?"

Oh gods.

Oh fuck.

Your heart plummeted. Your body spasmed around the merciless toy, gushing helplessly. Your mind—blank, so utterly blank, filled only with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full and sucked dry.

You hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.

But you had a reputation to keep. The golden girl. The untouchable ace.

You forced yourself to rise, your nails digging into the table so hard they threatened to break. You took slow, shaky breaths, fighting to control the feverish pulse hammering through you. Your legs trembled as you stepped out into the aisle, every eye in the room burning into your skin, every step feeling like a mile-long walk of shame.

You reached the front—and there he was. Professor Caleb. Eyes dark with amusement. Smirk hidden behind the respectable façade.

He handed you the chalk. His fingers brushed yours—and in that exact moment, you caught it: the glint of the remote tucked in his palm.

A flick of his thumb.

The vibrator inside you roared to life, surging to its highest setting, brutal and relentless. It slammed into you, the fat shaft pistoning deep, hammering your g-spot, dragging moans up your throat you barely swallowed down. The toy twisted with each brutal thrust, the head grinding against your sweetest spots, almost lovingly cruel in how it refused to let you breathe.

The suction on your clit tightened too, a filthy, slurping rhythm pulling at you in time with each thrust inside—as if the toy was fucking and drinking you at once, milking you dry.

Your knees buckled slightly. You caught yourself against the chalkboard.

You could feel it.

The thick, pulsing length of the toy stuffing you full, stretching your cunt to its limits, buzzing violently against your spasming walls. Your panties were drenched, your thighs glistening. Your dignity, seconds away from shattering.

And yet you had to solve the equation.

In front of the entire class.

Under his watchful, merciless gaze.

The chalk trembled in your hand. He leaned in close, voice a low purr only you could hear. "Go on, top student," Caleb murmured, dark and wicked against your ear.

"Show me how well you can think… while getting fucked dumb.”

Fuck—a moan slipped past your lips before you could catch it. You wanted to curse the existence out of him. You wanted to tear him apart with words, call him the cruelest bastard alive. But all you could do was look at him—eyes burning with dark, venomous vengeance, even as your body betrayed you with heavy, panting breaths and soft, pathetic whimpers.

You tried—you really fucking tried—to walk your mind through every algorithm, every neural network formula you’d memorized so well. You tried to scribble something on the chalkboard, your hand trembling. But it was useless. Your writing was a mess of illegible lines, nonsense formulas no one could make sense of, the chalk crumbling and snapping in your tight, desperate grip.

Then you heard it— the low, rich sound of his chuckle. Amused. Entertained. Savoring your unraveling.

With a lazy flick of his thumb against the remote, he cranked the suction to maximum.

The effect was immediate. Your entire body convulsed, a helpless jolt of pleasure rippling up your spine. The suction on your clit was savage, unrelenting—greedy little pulls that sent wave after wave crashing through your gut, making your vision blur with stars.

Fuck, you were so close. So fucking close.

You slapped a trembling palm against the chalkboard to steady yourself. The chalk clattered to the floor with a hollow thud as your fingers lost their grip. Your knees buckled, barely holding you up as your hips gave a desperate, involuntary twitch.

Inside you, the thick vibrator kept thrusting deep—the textured veins along its shaft dragging against your slick walls with every ruthless stroke, the fat, rounded head grinding mercilessly against your sensitive cervix. It was maddening—perfect—too good. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, every pulse made your cunt flutter helplessly, greedy for more.

The suction was obscene, slurping at your clit so loudly you were sure someone, anyone, could hear. Humiliation and raw, brain-melting pleasure tangled inside you, choking you.

Then—his hand.

You felt it. Large, warm, strong fingers gripping your shoulder tightly.

You barely registered him leaning down, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, sinful growl meant for you alone.

"Fuck, baby," Caleb rasped, the words sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

"Why don't you just give up—let go—and I'll fill you up with my babies later, hm? Breed you nice and full right here…"

That was it.

The last straw.

You came—hard. Your body seized violently, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm tore through you, raw and merciless. Slick gushed down your thighs, soaking through your panties, dripping onto the floor. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the loud, broken moan that ripped free from your throat.

You shattered under him, completely undone, just as he wanted.

You heard it—the low, scandalous murmurs rippling across the room. The students whispering, stealing glances at the obscene sight before them. You, gasping for air, your knees buckling under you, while Professor Caleb—the campus heartthrob—stood so close you could taste his cologne, feel the heat of him against your trembling skin.

Then he stood upright, rolling his shoulders lazily like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t falling apart on the floor.

"Alright, folks. Class dismissed," he said, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "I'll take care of our top student here. She must be feeling a little... overwhelmed."

He winked—a cruel, knowing thing that made your blood boil.

"Come back next week with the answers to the problem on the board."

Students scurried out, throwing lingering stares your way, none brave enough to question him.

None knowing just how soaked you were—how the vibrator still pounded inside you, thrusting, suctioning, working your overstimulated folds mercilessly. The cum from earlier leaking out, wetting your thighs shamefully.

Once the last student left, Caleb locked the door with a click. He turned, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up, no patience left in him.

"Stand up, Pip-squeak," he said, his professor mask fully dropped, replaced by something darker, filthier. "I’ll make it fast for you."

You nodded, helpless. Your legs felt like jelly, your cunt still clenching pathetically around the toy buried deep inside. With his steadying hand, you stumbled upright.

He guided you to his seat—the throne at the front of the room—and sat back lazily, spreading his legs in a welcoming posture.

"Strip, baby," he ordered, voice thick with lust. "I wanna see every curve hiding under that tight little shirt and short skirt you wore, thinking you could tease me."

You glared at him, breathing heavy. God, you hated him. You hated how hot he made you. How wet you got just from the sound of his voice.

"Chop chop," he said, tapping his jaw with his fingers smugly. "Or do you want me to rip it off you instead? I won't be gentle, Pips."

You cursed under your breath but obeyed—gripping the hem of your tank top, peeling it over your head slowly, exposing trembling skin. Your skirt pooled down your legs with a soft whisper, leaving you utterly bare, nothing left to hide.

"What now, Caleb?" you asked, your voice small, shivering slightly.

"Good girl," he murmured, unzipping his fancy linen pants with one smooth motion. His thick, heavy cock sprung free—long, veined, angry red at the tip, leaking pre-cum like he couldn't wait to ruin you again.

The same cock that had broken you a hundred times before.

The same cock you dreamed about, drooled over, worshiped like it was your personal god.

"Sit on me," he said. "You know the drill."

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your ears. No matter how much you wanted to slap him for being an asshole—you wanted him more.

You were his cocksleeve, after all. His needy little thing.

You climbed onto his lap, one trembling hand gripping his collarbone for balance. The other reached down between your legs, pulling the soaked, buzzing vibrator out of your stretched hole and tossing it somewhere carelessly.

Lining him up, you sank down. It was like the first time all over again.

His cock was thicker than anything, harder, hotter—stretching your walls until they clamped around him desperately. Every vein of him dragged along your sensitive insides perfectly, the fat head of his cock pushing into your cervix with sinful precision. He filled you up like he was made for you—like he owned every inch of your tight, ruined cunt.

He was your naughty professor.

Your filthy god.

Your damnation and your salvation wrapped in one devastating man.

You started moving—bouncing weakly, trying to ride him the way he liked, but your legs were too shaky, too spent from the relentless overstimulation. You whimpered, grinding pathetically against him, barely able to lift yourself.

"Oh, baby," he cooed mockingly, hands resting heavy on your ass. "Is that all you got? After coming so pretty in front of the whole class?"

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you squeal, then soothed it with a rough grope, making you rock harder against him.

You tried to look away, humiliated, but his dark gaze pinned you in place—all-consuming. Inescapable.

"Shut up, Caleb," you snarled weakly. "Shut the fuck up—I—"

He gripped your hair tight, yanking your head back roughly. A broken cry escaped you, your back arching, pressing your tits flush against his chest.

"You don't get to order me around, baby," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. He bit down on your neck, hard enough to bruise, suckling dark purple marks into your skin like a man possessed.

"You're mine, Pip-squeak. My perfect little whore."

Your mind spun. Your body shook. You fell deeper into subspace—weightless, aching, desperate for him. He toyed with you, slapping your ass, groping your tits, biting your throat, until you were a trembling mess in his lap.

"Need help, my lovely top student?" he whispered against your ear, voice thick with cruel affection. You nodded frantically, tears clinging to your lashes, your body begging.

He chuckled low and deep—"could’ve said so sooner, Pips."

Then he took control. His hands grabbed your waist, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, merciless thrusts. Each movement drove him impossibly deep, splitting you open, pounding against your g-spot so viciously that your cries turned into strangled, high-pitched sobs.

You dug your nails into his back, leaving angry red trails down his spine. You wanted to brand him. You wanted him to remember how you fell apart on his cock.

The lecture hall echoed with the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin—your cries, his low groans, the obscene, squelching sound of your cunt sucking him in greedily. "Keep it down, baby," he mocked, voice a rumble in your chest. "Others might hear you begging to be bred."

Fuck him.

Fuck him so much.

But you were too far gone. Your second orgasm built fast, violent, white-hot, ripping through you with every devastating thrust. You couldn’t hold back—your body convulsed, your cunt squeezing him desperately, trying to milk every drop from him.

And he was close too. You could hear it in his ragged breaths, feel it in the way his thrusts became rougher, erratic.

"Baby," he moaned brokenly, forehead pressed against yours, "I’m gonna come—open up, please—"

You did—your walls clamping down, your legs shaking, your mind blank as you came undone together. He spilled inside you with a low, desperate groan—thick, endless spurts of cum flooding your sore, twitching cunt. You could feel every hot, filthy drop filling you, leaking out, dripping down your thighs in thick, sticky trails.

You collapsed against him, shaking, gasping, his cock still buried deep inside your pulsing heat. His arms wrapped around you tight, possessive, like he was afraid you might slip away.

"Mine," he murmured against your hair, voice rough and spent. "Always mine, Pip-squeak."

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stayed there—your body convulsing in little aftershocks, your pussy throbbing around him like it was the end of the world. He held you close, a suffocating, trembling embrace, like he needed to feel you breathing against him just to stay sane.

Even after the humiliation he put you through—after the teasing, the breaking, the claiming—you still loved him just the same. Your Gege. Your professor. Your ruin. Your home.

"Meet me after your classes end," he rasped, his temple resting against your bare shoulder, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Five p.m. sharp. As usual."

You nodded weakly, knowing full well—

You weren’t going to make it home in one piece.

#caleb #love and deepspace #lads smut #caleb x reader #lads #caleb smut #caleb x mc #love and deepspace caleb #professor caleb #power imbalance

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metamorphesque · 3 months ago

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I love dissecting Frodo's ("Lord of the Rings") personality and character arc through a Jungian lens, even if only as an amateur.

The One Ring, as an external object, represents the hidden darkness within all beings. It does not simply impose evil from the outside; rather, it reveals what already exists within, amplifying the ring bearer's deepest, often unconscious, desires for power, control, or survival. I see the Ring as both the Collective and the Personal Shadow in Jungian terms — a manifestation of the darkness that resides not only in individuals, but in all of Middle-earth.

By carrying the Ring, Frodo is in constant confrontation with his own Shadow — the hidden, darker aspects of the self, which Jung defines as "the thing a person has no wish to be". His journey, to me, is the psychological equivalent of undergoing Shadow work: he is forced to look into the abyss of his own nature, to confront his potential for greed, corruption, and even cruelty.

Unlike (my dear) Boromir, who denies his own susceptibility and is thus consumed by it, Frodo is well aware of his vulnerability. He knows what the Ring could turn him into, which is why he resists the temptation to use it. He has glimpsed the depths of his Shadow and understands its power. Because of this, he refuses to arm it. He knows that once he hands his Shadow a weapon, it may never let go. Thus, both in the books and in the movies, Frodo has not killed anyone. Professor Tolkien makes sure to remind us of it in "The Scouring of Shire".

Yet true individuation does not come from merely resisting the Shadow but from integrating it — acknowledging its presence without being ruled by it. This is the essence of Frodo’s transformation.

At the beginning of his journey, his understanding of morality is simplistic: good vs evil, deserving vs undeserving. He believes justice is about giving people what they “deserve". We can see this in "The Shadow of the Past" of "The Fellowship of the Ring".

'What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!'

But as he carries the Ring (undergoes the shadow work), he realizes that the line between good and evil is not external — it runs through his own soul (subconscious).

By the time he returns to the Shire, he has changed in ways that make it impossible for him to reintegrate.

His final refusal to kill the ruffians and Saruman (in "The Scouring of Shire"), even after Saruman tries to stab him, shows the full "glory" of his transformation. He could act in anger, but he knows that doing so would only feed the very Shadow he has spent so long confronting. He has seen the full potential of The Shadow (both collective and his own), and thus, he does not wish to "entertain" it but arming it.

‘All the same,’ said Frodo to all those who stood near, ‘I wish for no killing; not even of the ruffians, unless it must be done, to prevent them from hurting hobbits.’

But even as Saruman passed close to Frodo a knife flashed in his hand, and he stabbed swiftly. The blade turned on the hidden mail-coat and snapped. A dozen hobbits, led by Sam, leaped forward with a cry and flung the villain to the ground. Sam drew his sword. ‘No, Sam!’ said Frodo. ‘Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against. He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it.’ Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. ‘You have grown, Halfling,’ he said. ‘Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell.’ "The Scouring of the Shire", "The Return of the King"

Frodo has ventured deeper into himself than most ever will, and though he has integrated his Shadow, the wounds remain. This is why he cannot stay — his journey has taken him beyond what the Shire represents.

Jungian individuation is the process of becoming a whole, integrated self — embracing both the conscious and unconscious aspects of one’s being. Frodo reaches this stage, but at a cost: wholeness does not mean happiness. His burden has re-shaped and changed him irrevocably, and though he has gained wisdom and knowledge of his "full" self, he has lost the ability to live as he once did.

#the beauty of Frodo's character will never be lost on me #literature #classic literature #lord of the rings #tolkien #frodo baggins #character analysis #carl jung #jungian psychology #lotr

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myjjongie · 2 months ago

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☾ CLOSE YOUR EYES ── p.jongseong

IN WHICH: your telepathic powers spiral out of control after a mission, and the only person who can anchor your mind is jay.

PAIRING: cyclops!jay x jean grey!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, minor skinship, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slight slow burn WORD COUNT: 1.3k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: very very late bday post for my number 1 man. this au pairing has to be like my favorite thing ever for jay, and no its not because i'm a scott summers girlie (lie its cause of that). love the x-men sm growing up, so this is everything to me rn.

the mission was over.

laughter filled the hangar. as young students—as well as the dignified x-men—walk out from the blackbird. the mission party was small, but that didn’t mean a celebration wouldn’t be in place for everyone.

yet, you were the last one to exit the plane. a searing headache etching into you. you were quick to slip out of everyone’s view—almost everyone. your trembling hands pressed against the wall, in hopes to steady yourself.

finding a secluded hallway to breathe, the pain only worsened. palms rushing to the side of your head—hoping to ease the growing noise.

living at the institute within the last couple of years allowed you to foster control over your gift. yet, it was moments like this where your said gift became unbearable. as a telepath, your mind was sensitive. your thoughts effortlessly became an echo chamber of voices and emotions.

you could feel the hair on your skin stand—the chaotic mix of noise ringing inside you. so lost desperately helping yourself, you didn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

“yn?”

you could hear your name being called, but all it did was mix with the noise inside your head. the sudden yet soft, warm touch of someone’s hand is what brought you back, allowing the heavy fog within to briefly clear.

eyes focusing, you looked up to see jay. combat visor already swapped out for his signature red-tinted sunglasses. even if was hard to see his eyes, you could tell he was worried.

“jay it’s okay. i’m fine.”

your voice came off as a whimper, the noise heightening as you spoke. jay took notice of your demeanor, his hand finding its way to yours, holding onto it tightly. helping to ground you down—even if it was for a short moment.

your relationship with jay was different. out of everyone in the institute, jay was the only person that helped quell the ringing headaches. due to this, over the years, you both grew closer.

you didn’t think you needed jay’s help this time around. yet, as the minutes went by, the voices only got louder. your hand tightened around jay’s. lips trembling, unable to bear the pain anymore.

“it’s too loud. it hurts.” your voice cracked, the pain doubling at this point. tears began to brim your eyes, unable to hold back everything.

“yn it’s okay. i’m here.” his voice was soft as he rubbed his thumb on your hand.

jay helped settle you down to the floor, hoping to ease your weak body. once sitting down, he kneeled in front of you.

“yn listen to my voice. everything is gonna be okay.” jay was now at eye level with you—even if his eyes were obscured by his sunglasses. you knew his focus was only on you in this moment.

shutting your eyes tightly you listened out for jay’s voice—that sweet voice which always helped pull you from your mind. the exact thing that became your anchor over the years.

to help jay continue talking, he began to reminisce on moments. moments that were only of you. “do you remember when i first came to the school? to be honest, at that time i was so afraid of my powers i kept my eyes shut the whole time. even after the professor told me many times to open my eyes, i was still scared. yet when i finally did i caught a glimpse of you, before i practically blew up the professor’s favorite tree.”

you softly laughed at him. remembering the way jay had split the old oak tree in half. “even if it was brief you were the first person i say after my abilities manifested.”

your smile grew at jay’s words. you could feel your headache clear. the buzzing of noise slowly dying down. yet, when jay began to recall another memory, the pain came back. the memory it’s self wasn’t a direct recall, but more so, a trigger to something you remembered.

a while ago, you had lost control of your powers—enough to almost blow up the school. it took a little over a month for you to feel comfortable again with yourself, as well as your gift.

jay noticed the regression. “come on yn. i’m right here.” he tried to ground you, but this time you were in too deep.

your powers began to fluctuate. now you were scared. not of how things were playing out, but yourself. your mutant gift was the biggest fear you had in life. afraid you’ll never be able to truly perfect your innate abilities.

“jay i’m scared. i don’t know what to do.” too weak to speak, you used telepathy to communicate.

“yn it’s okay. you’re so much more stronger than your powers. don’t let it control you.”

“but. what if i hurt you. hurt every again…”

“you won’t do that. i know you won’t. you could never hurt us yn. if you don’t believe me, look inside my head.”

your breath hitched, uncertainty clouding your decision. jay wanted you to look inside his head. he invited you so freely—so openly, he trusted you more than you could ever know.

with trembling fingers touching your temple, you reached out, not physically, but with your mind. jay didn’t flinch. he didn’t guard his thoughts from you or raise any defenses. simply put, he let you in.

you saw flashes of memories rush by. your laughter echoing through the mansion’s halls, your hand brushing against his in the garden, the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. everything that jay had showed you—every flicker of feeling—held something deeper that you didn’t dare to name.

jay trusted you. even when you couldn’t trust yourself.

you felt more at ease now, finally understanding everything. “but. i’m still scared. what if i lose all control one day…” your voice trembled out.

“yn. you’re more powerful and in control than you think. i want you to prove you can.”

you looked up to him, a questionable look creasing your brow. “what do you—“

before you could continue on, jay’s hand reached for his glasses. your eyes widened. “jay—“

“i know you can do it. i want you to understand why. i believe in you so much.” he voice softened as he reassured you, comfort washing over you.

you hesitated for a slight moment. as you brought one hand to your temple, the other was placed at jay’s. “i’m ready.”

taking the queue, jay began to remove his glasses. eyes still closed just incase. your eyebrows wrinkled as you focused deeply. then you found it.

“you can open your eyes.”

you watched as jay opened his eyes. a faint flash of red slipped past his eyelids—then faded. and there they were, deep brown eyes you had never seen before.

for the first time jay wasn’t looking through a crimson tint. he was able to see the world’s natural color. he was able to see you outside of all that red.

“see, i told you, you could do it.” jay gave you a cheeky smile, his eyes staring into yours. savoring the moment, wishing it would last forever.

jay quickly retrieved his shades, not wanting you too overexert yourself. before any words could be shared, you leaned forward and hugged him.

“thank you. really… thank you, jay.” your arms tightened around him, holding him closer. jay’s hands moved gently along your back, his touch warm and comforting.

before anymore words could be exchanged, a voice called out from above—the announcement that dinner was almost ready echoed through the hallway. you both pulled away from the hug, quickly standing up as the weight of the moment lingered.

“we should start heading up stairs. i’m sure everyone is wondering where we are.” you frantically spoke.

jay nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. as you walked down the basement hall, your hand brushed against his—just for a moment, but it was enough. without a word, you both reached out, fingers finding each other in quiet understanding.

perm taglist ( open! refer to this post ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @ijustwannareadstuff20 @enhanextdoor @zaycie @dylanobr1ens @miraeluv @ancnymcnzjy @lvvrikss @treasureteez @sunghoon-cam

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crippleprophet · 3 months ago

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let me open by saying I Know How This Sounds (fem whose undergraduate chemistry professor recommended ze take turmeric to cure zyr arthritis, etc) so no hard feelings if you keep scrolling, but hopefully folks who know me know i'm speaking honestly about my experiences, even if those don't end up being the same for other people. so!

2 Tbsp of a common kitchen spice is doing as much or more to manage my ME/CFS as any of my meds or self-medicating drugs

@lakeeffectbitch outlines a way of trying this with a control in their reddit post (link); i just went directly to the one they thought might work so i'll put my experiences & the science/theory behind this under a cut for folks who want to avoid potential placebo effect :)

i'll get more specific about this in the "spoilers" but please be aware, especially folks with diabetes or other blood sugar conditions, that this substance may cause a blood sugar drop. it's less likely at this dose but probably keep a sugary snack on hand just in case

if you experience post-exertional malaise & want to try this but don't have spare money to spend on spices feel free to dm me & i'll see if i can help!

my experience:

i took 2 Tbsp ground sumac mixed with warm water on February 11. i tried taking it with a straw first because that's what my colonoscopy prep had said would make that go down easier but because the sumac particles were so big they didn't want to remain suspended & trying to get them in the straw was difficult, which then made it harder to swallow without, yknow, noticing that you're slurping down sediment

what worked better was getting the powder wet, putting a big clump of it on my tongue, then swallowing it with water like a pill

within about half an hour of taking the sumac it was like my fatigue just faded around me where i stood. it dissolved to the background & when i thought "oh i want to do this" or "i should do that" suddenly i found myself just doing it. i had spent the past week at least bedridden except for the bathroom, & though i took the sumac on a better day, i'd been planning to return to bed with a snack after taking it.

instead, i made myself lunch, and i sat on the couch to eat it. all of this was without taking an edible that day; usually i've gotta take at least 25mg delta 8 + 25mg cbd to even consider sitting on the couch. also, it was storming.

from my write-up the day of: "everything felt very sharp & clear & lucid." i washed the dishes from my lunch. all of these activities were about 2 hours, & at that point i emphatically needed a nap. waking up felt like after taking a muscle relaxer & sleeping: my muscles were more relaxed, & my whole body felt like it'd gotten a bit of a break

i've taken sumac at least 8 times since then on at least 5 different days (this time by modifying this sumac tart recipe to include a lot of sumac powder in the crust, which has been much more enjoyable than the Glass O' Sediment lmao) & adjusting for factors like weather, the effect has been comparable every time:

i watched Inception on the couch with my husband, & understood when she explained things to me

i watched leverage on the couch all day when it was below freezing

i worked a bit on fanfics i've barely been able to touch in a year

i "meal prepped" measuring spices, gathering ingredients, & soaking beans to make beans & rice in the instant pot later that day. i literally can't remember the last time i was able to use my instant pot, after thinking about it i think it was when i made palak paneer last summer, but that was a one-off special occasion thing, i've used it maybe 3 other times since developing ME

i wrote this post

the science:

okay a lot of this shit was over my head before i developed ME so i'm gonna be summarizing at my level lol, look to @lakeeffectbitch for a higher-level analysis

but what i do know! (all images from "The malic acid inhibiting inflammation in ankylosing spondylitis by interfering M1 macrophage polarization" by Ji et al., January 2025)

sumac contains high levels of malic acid, which is found in certain fruits (apples, peaches, etc)

the drugs.com page classifies malic acid as an inactive ingredient, so there are no known drug interactions

mice with ankylosing spondylitis had lower levels of peripheral malic acid than control mice

ID: bar graph showing mice with AS had about 0.03 micromoles per milliliter of peripheral malic acid, compared to the control mice level of over 0.2 micromoles per milliliter. the difference is labeled significant via asterisks. end ID

mice with higher malic acid concentrations had lower ESR and CRP (inflammation markers)

ID: two graphs showing lines with a downward slope. the top graph, ESR versus malic acid concentration, is labeled: r=-0.6802, 95% confidence interval =-0.8843 – -0.2578, p=-0.0053. the graph shows ESR, an inflammation marker, decreasing as malic acid concentration increases. the bottom graph, CRP versus malic acid concentration, is labeled: r=-0.6068, 95% confidence interval =-0.8537 – -0.1371, p=-0.0165. the graph shows CRP, an inflammation marker, decreasing as malic acid concentration increases. end ID

mice treated with malic acid had lower levels of TNF-alpha than the mice with untreated ankylosing spondylitis. humira & similar biologics that treat autoimmune diseases are TNF-alpha blockers

ID: a bar graph of relative mRNA expression of TNF-alpha. M0, the control mice, has a relative expression of 1. M1, the mice with ankylosing spondylitis that did not receive treatment, has a relative expression of slightly less than 4.5. M1+MA, the mice with ankylosing spondylitis who received the malic acid treatment, has a relative expression slightly less than 3. this indicates that the mice treated with malic acid had lower expression of TNF-alpha than the untreated mice. asterisks between M0 and M1 and between M1 and M1+MA indicate significance. end ID

the mitochondrial function of M2 macrophages in mice treated with malic acid "was significantly enhanced"

analysis of the mice's spinal tissue blew my fucking socks off. trying not to jump to conclusions & i know journal articles are full of errors but that looks potentially disease-modifying.

ID: a 5x3 presentation of samples of mouse spinal tissue. the control mice, which are healthy, have thick, undamaged, glowing tissue. the mice with ankylosing spondylitis have thin, curved, cracked-looking tissue. the mice treated with celecoxib, a common prescription NSAID for arthritis, appear very similar to the untreated mice. the mice treated with 250mg/kg of malic acid per day have tissue in between the untreated and healthy appearances; the tissue is "glowing" like the healthy tissue but still narrower and curved, although less so than the untreated tissue. the mice treated with 500mg/kg of malic acid per day have tissue which looks even closer to the healthy appearance, with less curvature than the other treatment groups. end ID

since i started drafting this post i've started taking these malic acid supplements from Nature's Life – the full dose made me feel weird including some heartburn so i cut the capsules & take roughly 2/3 – 3/4 of it at a time (i drop the rest into a spare pill jar to make more doses from). it's been similarly effective for me

please be aware that the supplement instructions say to only take it once a day, i haven't had any issues but everybody is different & this avenue is definitely under-researched! (the mice were given 250mg/kg per day which for me would be like 27 grams but i am not a mouse lol)

#myalgic encephalomyelitis #me/cfs #chronic fаtiguе ѕуndrоmе #chronic fatigue #post exertional malaise #pem #chronic pain #chronic illness #long covid #malic acid #sumac #mac.txt #image described

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officialnostradamus · 18 days ago

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“Bellara, my dear girl, whatever is the matter?” Emmrich asks, standing from his desk. Rook is still leaning against his desk, unconcerned to have been caught in a little flirtation. They are there for professional reasons, picking Emmrich’s brain about the magic of Solas’s dagger. It may have devolved. Emmrich is hardly complaining, but he is concerned by the way Belarra clutches the borrowed book to her chest. Her nails drum a rapid pattern against the cover and she looks up at him, mouth open as though to speak, before abruptly turning away.

“Nothing!” She protests, shaking her head sharply. “I just - well, I borrowed this book. Without asking. Sorry. And I wanted to give it back and, well, here you are, with Rook.”

“Please don’t be worried about that,” Emmrich soothes, shoulders relaxing. He steps out to accept the return, pretending he doesn’t feel Rook’s gaze follow him.

“Well, it’s not that I’m worried about,” Bellara corrects, admitting her worry before she realizes it. Her gaze jerks back up and Emmrich notices that her cheeks flush pink before she begins speaking again and it’s the fourth time she uses the word well. “I’m sorry! I - well, I mean. Oh…”

“Why are you apologizing? Is it damaged?” Emmrich asks, trying to gain control of the situation.

“No! It isn’t. It’s fine. I’m fine, and I-” Bellara’s eyes are wide as she shakes her head again and then she looks past him, obviously finding Rook.

“You seem real fine,” Rook says, teasing is second nature and Bellara’s pink flush becomes vibrant red. “Say it again and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“Hi, Rook. Uhm, bye Rook. Bye Professor. I’ll see you both later.” It isn’t an answer and Bellara still looks like she may implode. “Oh, right! The book, here!”

“Thank you.” Emmrich holds his hands out and Bellara drops it as though burned. So quickly he nearly misses the opportunity to catch it. The pages of the tome flutter and a few loose scraps slip free. Emmrich frowns. Perhaps it is damaged after all.

“I’m sorry!” Belarra repeats, already backing out. “I didn’t mean to read it. It was just there and, you know - anyway.” She disappears before the dread can settle fully in Emmrich’s stomach. He notices first the book in his hand is one that, until he’d returned it to the shelf a day prior, had been atop his desk, and next that the pages on the floor don’t match the ones within. The parchment is too crisp, fresh, rather than worn with age.

“Bye, Bellara,” Rook calls, appearing behind Emmrich, curiosity unassuageable. “What do you think that was about?”

“Oh, dear,” Emmrich murmurs. “I think…” Then Rook is leaning down, picking the spilled parchment from the floor and Emmrich is too slow to stop it. The pages are new to them, despite the fact that the pages are entirely for them. “Wait, Rook - I can’t believe I placed a book back on the shelf with letters in them,” Emmrich chastises himself and Rook gawks at him.

“That’s what you’re worried about? It’s just a letter, but she was so…” Rook trails off and their eyes fall to the pages as Emmrich reaches out, trying to retrieve them without making it an event but it’s too late. “They’re addressed to me.” Rook is peering at him from over the page and Emmrich sighs.

“The letter is for you. I wrote it while you were in Minrathous but you returned before I could send it,” he admits. The words he wrote are earnest and wanton and he isn’t ashamed by them. Though they were definitely intended for a sole reader. “Surely she didn’t read the whole thing?”

“Let’s see,” Rook says, grinning as they begin to read. “Having spent a lifetime without your presence, it is an incredible wonder how it takes mere hours to feel the loss of you.”

“Well,” Emmrich begins, shifting. He isn’t ashamed of the words, but it is something different to have them read aloud by his lover. “She must have read that and stopped.” Rook looks up at him from beneath their lashes, expression mischievous.

“Not a chance,” they affirm. They’re still smirking when they return to the page but the expression slowly melts, softening. “The memory of your body bare beneath mine is a dichotomy of pleasures. Supple and lovely enough to sustain a man’s want for beauty into the next age; and yet so enticing I fear memory alone may drive me mad.”

“I fear that may have been enough to cause such a reaction,” Emmrich interjects as they pause. “It’s-”

“Hush,” Rook interrupts.They’re reading silently now, skimming the page and Emmrich can’t help noticing how their lips part sweetly and their breath quickens. The letter is indiscrete. Missing Rook stirs something within Emmrich that spills onto the page, eager in ways he’s not felt in years.

“It is incredibly personal, I’m sorry I left it where it could be found,” Emmrich offers when the silence has gone on too long. It’s a surprise of its own when Rook is suddenly in his arms, hands on his chest and the back of his neck in that way they have. Almost as if they could climb him.

“It’s beautiful,” Rook barely gets the words out before their mouth is on his. Their kiss is hungry, indulgent, and Emmrich forgets about the inciting context. He clutches Rook against his body, hands on their hips, pressing into the small of his back. When his fingers slip lower, cresting the curve of Rook’s rear, they make a soft sound but the second surprise is that the kiss breaks. Rook’s shoulders are trembling.

“Darling?” Emmrich asks, concern returning only until he realises Rook is laughing, their head dropped to his shoulder as the sounds bubbles out. “Pardon me?”

“I’m sorry,” they gasp between giggles, “I just can’t believe Bellara knows about the mole on my ass, now.”

#literally what is this #doing anything but writing the next chapter huh?#I think its cute and kinda funny I guess #but seriously #wtf is my problem?#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic #rook #emmrich x rook #veilguard rook #dragon age emmrich #bellara #datv bellara

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maybefae · 3 months ago

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What's hidden from you?

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: Temperance, Page of Wands, Ten of Pentacles (sideways), Seven of Cups, Knight of Cups, The World, Eight of Swords (reversed), Four of Swords, Five of Swords, Nine of Wands, Queen of Swords (bottom of the deck)

Advice: III - Growth

Within your arsenal of hobbies or interests, you hold the key to your own success. There is an understandable problem of being the jack of all trades here, pouring water into multiple different cups a little at a time. You may also be good at each one of these interests. And while I don’t think that this is inherently a bad thing, you are spreading yourself too thin and hindering your success. Picking one of these interests to completely invest yourself into to try to build fiscal reward doesn’t mean you have to give up all your other interests. You may have to work around a new schedule. Also, this interest may need to be seen by the world. There is a feeling of building courage, but as soon as you have to dive in and expose your interest, you kinda chicken out. This comes from the care you have for your interest, it’s vulnerable exposing something so near and dear to your heart. The fear of not being accepted and loved. What if your vulnerability isn’t enough? You probably already know of this fear. But must I say, you are doing a terrible disservice to yourself for giving so much power to other people to the point that it controls your life. As my sister says, “we are literally an ant fart in the universe,” and you care about other people’s (negative) opinions? Crazyyyy. You spend all this time creating, forming something purely out of thin air… A past art professor once said, “what you make has never existed before.”

A critique isn’t excluded because they aren’t negative — negative “critiques” are usually people’s hate. You take critiques and decide whether you use them or not. A lot of my past professors’ advice is coming out, so you may be creative. But everything is inherently creative, sciences and arts work together simultaneously. Besides that point, I will say that this group may be a lot harder on themselves. I feel as though I am giving advice to a younger sibling. Do not beat yourself up over letting the opinion of yourself be dictated by other people. You’re just doing more damage to yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to be loved and accepted. But, if it is at the expense of your own success.

Or…Is it a fear of succeeding? Your advice here is a card that talks about lack but also having an overabundance of something to the point of it becoming a cancer, a parasite. This could be warning you of burn out. You need to create a balance when it comes to managing that one interest, nursing it to success, and also engaging in your other interests on the side. Create a schedule that would work for you, but don’t cram all of them into one day. Delegate specific days for each hobby and for a set amount of (flexible) time but be diligent to the one you want to succeed. But remember, even though you water a plant, it doesn't mean that it will all happen over night. Don’t overwork yourself. Your success will come with steady, even time.

|Pile 2

Tarot: The Empress, Temperance, Nine of Pentacles, Five of Wands, Ten of Pentacles, Seven of Swords, Four of Cups, Nine of Cups, The Artist (bottom of the deck)

Advice: IX - Solitude

Your own stubbornness towards advice you’re given is hindering your success. Very similar to pile one with your success hidden, but the messages are completely different. This is my group of stubborn, sassy people — I can tell because the deck I picked for you always has my sassy guides connected to it ❤︎, but also by your energy. Now, pile 2~ Why would you come to a tarot reading if you always hate what a reading has to say? Is it because it isn’t what you want to hear? Your own stubbornness is what is stopping you from reaching your full potential. There is an energy here of wanting advice but getting butt hurt when you get it because it’s either something you don’t want to hear or you want someone to kiss your ass. This could be just an emotional response…You may just get hurt with advice because you could take it as people not caring, when it’s actually the other way around — especially if it comes from genuine people that you hold close. You may actually know that what they say is actually quite helpful, but continue to lie to yourself. You are hiding your own success from yourself. You could also be stuck in a cycle of suffering. It’s a place you feel most comfortable…you are comfortable with the uncomfortable.

Pile two, you have The Empress here…you have the potential to reach your full potential but you refuse to tap into it. It’s not that you can’t see it. But do you feel like you deserve it? I feel like you do think you deserve it but old wounds of not feeling like you do have driven you into repeating cycles.

Your advice card talks about two different perspectives of solitude. You could be withdrawing so much from society that you start to feel like you’re alien, anything but human. But it also mentions a fear of being alone and the act of doing anything to make sure you aren’t alone. Maybe your success will have you outgrowing people in your life. You’re afraid of that change. And a lot of people talk about having to walk away from people you outgrow, but that isn’t always the case. It’s okay to outgrow people and still remain friends or family. You may just have to hold them at a farther arms length than you used to. Where you are growing will also bring in other people as well. If people that you could outgrow are giving you helpful advice, they want to see you grow and succeed.

This pile had put up a very defensive front at the beginning and then muddled out towards the end. I don’t know if you also have a feeling that you want your problems to be magically solved but every time you get a reading or advice, it tells you that you have to put in some work. This issue could also be resolved if you just ask someone for help, if it’s a problem that can be delegated. Maybe the only help you want is someone to just hold your hand while you solve it yourself. But you have to ask. You want to be the main character but are forgetting that main characters work to move the story along (even if that means asking someone for help or support).

|Pile 3

Tarot: The High Priestess, Knight of Swords, Six of Wands, The Lovers, The Star, Four of Swords, Queen of Swords, Ten of Swords, The Hermit (bottom of the deck)

Advice: Page of Torches

I had a hard time pulling cards for this pile. They wouldn’t come out until I stretched and shifted myself. What is hidden from you has to do with your tunnel vision towards what you’re doing and not being able to see clearly because you could be so tense (I have to continuously relax my shoulders). I also had to make sure that everything was neat and in order, so you may have a very strict way that you want something to pan out which is keeping things hidden. There has been a theme that has risen in all the decks and it was that you are keeping things hidden. You have more control over the situation than you initially believe, but if you are keeping something on the tight leash so it can jump through hoops you have previously set, you don’t get to see what it can do off the leash.

Right off the bat, I want to tell you that communication is key to reveal something that is hidden in your life. Ask the question, communicate your worries, talk to them. There is a problem that has been going on for generations and it’s the fact that people don’t communicate. Things go a lot smoother, most likely in your favor, if you just ask.

Now, what is hidden isn’t really being told to me. I believe that it is different for everyone but I think your guides, here, want you to learn the beautiful tool of communication. Maybe that is what is truly hidden: the tool of communication.

There are a few scenarios that I can kind of pick up on though. If this has to do with a romantic partner or a potential partner, you may have something that you have been worrying about. Whatever you have been thinking can be solved with just asking them. This could be something you already have an inkling about, but to confirm your intuition, it’s best just to ask.

Another scenario could be about a job or scoring a position somewhere (getting an art studio, getting into a certain school, wanting to partner with someone for a business project, etc). Again, it doesn’t hurt to ask. Submit those documents, submit the application, show them your portfolio, tell them about your idea. It doesn’t hurt to ask.

Whatever it is, don’t hide away and continue to torture yourself by spiralling in your own thoughts.

Dividers: @inklore

#pick a card #tarot #pac #pick a pile #maybefae tarot #tarot reading

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kiwriteswords · 8 months ago

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It's strange what desire will make foolish people do

Part I in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I can't stop writing Hotch x 'someone from his past' stories. I loved writing this one, though. I'm really excited to share this one with you. I have taken a break from some of the shy!reader fics and really, truly leaned into a reader (I probably embarrassingly identify with too much)...the bold, unapologetically-flirty!Reader, who tends to let her mouth get her in trouble more often than not! Also, thank you to @spoonpine for walking through this idea with me in the comments of my o.g. post!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 11k

Tags/Warnings: Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Sexual Tension, Undercover Mission, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Banter, Teasing, Emotional Vulnerability, Flirting, Team Dynamics, Slightly Suggestive Themes, Brief Mentions of Violence (related to the case), Tension Build-Up, Slight NSFW, professor!reader if you squint

Sypnosis: After years away from the BAU, you return to the team you once called home. Some things feel familiar, but your dynamic with Aaron Hotchner has changed. What started as playful banter now carries an undercurrent of something more, and the line between professionalism and desire begins to blur. In a world where control is key, the tension between you and Hotch is about to reach its breaking point.

It had been years since you last walked the halls of Quantico.

Back then, things were different. You were a profiler, standing shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Agents Gideon, Rossi, and Hotchner.

You had a deep understanding of how the human mind worked—specifically, how it could be unraveled and manipulated. Your background in psychological torture had set you apart from most, and it wasn’t long before your work at the BAU made you a name within the Bureau.

But as the years went on, you found yourself taking a different path—one that led to the world of academia. Teaching at an Ivy League university seemed like the natural next step. It gave you the chance to share your knowledge, write books, and shape the next generation of criminologists. But as fulfilling as it was, something was missing.

The adrenaline. The stakes. The feeling of being out in the field, making a difference in real-time.

At the BAU, Rossi had seen it for a while now: the way Hotch carried the burden of the job, rarely letting himself relax.

It wasn’t about setting him up with someone; it was about challenging him, waking him up again. You—sharp, confident, and always able to push his buttons—had a way of doing just that.

Years ago, there had always been a fire between you, something unspoken yet undeniable.

Rossi didn’t need to fan those flames—he just knew that having you nearby would reignite something in Hotch, force him out of his controlled, measured existence. You were one of the few who could challenge him in ways no one else could.

It wasn’t just about making Hotch feel young again but making him feel alive.

When Rossi reached out, you hadn’t needed much convincing. The new age of teaching wasn’t what it used to be anyway, and the BAU--it had always felt like home.

“Come on, kid,” Rossi’s voice crackled through the phone. “You know you miss the action. Sitting behind a desk teaching criminology to a bunch of Ivy League kids? That’s not you.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair. “Don’t knock it, Rossi. There’s a certain charm in watching them squirm when they realize the real world isn’t as glamorous as they thought.”

“Maybe,” Rossi replied with a laugh, “but you belong in the field, not in front of a chalkboard. The team misses you.”

You smirked, unable to resist teasing him. “The team, huh? Or is this your way of saying you’re getting old and need someone to keep you on your toes?”

“Please,” Rossi shot back, “I’m timeless. But we could use a little more… fire around here. You always had a way of lighting things up.”

“Is that your way of saying you miss me, Rossi?”

“Maybe,” he replied smoothly. “And maybe Hotch could use the challenge, too.”

“Ah, now I see. You’re just trying to stir the pot,” you teased, your voice light. “Fine, I’m in. But don’t think I won’t be bringing my own brand of chaos.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Rossi said, a smile in his voice. “Welcome home.”

When you worked together years ago, before Hotch became Unit Chief, there had always been something between you—unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. The chemistry was undeniable, though you both kept it buried under layers of professionalism.

At the time, Hotch was married to Haley, and you had been in a relationship of your own. The affection you had for Haley, knowing how much she meant to him, made the idea of crossing that line impossible. There was a mutual understanding that, no matter the tension between you, it couldn’t be acted upon.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to play around.

You were always a natural flirt. Charisma came to you as easily as breathing, and sometimes, you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

But with Hotch… it was different. He was reserved, controlled, and steady in a way that made the small cracks in his composure so satisfying to witness. And it became impossible to resist pushing him, just a little.

Watching him squirm under the weight of your words and subtle glances became a game—a game where you were always two steps ahead.

You knew how to push his buttons, and he let you.

He always had.

The distance between you, built by circumstance and respect for your respective relationships, had kept everything in check back then. It was that very distance that allowed the two of you to maintain your professional connection without ever letting the attraction get in the way.

The two of you had kept in touch over the years--various bureau events…the typical bureaucratic crap that you two would often bond over rolling your eyes at.

But now, things were different. There were no more barriers. Haley was gone, your own relationship had long since ended, and that old chemistry still lingered—stronger, maybe, after all the time and distance. And this time, there was nothing to stop it from burning brighter.

There was something freeing knowing you could push a little further. The idea of it, acting on this attraction you couldn’t even deny you’ve had over the years, was thrilling.

On your first day back, the team gathered in the briefing room. Rossi had greeted you like the old friend you were, a sly smile on his face as if he already knew what was coming. Hotch stood off to the side, arms crossed, his eyes catching yours as the rest of the team exchanged introductions. He stepped forward, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed.

“It’s good to have you back,” Hotch said, his voice steady but lower than usual, as if acknowledging the weight of the years that had passed since you last worked together. “Things have changed a bit.”

You shook his hand, feeling the weight of familiarity settle between you, his grip warm and steady. “Yeah, I noticed. You’re the boss now,” you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone playful but your gaze steady. “Guess I’ll have to get used to taking orders.”

Hotch didn’t respond immediately, but his brow lifted just slightly, a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. His thumb brushed across your hand before he released it, stepping back. “We’ll see how well that goes.”

The others—Morgan, JJ, Reid, and Prentiss—had heard of you, of course. Your name was well-known in FBI circles, especially since you’d been one of the few women to pave the way for others in the Bureau. They respected you immediately, not just because of your accolades, but because of how you carried yourself—confident, self-assured, commanding respect without demanding it.

The case briefing began, and Hotch, ever the professional, gave the rundown of the unsub’s profile. You couldn’t help yourself. As he stood in front of the team, rattling off key details, you crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Still delivering profiles like they’re carved in stone, Hotchner?” you teased casually, just loud enough for the others to hear.

Hotch’s eyes flickered toward you, a brief flash of something behind them before he cleared his throat.

“I prefer to think of them as accurate,” he replied, his voice smooth but with an edge. “Just like always.”

The corner of your mouth lifted into a knowing smile, and you saw it—the tiniest twitch of discomfort in his jaw.

Oh, you still had him.

Rossi, sitting nearby, chuckled softly. “Watch out, everyone. The professor’s back.”

The rest of the team exchanged glances. JJ leaned toward Emily, whispering, “Is it just me, or is there something… more there?”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “You’re definitely not imagining it.”

In the days that followed, it became clear to the rest of the team that there was a thick tension between you and Hotch—an almost palpable current that crackled whenever you were in the same room.

You couldn’t help the way you flirted with him. Sometimes, it was a subtle comment, a lingering glance, or the way you stood just a little too close during case briefings. Other times, it was more overt—a casual touch on his arm, a playful quip when you knew the team was listening.

You’d always had a rebellious streak when it came to authority, sometimes you wondered how you got as far as you did in your career with that mouth of yours.

Hotch—rigid, rule-following Hotch—was just too tempting a target. You’d once jokingly referred to yourself as a “brat” when it came to pushing buttons, and in your case, that usually meant defying authority with a smile on your face.

But something was different now. Back when you worked together years ago, Hotch would brush off your teasing with calm professionalism, barely giving you a reaction. He’d remain composed, seemingly impervious to your provocations. Now, though, he seemed more willing to engage, to push back just a little more than you expected.

You weren’t often surprised by people, but Hotch’s newfound ability to meet your wit with his own had caught you off guard.

It wasn’t just his typical stoic self anymore—there was an edge to his responses, a glint in his eye that made it clear he wasn’t just enduring your teasing; he was playing along. And it threw you off balance in a way you didn’t quite anticipate.

It wasn’t just in front of the team, either. In private, away from the others, Hotch’s responses had started to take on a different tone—quieter, more personal, laced with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. There were times, especially late at night when the office was nearly empty, when his voice would drop low as he answered one of your playful jabs, turning the tables on you in a way that made you squirm just a little.

And that was something new. You weren’t used to being the one caught off guard. Hotch had always been steady, collected. But now, you noticed the way his eyes would flicker down to your lips when you spoke, the way his voice dropped just a little lower when he addressed you directly. He never let it show, at least not on the surface, but you knew. You always knew.

It was late, the bullpen quiet save for the soft hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers. You had finished most of your report and were about to call it a night when you spotted Hotch still in his office, the faint glow from his desk lamp highlighting his focused expression. Naturally, you couldn’t resist.

You knocked lightly on his door, smirking as you leaned against the frame.

“Burning the midnight oil, Hotchner? You know, even you need sleep sometimes,” you teased, the playful lilt in your voice familiar.

Hotch didn’t look up right away, but you saw the small smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

You stepped into his office, crossing your arms as you leaned against his desk. “Well, unlike you, I still know how to have fun. Late-night drinks can be productive, you know.”

This time, Hotch raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression calm but something else lurking behind it. “Is that an invitation?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the unexpected shift in his tone. “I—what?”

He closed the file in front of him slowly, standing up from his desk to face you fully. His voice was steady, a quiet challenge in his words.

“You said late-night drinks could be productive. If you’re offering, I might just take you up on that.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words, something that almost never happened. You could feel your pulse quicken, the confidence you usually wielded slipping as Hotch’s eyes stayed on yours, unflinching.

Recovering quickly, you gave him a slow, teasing smile, though your heart still raced. “Are you sure you could handle it, Hotch? You don’t strike me as the type to let loose.”

Without missing a beat, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ve underestimated me.”

There it was. The subtle, confident way he turned the tables, leaving you scrambling for a response. You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of this kind of banter, especially not from Hotch.

You felt a flush rise in your cheeks, and Hotch’s eyes flickered down, just briefly, as if noticing. When he looked back up, there was a slight smile playing on his lips, but he didn’t push further, leaving the weight of the moment hanging between you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice a touch quieter than you intended, the flirtation still there, but now with an undercurrent of something else. Something deeper.

Hotch simply nodded, his expression softening, though his gaze didn’t falter. “Good night, then.”

You turned to leave, feeling the warmth in your cheeks as you walked out of his office, your mind spinning from the unexpected encounter. You had always been able to push his buttons, but tonight… it seemed Hotch had learned how to push yours.

Over time, the team grew used to the rapport between you and Hotch, much like how they had come to accept the flirtatious banter between Penelope and Derek. But with you and Hotch, it was different—sharper, more restrained, but no less intense.

The others would exchange knowing glances when your conversations got a little too charged, but they respected the unspoken boundaries you and Hotch danced around.

And the truth was, those boundaries wouldn’t stay unbroken forever.

There was this push and pull—a game of tug-of-war. You both knew how to push each other's buttons, but you also knew when to let go before the rope broke or one of you fell flat on your faces. It was a delicate balance, and somehow, neither of you ever crossed the line. At least, not yet.

It was late, and the harsh lighting of the local police station did nothing to alleviate the exhaustion that hung over the team.

The case had finally been wrapped up, and now it was just a matter of packing up and heading home. Everyone was scattered around the room, collecting files and closing laptops, the weight of the long hours evident on all of your faces.

You were finishing up, leaning casually against one of the cluttered desks near Hotch, who was meticulously stacking paperwork into his briefcase. He always took his time—never rushed, even at the end of a long case. It was one of the things that both fascinated and frustrated you about him.

“Come on, Hotch,” you teased, watching him with a smirk. “You ever think about leaving the paperwork for tomorrow? Or are you afraid the world might end if you don’t have everything perfectly organized before we leave?”

Hotch looked up from his task, his expression as stoic as ever. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can all go home,” he replied, his voice even and calm.

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Home? You mean you’re actually going to leave this place?” you asked, your tone playful. “I always thought you just… stayed at the office, brooding until the next case rolled in.”

Across the room, Morgan and Prentiss were packing up their own gear, but your voice was loud enough to catch their attention. Morgan glanced over, smirking. “Brooding’s definitely on-brand for Hotch,” he muttered to Prentiss, who hid a smile behind her hand.

Hotch closed his briefcase and stood up, straightening his posture as he turned to you, and this time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that caught you off guard.

“I don’t brood,” he said, his tone just a little too smooth. “And I think you’d be surprised at how well I can unwind.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected comeback. “Oh yeah?” you challenged, crossing your arms and leaning against the desk a bit more. “Guess I’ll need proof of that. Can’t have the Unit Chief pretending to be fun when there’s no evidence.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat. He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough that only you could hear, though the team was watching from across the room.

“Careful,” he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. “You might not be able to keep up.”

Your breath hitched slightly, your pulse quickening in response to the subtle challenge in his words. You weren’t used to Hotch pushing back like this, and it caught you off balance for a second. You had always been the one to make him squirm, but now… now, he was the one getting under your skin.

“Did Hotch just—” Prentiss began, her eyebrows raised as she glanced at Morgan, who looked just as surprised.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I think Hotch just played her at her own game.”

Prentiss smirked, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. “I didn’t know he had a game.”

Morgan chuckled. “Oh, he does. He’s just been keeping it locked away until now.”

Across the room, Rossi, who had been quietly observing the exchange, gave an almost imperceptible nod, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. He had known you would be good for Hotch, and seeing the dynamic between the two of you now only confirmed it.

You quickly regained your composure, leaning in just slightly as you shot back, “I’m pretty sure I could handle it, Aaron.”

Hotch’s lips quirked in a subtle smile, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped back and grabbed his coat, leaving the challenge hanging in the air.

“We’ll see,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a teasing undertone to it now.

As Hotch walked toward the door, the rest of the team finally let out the breath they had been holding.

“Wow,” JJ said, eyes wide. “Did we just witness Hotch flirting?”

“I’m not sure I believe it,” Reid chimed in, looking genuinely puzzled.

Morgan crossed his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face. “It’s about time someone shook things up around here.”

Rossi walked past you, slapping a hand on your shoulder as he did. “Keep it up, kid,” he said with a satisfied grin. “Looks like you’ve got him right where you want him.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I think he’s the one keeping me on my toes now,” you muttered under your breath.

As the team gathered their things and headed for the SUVs, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at Hotch. The way he had engaged with you tonight—subtle, teasing, but undeniably flirtatious—left you with a strange mixture of excitement and surprise. You’d always known how to push his buttons, but now? Now it felt like Hotch was finally ready to play the game.

And for the first time in a long while, you weren’t sure who had the upper hand.

Weeks had passed since that night, and though the tension between you and Hotch still simmered beneath the surface, the team had moved on to a new case, throwing you both back into the rhythm of work. The dynamic had shifted, but the game remained—unspoken but always present. Now, out in the field with Morgan, the familiar tension crept back in as you prepared to relay critical information to Hotch.

The case had taken a sharp turn, and every second mattered. You dialed Hotch’s number, knowing the information you were about to relay could be critical. But, as always, the tension had you slipping into your usual rhythm of teasing—almost like second nature when things got stressful.

Hotch answered on the second ring. “Hotchner.”

“Hey, got something for you,” you said, catching a breath. “We spoke to a witness. Black SUV, partial plates, seen leaving the scene about an hour ago. I’m starting to think I’m carrying this whole case. You sure you don’t need me running things for you while you take a day off?”

Morgan shot you a sharp look, trying not to laugh. The timing wasn’t great, and he fully expected Hotch to cut you off with a firm, no-nonsense response. After all, this was Hotch.

There was a brief pause on the line, and Morgan mouthed at you, “He’s gonna kill you.”

But then, Hotch’s voice came through, low and steady. “Careful,” he said, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable note of amusement. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll start thinking you’re trying to get yourself reassigned to paperwork duty.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. That wasn’t what you expected at all. Was that… Hotch teasing you? It was subtle—typical Hotch—but unmistakable. Your mouth opened to respond, but for once, words didn’t immediately come.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, clearly floored. “Wait, did Hotch just—” he started, but you waved a hand to silence him, still processing the fact that Aaron Hotchner had just flirted back, in his own serious, dry way.

“Well,” you finally managed, “as long as I can file it in your office, I’m sure I’d manage just fine.”

Another pause. “I think you’d find my office much less entertaining than you imagine,” Hotch replied smoothly, the same playful edge to his voice.

Morgan let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

“I—uh, yeah, I’ll get those plates to you,” you said, trying to regain control of the conversation, but there was a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t from the work. “I’ll, uh, check in when we’ve got more.”

“Understood,” Hotch said, his tone back to business, though you could still hear the amusement lingering beneath the surface. “Keep me updated.”

Something shifted. The playful banter that had always come so easily felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. For the first time, you both sensed it—this wasn’t just a game anymore. The teasing, the flirting—it had blurred the line between fun and something far more real. Neither of you said it out loud, but you could feel it in the weight of every word, in the way the silence lingered a second too long after each response.

When the call ended, Morgan stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You gotta be kidding me. Hotch? The man barely cracks a smile, and here he is giving you hell?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the lingering warmth in your face. “He’s still my boss,” you said, playing it cool. “He’s just… keeping me in line.”

Morgan snorted. “Yeah, right. If I said half that stuff to him, I’d be doing desk duty for a month. You’ve got some kind of magic over him, I swear.”

Meanwhile, back at the local precinct, Hotch ended the call and glanced up to find Rossi watching him with a knowing grin. Rossi had caught the tail end of the conversation and didn’t need to ask to know what had just happened.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at him. “Something you want to say?”

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing at all, Aaron. Just nice to see you loosening up.”

Hotch gave him a steady look, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Someone has to keep her in check,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Sure,” Rossi replied, clearly enjoying the exchange far too much. “Though I don’t think you’re trying that hard to stop her.”

Hotch didn’t respond, but there was a quiet understanding between them. Rossi had always known how to read between the lines, and Hotch’s small smile confirmed that Rossi’s instincts were right.

Back in the field, Morgan still hadn’t let it go. “I seriously don’t know how you get away with it,” he said, shaking his head as you both climbed into the SUV.

You shot him a sidelong glance, the smirk creeping back onto your face now that you had recovered from the surprise. “What can I say? I’m special.”

“Yeah, well, you better be careful,” Morgan teased, pulling out of the lot. “Because if Hotch ever does snap, it’s going to be spectacular.”

You laughed, leaning back in your seat. “I think we both know he likes playing this game as much as I do.”

Morgan chuckled but didn’t disagree. As you drove away, you couldn’t help but think back to Hotch’s voice on the phone, how he’d turned your usual banter right back on you. For once, he had left you the one a little off balance.

Later that day, as you and Morgan returned to the bullpen, Penelope swirled into the room with her usual dramatic flair.

"Well, well, well," she began, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I heard a little birdie tell me there was some serious verbal sparring going on between you and the boss-man in the field today. Dare I ask how it ended?"

Morgan chuckled, throwing you a knowing glance. "Oh, it ended alright. But for once, I think Hotch had the upper hand."

Penelope gasped in mock horror, her eyes widening. "Our resident queen of sass, left speechless by Hotch? This I have to see."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "It’s nothing I can’t handle," you said, but the truth lingered in your mind. This was only the beginning, and even you didn’t know where it would lead.

As the days passed, you found yourself thinking more and more about that shift with Hotch, but before you could dwell on it too much, the next unavoidable event crept up on you—a formal Bureau gala.

It was a rare occurrence—one of those formal Bureau events where the invitations were non-negotiable, the kind you couldn’t avoid no matter how much you wanted to. This time, it was a benefit gala, an annual gathering of Bureau brass and political figures. Most of the team had managed to find a way out, but you, Hotch, and Rossi had drawn the short straws.

Rossi, ever the diplomat, had no issue attending these sorts of events—especially since Strauss had already invited him as her plus-one, an arrangement that left you and Hotch both slightly bemused.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” you teased when you and Hotch were left figuring out your own arrangements.

Hotch looked at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, to your surprise, he said, “You could come as my date.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. Hotch rarely flirted so openly, and the ease with which the words left his mouth left you momentarily speechless.

“Your date?” you repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I think the better question is whether you can behave,” Hotch replied, his tone measured but carrying that dry, teasing edge you were beginning to recognize more and more.

You raised an eyebrow, recovering quickly.

“Behave? Where’s the fun in that?” you quipped back. “Alright, deal. But you better not leave me to fend off the Bureau’s old guard on my own.”

Hotch gave a small, amused smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The night of the gala approached faster than you expected, and soon enough, Hotch was back in his office, preparing for the evening ahead.

As Hotch finished straightening his bow tie, he heard the familiar knock on his office door. Rossi stepped in, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes sharp as ever.

“You clean up nice,” Rossi said with a smirk. “But that’s not what’s got me concerned.”

Hotch looked up from his desk, brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rossi stepped closer, his tone softening just slightly. “Aaron, I’ve been watching you. You’ve got that look—like you’re fighting something inside.”

Hotch sighed. He didn’t have to ask what Rossi meant. “It’s complicated, Dave.”

Rossi gave him a pointed look. “It’s only as complicated as you make it. Look, I know you. You’re holding back because that’s what you do. But maybe this time, you don’t have to. Let loose. Lean into it. You deserve that.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “I’m not sure I can afford to.”

Rossi smiled knowingly. “You deserve to feel alive again, Aaron. Don’t miss your chance.”

Hotch didn’t respond, but the words stayed with him long after Rossi left the room. He just continued to run through his thoughts as he grabbed his keys and made his way to the SUV to go pick you up.

You’d never have imagined Hotch picking you up in a tux, let alone for a Bureau gala where you’d be going as his date.

It had started as playful banter, something you never thought would lead to more. But the moment you accepted his offer to be his date, something shifted. There was a weight behind it, an unspoken connection that ran deeper than either of you had let on.

And now, as you smoothed your dress one final time before he arrived, a flutter of nerves settled in your chest. This wasn’t just flirting anymore. You could feel it—something real, something that went beyond the game you’d been playing for months.

When Hotch pulled up in front of your place, he stepped out of the car to greet you, and the sight of him in a sharp black tuxedo made you momentarily lose your train of thought. He was always put-together, but tonight? Tonight, there was an extra edge to his appearance, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Right on time,” you quipped as he opened the door for you. “Very punctual, as always. Does that come with being Unit Chief, or is that just your way of keeping everyone else on their toes?”

Hotch gave you a small smile, his eyes flickering over your dress for just a second longer than usual. “Some habits are hard to break,” he replied evenly. “You look great, by the way.”

You slid into the car, throwing him a playful glance. “You too, Hotch. I didn’t even know you owned anything that wasn’t a suit. What, no bulletproof vest tonight?”

He chuckled under his breath as he started the car, his hands gripping the wheel in that familiar, controlled way. “I figured it wasn’t necessary for a Bureau gala.”

You leaned back in your seat, smirking. “Well, you never know. Some of those higher-ups look like they could start a fight at any moment. Good thing you’ve got me as backup.”

Hotch gave a small shake of his head, amusement flashing in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be able to handle yourself just fine.”

As the car sped through the city streets, you couldn’t resist pushing him a little more. “Come on, Hotch. You’ve got to be at least a little excited. Big fancy event, all dressed up. We might even see you smile tonight.”

He glanced at you, his expression calm but with that familiar, dry edge. “You might want to lower your expectations.”

You grinned, leaning a little closer to him as you teased, “What, are you saying I’m setting the bar too high?”

His eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road, and you caught that subtle tension in his posture. “I’m saying you always seem to enjoy pushing limits.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the way he’d turned the banter back on you. You opened your mouth to respond, but his quiet confidence left you feeling like he had gained the upper hand.

“Well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting,” you muttered, trying to regain your footing.

For the rest of the drive, you continued to pepper him with lighthearted comments—teasing him about his serious demeanor, joking about the politics of Bureau galas, you even talked about Jack a few times—but underneath it all, there was a tension growing. Each time Hotch shot back with his calm, dry responses, it felt like a game you were both playing, and you were starting to realize you might not be in control of it anymore.

When you arrived at the gala, Hotch stepped out of the car and opened the door for you, offering his hand as you stepped out. You were about to throw another teasing comment his way, but when you looked up at him, standing there in that tux, the words caught in your throat.

He met your eyes with a steady gaze, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The teasing, the banter—it all fell away, leaving behind the raw tension that had been building since he picked you up.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the sounds of the city around you.

You blinked, quickly recovering. “Yeah, just… surprised that you’re really here, taking me as your date.” Your eyes flicked over him, taking in how good he looked, even though that wasn’t the real surprise. “But, I mean, you do clean up nice, Aaron.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Surprised I asked you?” His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I thought it was about time.”

You smiled, the tension between you thickening. “Maybe I am

Inside the gala, the atmosphere was elegant, with the sounds of soft music and quiet chatter filling the room. You and Hotch had already made your rounds, engaging in small talk with Bureau officials and shaking hands with people you didn’t particularly care for. But through it all, the tension between you and Hotch lingered.

After an hour or so, you found yourselves at the bar, taking a moment to escape the crowd. You leaned against the counter, watching Hotch as he ordered a drink for himself and one for you.

“See?” you said, giving him a teasing smile. “This isn’t so bad. You’re surviving, and you even managed to crack a joke or two. I think we can count this as a win.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who said I needed to loosen up,” he said evenly, his voice carrying that quiet, playful edge. “I’m just following your advice.”

You grinned, the energy between you shifting, the tension you’d been playing with all night coming to a head. Now was as good a time as any to test his limits a little further.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of advice for you, Hotch,” you said, leaning in just enough to catch his full attention, your voice dropping to something more suggestive. “And I bet if I really tried, I could get you to loosen up a lot more.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened, lingering on yours longer than before. There was a flicker of surprise there—just for a second—but it quickly turned into something else. Amusement. Challenge.

“You might want to be careful,” he replied, his voice still smooth but now edged with something darker, something more dangerous. “You’re playing a game you might not be ready to finish.”

You laughed softly, unbothered by his attempt to warn you off. If anything, it only made you push harder. “I don’t think you’d mind that one bit,” you said, your tone bold. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s holding back.”

Hotch’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he wasn’t going to let you off that easily. “Is that what you think? That I’m holding back?”

You tilted your head, “Oh, I know you are. You’ve been doing it all night.”

For a moment, there was silence between you, the tension thick enough to cut through. Hotch’s eyes flicked down to your mouth for a second before returning to meet yours, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a growl. “You might be playing with fire.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time that night, you wondered if you had pushed him a little too far. But then again, that’s exactly what you’d been trying to do, wasn’t it? Test the waters. See how much you could make him bend before he snapped.

But Hotch didn’t snap. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not the one who’ll break first.”

Your breath caught, and before you could respond, the bartender breaking the moment. You took a step back, trying to compose yourself as Hotch straightened, his expression calm and controlled once again—though the look in his eyes told you the game wasn’t over.

“Here you go. Anything else for the happy couple?” The bartender placed the glasses in front of you both.

You froze for a second, the bartender’s words hanging in the air. You were about to correct him when you glanced at Hotch, curious to see his reaction.

Hotch, to your surprise, didn’t immediately deny it. Instead, he gave the bartender a polite smile and said, “We’re fine, thank you.”

As the bartender moved on, you turned to Hotch, raising an eyebrow. “Happy couple, huh?”

Hotch shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “It seemed easier than explaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned in closer. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

He met your gaze, his expression calm but with that unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe.”

The air between you felt heavier now, the flirtation and tension building to a point where it felt like something was bound to break. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the banter without it tipping over into something more.

“You know,” you said softly, your voice dropping, “if we’re going to play the part, we should at least make it convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second before meeting your gaze again. “Is that what you want?”

For once, you weren’t sure what to say. The teasing had turned into something real, something you hadn’t expected, and now you were standing at the edge of a line neither of you had crossed before.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

Hotch didn’t move, but the weight of his gaze stayed locked on yours, the tension between you stretching tight, waiting to snap.

“Are you ready for what comes next?” he said quietly, his voice soft but firm, and you knew—whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be able to go back.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but before either of you could act on the weight of the moment, the evening continued on, pulling you both back into the motions of the event.

As the night was winding down, you and Hotch found yourselves standing with Rossi and Strauss near the exit. The tension between you and Hotch had been brewing all evening, and Rossi, as always, hadn’t missed a thing.

With a dramatic sigh, Rossi glanced between you two before smirking at Strauss. “You might want to start drafting those HR consensual relationship forms, Erin,” he teased, eyes twinkling. “Looks like there’ll be a couple on your desk by Monday.”

Strauss rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, and what about your paperwork, Dave?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow at their own not-so-subtle fraternizing.

Rossi grinned, unbothered. “I’m grandfathered in. But these two?” He gave you and Hotch a knowing look. “Better watch out.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, while Hotch remained calm, though you saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Duly noted,” Hotch said, his voice steady, but you could feel the charge between you.

Strauss sighed, giving one final glance between you and Hotch. “Just make sure I’m not dealing with fallout from both of you by Monday.”

Rossi patted her arm, chuckling. “Only if you sign the forms first.”

As Rossi and Strauss headed out, you turned to Hotch, smirking. “Looks like we’re on notice.”

Hotch’s lips curved just slightly. “Seems that way.”

You both shared a brief, knowing look, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

The night had stretched on, and as the crowd in the ballroom began to thin, the tension between you and Hotch had reached a breaking point.

The teasing glances, the subtle brushes of his hand, and the simmering heat had become too much. Hotch, ever composed, had kept his professional demeanor in front of the others all night, but you could feel the pull between you both—like you were walking a tightrope.

You both stood off to the side after the last round of handshakes, observing the room in comfortable silence. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught Hotch glancing at you, his expression unreadable, though there was something different in his gaze tonight—something less guarded.

“Need some air?” he asked quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I think I could use a break from all the small talk.”

Hotch didn’t say anything more, but you followed him as he led the way toward a quieter part of the venue, away from the buzz of the event.

It was a subtle move, deliberate yet not rushed. You could feel your heart beating a little faster, though neither of you had said anything more.

He pushed open a door to a quiet, unused room, likely an office set aside for event staff, and gestured for you to follow him inside. You did, your breath catching slightly at the realization of how close you were now to being truly alone.

Once inside, the door clicked softly behind you, and the hum of the gala faded into the background, leaving the two of you standing in the dimly lit space. Hotch remained still, keeping a respectful distance, though the tension in the air was palpable. His body language was controlled, but the way his eyes flicked to yours made it clear he wasn’t unaffected by everything that had passed between you tonight.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was a subtle edge to it—like he was testing the waters, gauging where you stood.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze. “Just… a lot tonight.”

Hotch nodded, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, his voice quieter now, low and controlled. There was no accusation, just a quiet acknowledgment of the game you’d both been playing.

Your breath hitched, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You seem to be holding up pretty well.”

“Barely,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to your lips. His response surprised you, but also intrigued you.

He moved in closer, his presence almost overwhelming as he pressed you gently against the wall, his hand bracing beside your head.

For a second, neither of you moved. His body was just inches from yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The tension, the push and pull of the game you’d both been playing, was about to snap.

Before you could say another word, Hotch’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips, lingering there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was soft but deliberate, and it took every ounce of restraint not to close the small gap between you.

Just as you leaned in, lips almost touching, Hotch’s phone buzzed in his pocket, the sound cutting through the moment like a knife. He sighed, the frustration clear, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he fished out his phone with his free hand, glancing at the screen.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice immediately shifting back to its usual authoritative tone, though his body stayed pressed close to yours, his hand still resting on your face.

You thought he might step back, put some distance between you, but he didn’t.

Instead, as he spoke into the phone—likely discussing the logistics of the case—his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, soft and slow, like he couldn’t help himself.

It was such a contrast to the professional tone of his voice that it made your head spin.

You tried to focus on what he was saying, but the heat from his touch, the way he stayed so close, made it impossible to think clearly. You felt every breath he took, the tension between you even more potent now that you were both so aware of it but unable to act.

After what felt like an eternity, Hotch finally hung up the phone, but he still didn’t pull away. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of the moment thickening all over again.

“We’ve got a case,” he said softly, his voice a little rough, like the weight of what almost happened hadn’t left him unaffected.

You exhaled, a frustrated but soft laugh escaping your lips.

“Figures,” you murmured, your heart still pounding.

Hotch’s thumb brushed over your lip one last time before he finally stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. But the tension between you remained, unbroken.

“We’ll finish this later,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer before he turned toward the door.

As you both walked out of the room and back into the world of the FBI, you knew he wasn’t making an empty promise. Whatever had started tonight, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Whatever was staring you two in the face was too good to ignore.

Within the hour, the team gathered in the briefing room, the atmosphere charged with the usual mix of focus and adrenaline that came with starting a new case. You were still thinking about the gala—about how close you and Hotch had come to crossing that line before the case pulled you away. Now, the professional walls were back up, and things were business as usual. Or so you thought.

Garcia had laid out the details of the new case on the screen, and you listened as she explained the suspects and their patterns. The unsub was targeting high-profile events, blending in by posing as part of the upper-crust social scene while his victims were unaware.

The most recent lead? A high-end party happening the next evening, where undercover agents would need to infiltrate to catch the suspect in the act.

Rossi glanced around the room, his gaze landing on you and Hotch, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Well, looks like we need a couple,” Rossi said, his voice casual but with a teasing edge. “A couple that can really sell it. High-class, a little… steamy.”

You felt your stomach flip slightly, the underlying tension from last night creeping back in. Hotch remained composed beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. But before you could respond, Morgan leaned forward, grinning like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

“You know,” Morgan began, his eyes darting between you and Hotch, “I think we’ve already got the perfect pair for this.”

You blinked, your eyes widening slightly as the attention in the room shifted toward you and Hotch. “Wait—us? No.”

Morgan leaned back, smirking. “You two would be perfect. Got that whole chemistry thing down already.” He gave a mock shudder. “Not sure I’m ready to see what happens when you actually lean into it, though. Might witness something real go down out there.”

Hotch shot Morgan a brief but sharp look, clearly unimpressed with the teasing, though you could see the faintest hint of discomfort in his posture.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” Hotch said, his voice calm but firm.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression amused. “Come on, Aaron. You and her? The chemistry’s already there. Plus, you’re both the best at keeping your cool under pressure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, unsure how this had suddenly turned into you and Hotch going undercover as a couple, but JJ spoke up before you could.

“They’re right,” she said with a soft smile. “You two could pull this off. If anyone can make this look convincing, it’s you two.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, but he said nothing. You, on the other hand, decided to lean into the banter, if only to diffuse the tension.

“Well,” you said with a grin, glancing at Hotch, “I guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior. Don’t want to push your buttons too much while we’re out there.”

Morgan let out a low chuckle, and even Reid smirked behind his stack of files. “I think the real question,” Morgan said, glancing at Hotch, “is whether he can keep it together when you start leaning into the role.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his composure remained intact. “I’m perfectly capable of maintaining professionalism,” he said, though the tension in the room suggested that everyone—including Hotch—knew this undercover assignment was going to be anything but easy.

With the decision made, the plan was set: you and Hotch would pose as a couple attending the high-end party, posing as wealthy socialites while the team monitored from a distance.

As the meeting wrapped up, you caught Hotch’s gaze, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling back in. This assignment was going to test both of you, and it wasn’t just about catching the unsub—it was about how far you could push the chemistry that had been simmering between you for months.

As the team dispersed, Morgan walked by, shooting you both a playful glance. “Good luck out there. Just don’t make it too real, alright?”

You shook your head, giving him a light punch on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to break your Unit Chief.”

Morgan laughed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice piped up from behind, her eyes wide with dramatic flair. “Oh, sugar, please keep it together out there. I don’t think the universe can handle you two actually playing couple for real.”

Emily smirked, glancing between the two of you. “I have to admit, I’m almost curious to see how well you sell it. Key word: almost.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll behave. Promise.”

“Better you than me,” Emily added, giving you a playful wink before heading off with Garcia in tow.

Morgan chuckled as he walked away, leaving you and Hotch standing there for a moment. The teasing from the team faded as the reality of the situation set in, the tension between you suddenly palpable.

“You sure about this?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying more weight than before.

Hotch’s eyes softened just slightly as he looked at you, but his voice was steady. “We’ll make it work.”

There was something in the way he said it that made you believe him, even as your heart raced at the thought of what was about to unfold.

The small, dimly lit prep room had been quiet as you finished getting ready for the undercover assignment.

You adjusted the delicate lace garter holster on your thigh, securing the small, discreet weapon inside, while slipping the matching lingerie into place. The deep red fabric, though meant to be functional, added an unexpected level of sexiness to the outfit—a necessary piece of your undercover role, but one that made you feel the weight of the assignment in a different way.

You were just about to slip on your dress when there was a soft knock on the door. “It’s me,” Hotch’s familiar voice came through, steady and calm as always.

“Come in,” you called, expecting him to go over last-minute details. But when the door swung open, Hotch stepped inside and froze.

His usual calm composure faltered for just a moment as his eyes fell on you, standing there in nothing but your lingerie and garter holster, the silk and lace framing your body in a way that was far from professional.

He didn’t speak right away, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you with a stunned silence that was so un-Hotch it made you smile.

“Cat got your tongue, Aaron?” you teased, feeling the tension rise between you like a thick fog. The way he looked at you—completely unguarded, caught off balance—was more of a reaction than you’d ever expected.

He cleared his throat, his jaw tightening slightly as he tried to regain his composure, but the subtle flush in his cheeks told you all you needed to know.

“We have… ten minutes before we leave,” he said, his voice sounding a little rougher than usual.

You smirked, turning to grab your dress from the hanger.

“I know. Just finishing up,” you said casually, like the air between you wasn’t crackling with tension.

You slipped the dress over your head, the soft fabric falling against your skin, but the zipper in the back was out of reach.

Without missing a beat, you turned your back to him, lifting your hair with one hand and glancing over your shoulder. “Help me with the zipper?”

Hotch hesitated for a second before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the smooth fabric of your dress as he reached for the zipper. His touch was light but deliberate, and as he slowly pulled the zipper up, you could feel the tension building with every inch.

The proximity was dizzying, the heat of his body just behind yours making your pulse race. You could sense his restraint, the way his breath caught slightly as his fingers brushed the bare skin of your back.

When he finished, his hands lingered for just a moment too long, and you turned to face him, the atmosphere between you thick with unspoken desire.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your eyes locked on his. You could see it—he was fighting it, the same tension that had been building between you both for months.

Hotch stepped back, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable but his eyes giving him away.

“We need to stay focused out there,” he said, his voice low, though there was an edge to it now, a struggle between control and something else.

You smiled, that familiar spark of playfulness returning to your voice. “Relax, Hotch. We’ve got this.” You took a step closer, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “Unless you want to practice playing the part before we go out there? You know… make sure we’ve got the chemistry down.”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t move, the weight of your words hanging between you like a challenge. His eyes flicked to your lips, his breath steady but shallow. The tension was unbearable, thick with everything unsaid.

He leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We both know there’s no time to finish what you’re starting.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could say anything else, he stepped back, the tension breaking just enough for him to regain his composure.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning toward the door, though his voice carried the weight of everything still lingering between you.

You smiled to yourself as you followed him out, knowing that the real game was just about to begin.

The ride to the event was quiet, the tension between you and Hotch hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you both stayed focused on the task at hand, but every glance he threw your way only reminded you of the moment back in the dressing room.

The team had set up their surveillance positions nearby, and you both stepped out of the car in full undercover mode.

The luxurious mansion in front of you was buzzing with high-profile guests, and as soon as you stepped into the party, you both had to sell your roles.

It wasn’t hard for either of you to slip into your roles. The emotions you had to display today felt natural, blurring the lines between the act and the very real tension coursing through both of you.

Hotch offered you his arm, and you slipped your hand through it with a practiced ease, the two of you moving through the crowd like you belonged there. But as you leaned in to whisper in his ear, part of the act, the tension returned full force.

“You’re playing the part well,” you teased softly, your lips brushing just close enough to his ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Hotch didn’t falter, but you could feel the slight shift in his body. “Just doing my job,” he replied smoothly, though there was an edge of heat in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you mingled with the guests, you stayed close, playing the part of the affectionate couple. His hand rested on the small of your back, his touch burning through the thin fabric of your dress, reminding you of every charged moment you’d shared.

At one point, you found yourselves standing at the bar, close enough that your bodies brushed together as you ordered drinks, keeping up the charade. Hotch leaned in, his voice low in your ear. “We’re being watched. Stay close.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, the moment too intimate for comfort—but necessary for the mission. You leaned into him, playing along, your fingers lightly trailing down his arm as you whispered, “I’d say you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

You couldn’t resist the teasing grin that spread across your face. “Should we put on a show?”

Before Hotch could respond, a voice crackled through your earpiece—Morgan's voice, full of amusement. “Easy, you two.”

His gaze flickered, caught between amusement and caution, and he opened his mouth to respond—but then your eyes caught a sudden movement in the corner of the room. Your heartbeat quickened, not from the tension between you, but from the job itself. One of the suspects.

You straightened, your body still close to his but your focus shifting, your muscles tensing. “Target spotted,” you said softly, your eyes never leaving the suspect.

Hotch’s hand lingered for a second longer before it withdrew, his expression sharpening, professional mode slipping back into place. His eyes met yours—still aware of the heat simmering between you both—but the job came first.

“Let’s move,” he said, his voice low and controlled, his attention now fully on the mission.

Just like that, the tension between you was replaced by the sharp focus of the mission, though the heat between you never fully disappeared. It was there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next moment you’d be forced to confront it.

As you and Hotch made your way back to the car after the undercover operation, the air between you felt different—heavier, quieter. The playful tension from earlier had faded, replaced by something more serious. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, the sound of your footsteps filling the space.

Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice low. “You played the part well.”

You glanced at him, searching his expression. His usual guarded demeanor was still there, but the weight behind his words told you there was more he wasn’t saying. “So did you,” you replied softly, your own voice a little more vulnerable than before.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “It felt… real, at times,” he admitted, his words careful, like he was testing the waters.

You swallowed, feeling the gravity of what he was saying. “Yeah,” you said quietly, the teasing tone gone from your voice. “It wasn’t just an act, was it?”

Hotch stopped, turning to face you. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no pretense. No game. “No. It wasn’t.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding, and for once, neither of you felt the need to fill it with banter. This moment—whatever it was—was real.

The drive back to the BAU had been quiet, filled with unspoken words that neither of you seemed ready to address, but now, with the case behind you and the rest of the team gone, the tension that had built throughout the night felt heavier than ever.

The rest of the team had gone home, leaving the building unusually still. Hotch had stayed behind to finish reports, the soft glow of his office light spilling into the empty hallway.

Standing outside his office, Hotch paused, his hand hovering just above the door handle. For months, he’d kept this quiet, simmering tension between them at bay—tucking it away into the same compartment where he'd stored every personal feeling since Haley’s death. It had been easier that way. Safer. But now, with the team gone, the quiet hum of the building around him, and the weight of tonight pressing on his chest, it felt impossible to ignore.

Maybe he was tired of being safe.

Maybe, after everything he’d lost, he deserved to feel something again.

He pushed the door open.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, a knowing smile playing on your lips as your eyes met his. The sight of you—so calm, so collected—sent a shock of tension straight through him.

“You’re here late,” he said, his voice low and steady, though the crackle of something darker threaded through it. He closed the door behind him, the lock clicking softly as if sealing the two of you in.

“I figured we had some unfinished business,” you replied, your fingers lightly tracing the polished surface of his desk. “And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sit here.”

Hotch didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes darkened as he took a few slow, measured steps toward you. He kept his composure, but you could see the tension in his posture, the tightness in his jaw. He stopped just in front of you, his presence overwhelming, but still he held back.

“Why my desk?” he asked, his voice even quieter now, as if afraid of where this might lead but unable to stop it.

You leaned back, resting your weight on your hands, your gaze unwavering. “It just seemed… fitting,” you said softly, your voice filled with the same playful edge you’d always used to push him. “I’ve imagined this. Right here.”

Hotch’s breath hitched just slightly, his control slipping as he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk beside you. “You’ve imagined this?” His voice was deeper now, his eyes searching yours as if he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t happening.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow smile. “Haven’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. The tension in the room was palpable, the space between you charged with all the things neither of you had said for months. He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of his hesitation hanging in the air—until finally, the walls he’d built around himself crumbled.

Hotch’s hand slid to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing your reaction. When you didn’t pull away, he stepped even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours. “I shouldn’t,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your hip, though the way he looked at you said something entirely different.

You leaned in, closing the small gap between you, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took. In an instant, the restraint he’d been holding onto for so long shattered. His hand slid up your back, pulling you toward him as his lips crashed against yours, the months of tension between you igniting in a kiss that was both hungry and desperate.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands gripped your waist, lifting you slightly so that you were perched on the edge of the desk. His kiss was firm, controlled at first, but as you responded, matching his intensity, it deepened, the urgency between you building with every second.

His hands moved over you—up your sides, along the curve of your back—claiming every inch of you as if he was trying to make up for all the time he’d spent holding back. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing your body against his as the kiss grew hotter, more demanding.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breath ragged as he looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unguarded. “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “Good.”

Without another word, he kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, as if there was no going back now. He moved you farther onto the desk, stepping between your legs as his hands roamed your body, your lips parting for him as the kiss deepened.

The world outside his office disappeared, the only sound the soft, ragged breaths you both took between kisses. Hotch’s control had always been something he prided himself on, but now, in this moment, with you, that control was gone. The only thing left was the heat between you, the connection you had been avoiding for so long.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer as he trailed slow, heated kisses along the side of your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine. The feel of him, so close and unrestrained, made your mind race, the fantasy you had harbored for so long now becoming a reality.

When you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” his movements paused for just a second. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath ragged as he took you in—your flushed skin, the hunger in your eyes. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, dark and filled with desire.

“Is this what you imagined?” Hotch asked softly, his voice thick with heat as his hands slowly slid up your thighs, teasing, testing your resolve. He lingered close, the teasing tone in his words a rare show of vulnerability mixed with control.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of the moment deepened. “It’s better,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly, your fingers tangled in his shirt as you tugged him closer. “But I was hoping we’d get to… the next part of my fantasy.”

Hotch’s lips quirked into the faintest smile, and he let out a low, deep hum, clearly enjoying the way you were unraveling beneath him. “The next part?” he murmured, his lips grazing yours as he spoke. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that played on your lips as you held his gaze, the tension between you electric. “I’ll show you,” you breathed, your voice filled with a teasing edge, daring him to let you take control.

Hotch’s eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and desire, and he shifted slightly, his hands roaming back to your waist, pulling you closer. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, “show me.”

The challenge was clear. He wasn’t going to stop you. He was going to let you guide him through the very fantasies you had imagined on so many long nights.

And with that, whatever was left of the restraint he’d been clinging to dissolved completely.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #kiwriteswords #flirty!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #writing #aaron hotchner one shot #wicked game

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moody-alcoholic · 7 months ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 19 - You're Still Here

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.7k words. Things are getting better. No way anything can go wrong.... Right??

CW: MDNI +18 explicit content. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (knotting, heats), sex, threesome (MMF), oral (M&F receiving), fingering, overstimulation, PiV sex, handjob, ALL COMFORT NO HURT (we finally made it), reader is kinda inexperienced (first time giving a blowjob), alcohol.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

You feel relaxed for the first time in weeks—for the first time in what feels like forever. It's early morning as you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. You can see out the window how thick the snow has gotten overnight. You open the backdoor and snow falls into the kitchen, a strong breeze blowing in and making you shiver.

You’re not going to be able to drink your tea outside today. You end up taking it into the living room. You don’t bother turning the TV on, just run your fingers over books on the bookshelf. You pick something and sit down with it.

You start losing yourself in the book, so it surprises you when John walks into the room.

“Morning.” He smiles at you and comes over to the sofa. He sits on the opposite end and you pull your knees up under you as much as you can.

“Morning,” you reply, going back to your book as he turns the TV on, sipping his tea, flicking through till he finds the news. Your eyes keep wandering to him. He’s still in his PJ's, his hair ruffled from a night of sleep. You can smell him, the mellow scent of his alpha hitting your nose. You wonder how he slept, if he misses you.

Maybe being away from you has been a welcome break. He had sex with Kyle. Did he think of you when he came? No, no you’re being selfish. He turns his head to look at you. You quickly look down to your book, heat rising in your cheeks. You peek over the top of your book, and his head is facing the TV again.

“I want to have sex with Johnny and Kyle,” you blurt out. John lowers his mug and looks over at you. For some reason you feel even further away from him.

“Okay,” he says, pressing his lips together. You don’t know why you expected him to say more. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re my alpha. I have to ask you,” you say. He lets out a sigh, looking back at the TV.

“You don’t have to ask me. I don’t own you.”

“You kind of do,” you whisper, hanging your head. He puts his mug on the coffee table turning his body to face you more.

“I don’t want to control you. I want you to feel like you’re free to do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He tips his head letting out another sigh.

“Within reason of course,” he clarifies. You hum. You don’t know what to say to him or what your limits would be. There’s silence as you're just staring at him over your book, trying to hide some of the embarrassment. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, this is normal for packs.

“Why do you want to have sex with them?” he asks. The question sounds invasive all of the sudden, and you didn’t think your cheeks could get any hotter.

“It’s normal for the omega to be shared around the pack.”

He hums, like that explains everything, and you take another sip of tea.

“What was normal for you in the bunker doesn’t have to be normal out here,” he says. You frown at him.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no Professor ordering you around. You’re free to do what you want because you want to do it, not because you’re being forced to do it.”

You smile at his words. The bunker is all you know. Everything you’ve learnt about being an omega, being in a pack—it all came from the bunker, Dr. Piper, and the Professor. Now you have a choice in everything you do, and there’s no one to answer to, no one to explain your actions to.

“I want to have sex with them,” you say, smiling at John. You think you see a small smile on his lips before he nods at you and turns back to the TV.

“You don’t need my permission. I want you to feel safe and have fun. I trust them, I trust you, just be careful,” he says, reaching over and picking up his tea, his eyes fixed back on the TV.

“Thank you,” you say. His head nods slightly. You smile, opening your book again.

You spend most of the day in your room reading. You’re not sulking. You don’t know what you’re doing; you just want some alone time. You read until the sun is setting and your limbs are getting stiff. You need to eat at some point. Johnny brought you a sandwich for lunch but that was hours ago.

You’ve been in a world of your own, your mind preoccupied thinking about Johnny and Kyle. You’re not sure how to talk to them. What if they say no? You got John's permission, but you still have to ask them though. They could say no if they wanted to, and that’s not your fault. All of the sudden you feel nervous.

You throw the book on the bed and go into the hall. You hear a laugh come out of one of the rooms. It’s Johnny, you can always tell when Johnny’s laughing. It makes you smile. You muster up the courage. You want to talk to them at least. You knock on the door to the room.

“Come in!” he calls. You push the door open. Kyle is there too laid on the other bed. All of the sudden you feel nervous. You push it away. You want to do this. You want this. You go over and stand in front of Johnny. Maybe you should just bite the bullet. What's the worst that can happen? Rejection?

“Everything okay?” he asks, sitting up straight. You nod, and before you can back out, you bend down and kiss him. His hands come up to your shoulders and he presses you back lightly making you break the kiss.

“Whoa, lass, are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I spoke to John,” you nod. He smiles like that's the only permission he needs. You hear Kyle getting up off the bed.

“Wait, stay,” you say, turning to him.

“What? Do you want me to watch?” he asks, but there’s a hint of playfulness in his voice and a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head.

“Join.” You look back at Johnny. “You don’t mind right?”

“‘Course not. Whatever you want, love,” Johnny says. Looking over at Kyle, you hold your hand out for him. He smiles, lacing his fingers through yours and coming over. His other hand lands on the small of your back. Johnny takes both your hands standing up and you step back against Kyle’s chest.

“I want to feel something other than sadness. I want to get better for the pack, for John.” You look up at Johnny, you feel selfish all of a sudden, a wave of guilt washes over you and you push it away. “You told me I would never forget her, but I want to try and move on.”

Johnny’s hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. You expect him to say something but instead he just smiles, pressing his lips on yours. His kiss is eager and deep, not like the long passionate kisses you’ve had with John. He hums in your mouth, his hands holding your face as Kyle’s hands grip your waist, his face buried in your neck.

You let them run their mouths over you, their hot lips pressing against your skin, each new spot sending shivers down your body and making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. Johnny takes your face and cheeks while Kyle runs his tongue over your neck and shoulders sucking on the sensitive spots. You’re sure he’ll be leaving little marks.

There’s no big bed in here, just 2 single beds against opposite ends of the room. Johnny and Kyle seem to have this silent way of communicating; they move together without hitting each other, moving you where they want. Johnny is more vocal than Kyle, his kisses are finished with soft moans or hums. Kyle on the other hand nips at your earlobes with whispered praises that makes warmth rise in your core.

Johnny turns you and gently presses you down onto the bed. You look up at them both standing in front of you.

“How does this work?” you ask, heat rushing to your cheeks. Now you feel like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Johnny and Kyle just smile then look at each other for a second. They’re doing it again, the silent communication thing. It’s like you can see them thinking. You’ve seen John and Simon do it too. Maybe it’s an army thing?

Johnny smiles looking back at you, pulling his shirt off. You remember what he looked like from the one time you saw him back at the lab. Your eyes go to the shoulder where the bullet wound was. There’s a small scar there. It will take a few months to heal fully.

Kyle sits next to you and Johnny kneels down in front of you. His hands go to your waist tugging on the hem of your top. You know what he wants and Kyle helps you take it off. Now you’re topless in front of them, they’ve both seen you naked before but this time it feels diffrent. You feel yourself blushing again and automatically look away as a chill comes over you.

Kyle’s hand brings your chin to look at him.

“If you want to stop you just have to say,” he says. You nod and he leans in to kiss you. He kisses like John, long and slow, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hand drops from your face to cup one of your breasts. His hands are soft, softer than John’s or Johnny’s. His movements are gentle, softly brushing his thumb over your nipples making them harden.

You’re not even paying attention to Johnny, getting lost in the kiss with Kyle as he touches you. You move your body for Johnny, as he takes off your shoes and tugs on the waistband of your pants. You lift your ass for him and he pulls them off with your underwear.

You break from the kiss looking down at him as he flings the clothes across the room. His eyes shine in the light as he looks up at you. You’re completely naked now. Kyle is still running his hands over your breasts and back. Johnny runs his hands up your thighs and you automatically spread your legs.

You hear a shaky breath leave Johnny’s lips. You’ve never seen him like this before, and the smell of vanilla fills the room.

“What are you waiting for?” Kyle asks. Johnny looks up at him and then back to you. You smile at him and he scoops his arms under your knees pulling you to the edge of the bed. Kyle’s hands don’t leave you, his arms supporting you as he scoots around to sit behind you.

“Lean back,” he encourages, then he wraps his arms around you, his hands cupping both your breasts. He lets out a hum and you feel his chest vibrate as he buries his mouth in your neck. You don’t have time to react to the sensation of having both your nipples played with because Johnny is pressing kisses across your thighs.

You almost want to beg him to hurry up. You’ve been aching for this, ever since the first time you entertained the idea. You spread your legs wider for him; he takes the opportunity to get himself more comfortable, finishing up his line of kisses. When he finally presses his tongue against your clit you moan out, tipping your head back.

You feel Kyle’s cock twitch behind you as Johnny sucks on you, his tongue pressing between your folds, dragging slick and saliva back up to run around your clit. Each pinch of your nipples sends sparks down to your pussy. You don’t know how long you’re going to last; it’s been weeks since you had any kind of touching.

Last time was your forced heat and now you have two people pressing on your sensitive spots, it’s almost to the point of overstimulation. It’s been even longer since you’ve had sex that wasn’t heat related. Your hand reaches down to run through Johnny’s mohawk.

“Like that?” Kyle asks in your ear, his voice rumbling from the back of his throat.

“Yeah,” you breathe trying your best not to squeeze your thighs round Johnny’s head, but by the way he’s drinking you up you don’t think he would care. He keeps a steady pace, long strokes from your entrance to your clit where he runs his tongue in tight circles, as Kyle whispers sweet things in your ears.

“Mhm, so sweet aren't you,” Kyle breathes into your neck before running his tongue up the side. You grip Johnny’s hair a little tighter. You can feel yourself chasing the peak, the high you’ve been craving since you first thought about having sex with them. You thought it would take longer but it’s all just too much.

“Close,” you breathe as you arch your back squirming in Kyle’s arms.

“That’s it, let go.” His voice is hot in your ear and you grip Johnny’s hair moaning out as you cum. Vanilla fills the air, and it makes your mouth water. Johnny rides you through the orgasm and you pull your hand off his head.

Kyle is just holding you in his arms as you pant, pressing little kisses on your neck. Johnny looks up at you, his lips shiny. He stands up leaning down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on him as his tongue plays with yours. The kiss is needy, rough, and just like before it feels like he’s drinking you up making you breathless as you try to keep up with him.

Kyle shuffling behind you breaks the kiss and Johnny stands up straight. You feel cold when Kyle’s hands leave you.

“Lay down,” he says. You nod, shuffling up the bed so you can rest your head on the pillow. You don’t know whose bed this is. Johnny was sitting on it when you came in, it had to be his. The sound of belts hitting the floor drags your attention back to Johnny and Kyle now standing there naked too.

You’re blushing again and you know they can see it. A cheeky grin comes across Johnny’s face as he strokes himself. You can’t tell if he’s bigger than John or not. Your eyes flick over to Kyle who’s making his way onto the bed. You pull your knees up for him so he can shuffle beside you.

The bed is small so you’re forced to turn. He pulls your shoulders so you’re laid with your back to him. Johnny bends down by your head bringing his hand up to rub your cheek.

“Gonna let us take care of you?” he asks, his voice low, gentle. You don’t know what to say, something blooms in your chest, something you haven’t felt in weeks. You nod smiling at him.

“Good girl,” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead then down to your mouth. You can feel Kyle moving behind you, his arm resting over you, his fingers finding your clit. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do; you just lay there as they touch you. Kyle’s propped up on his elbow, quickly using his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Ever sucked cock before?” Johnny asks. You feel embarrassed by the question. You don’t think you’ve ever done it before, at least not how you think it’s supposed to be done. He can sense your hesitation. You shake your head.

“Want to try?” he asks. You nod, maybe a little too eagerly. He chuckles. You feel Kyle moving behind you again. He moves his hand to grip your waist pulling you up against him. You can feel his cock pressing between your thighs, the tip nudging your clit. Johnny stands up, his cock conveniently stops perfectly in front of your face.

You reach out, you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. Kyle has stopped moving, he watches you as you reach out with a hand and wrap it around Johnny’s shaft. You thrust your hand down a few times looking up at Johnny who’s just smiling down at you. You don’t know if you’re doing it right and you feel like Johnny is not one to complain.

“Like this,” Kyle says, reaching over and putting his hand on top of yours. He presses down on your thumb speeding up the thrusts. You go all the way down to the base then back up. Nice long strokes that have Johnny moaning and twitching in your hand.

“Don’t be afraid to press hard. He’s a big boy, he can take it,” Kyle says as he removes his hand moving it down to squeeze one of your breasts. You nod following Kyle’s instructions as he goes back to running his hand down your body.

You look up at Johnny who has his head tipped back. He spread his legs a little. Kyle’s hand comes between your legs, and you pull your knees up and press your ass closer to him. His fingers press against your entrance. You’re trying to keep focused on Johnny when he pushes two fingers inside you.

You let out a gasp immediately clenching around him. You hear him chuckle as Johnny looks down at you and winks. Kyle’s fingers curl up inside you pessing on that oh-so-sweet spot that makes your whole body tingle. Johnny’s hand comes down to his cock and you move yours. You look up at him trying to concentrate on his face and not Kyle’s fingers stretching you out.

You lean forward, opening your mouth slightly for him.

“Ready?” he asks. You nod and he presses his tip to your lips. You quickly wet them before opening up for him and letting him in. He’s big. You don’t think you’ll be able to take him all the way in your mouth. He seems to know that too, slowly pressing more and more, testing your limit.

“Christ love,” he says when you’ve almost taken him all the way. You try to smile but you can’t. Your mouth feels so full, until suddenly you can’t take it any further and you gag. He pulls out of your mouth straight away.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask. They both chuckle and Kyle takes his fingers out of you.

“You did perfect love. Want to keep going?” Johnny asks. You nod eagerly. You want to feel their hands on you again. This time instead of his fingers Kyle lines his cock up with your entrance.

He eases himself inside you, and you close your eyes letting out a moan. You feel full; he’s big like John. Johnny’s hand comes down to your face, and you open your eyes looking up at him. He smiles stroking your cheek.

“Kyle, you’re making her look so pretty,” Johnny says. You smile at him as Kyle chuckles behind you. His hand comes around you pressing on your stomach before it travels down to your clit. Your mouth tips open as moans leave from the back of your throat.

Johnny presses his tip back up against your lips and you eagerly let him press it in your mouth. Your mouth fills with saliva and you bob your head as much as you can. It’s a new sensation but you don’t mind it. You like the fact you’re the one pleasuring him. He twitches in your mouth and it makes you want to take him deeper which is hard with Kyle holding you in place.

You’re trying to focus on Johnny but Kyle’s hitting a sweet spot inside you making it almost impossible to do anything without moaning around Johnny’s cock every few seconds. His hand moves between your breast and your clit, and each time it sends shivers down to your pussy and you clench around him which causes him to moan, driving into you faster.

He’s gentle though, pressing little kisses on your skin while Johnny strokes your cheek. You look up at him as you circle your tongue around his tip. He really likes that; his eyes go glossy, his hand pressing on your cheek a little harder. Kyle’s movements change: he starts getting quicker, his long moans turning into grunts and pants.

He moves all his attention to your clit, pressing down on it hard, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You have to clench around him so you don’t accidentally bite down on Johnny’s cock. Kyle’s driving you closer to the edge burying his face in your neck, sucking on the sensitive spots making goosebumps rise on your body.

You’re going to cum. You’re not thinking, just moaning, feeling Johnny twitch in your mouth. He seems to like that too. Then he pulls out of your mouth, his hand moving to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. You let out a whine which makes his smile grow bigger.

“Fucking, beautiful,” he says, bending down and pressing his lips on you, pushing his tongue in your mouth. He’s rough, the kiss becoming sloppy as you let him do what he wants. All you can focus on is Kyle’s fingers on your clit, and his panting in your ear drives you over the edge. Your hand flys down to his pressing his fingers harder down against your clit as you cum.

Johnny kisses you through the orgasm and Kyle cums a few seconds later throbbing inside you. His thrusts slow to a stop. You break from the kiss looking up at Johnny who wipes the saliva off your chin. You’re panting with Kyle trying to focus on Johnny who bends down in front of you.

“You good?” he asks. You nod as Kyle’s arms wrap around you, squeezing you tight.

“Of course she’s good, she’s incredible,” Kyles breathes, the smell of leather filling your nose. You smile. You’re glad you made him happy. You’re glad they are having fun. You did that as their omega, you made them happy.

“You finished or think you can go again?” Johnny asks.

“Yeah, I can go again,” you say. You’re not too sure if you believe it though. You don’t really care, it’s only fair that Johnny gets a turn. He hums, his hand leaving your face as he goes to stand up.

“Kyle, sit her up. Let her lean against you like before,” Johnny says. Kyle makes some incoherent noise as he pulls out of you. You suddenly feel empty. You don’t expect either of them to knot you, but if they can’t help it, there’s nothing you can do.

They seem to have enough self control though, which surprises you most of the other experiences you had with betas, they lose all semblance of self-control when they smell you. Vanilla is the smell you’ve always associated with sex. It’s not the nice mellow smell of vanilla you think of cakes or baking. It’s harsh and overwhelming, making saliva build in your mouth.

Then there’s leather. You don’t know what you smell like when you climax but males always smell of leather. You used to hate the smell. You never knew what it was until you ended up in the Professor's office one day and he had leather chairs. You used to hate that smell in the bunker, but now it makes you think of John.

You’re not even paying attention to what’s going on as you’re moved, now sitting up between Kyle's legs, your back resting against his chest. His hands cup your breasts pinching your nipples as he coaxes more moans out of you, rewarding each one with a kiss on the neck.

Johnny’s not waiting around, pressing his tip against your entrance, pulling your attention to him. You look at him with glazed eyes as he eases into you. You thought it was going to be sore; you thought you weren't going to be able to take it but he slides in with ease. You tighten around him as he pushes all the way in.

“Yeah, like the way he makes you feel?” Kyle asks, nipping on your earlobe. You’re barely even listening to him, nodding at the questions. Johnny starts to thrust into you. He’s slow, each thrust being followed by a moan.

Kyle has moved to whispering sweet things into your ear. Your head tips back and Kyle kisses the top of your head, his hands still busy with your breasts, running his thumbs over your nipples. You can’t help one of your hands reaching down to rub your throbbing clit. Kyle hums moving a hand down to replace yours.

“Let me,” he breathes on your neck, and your heart starts racing. Johnny seems to sense your change in demeanor as you relax up against Kyle, letting him play with your tits and your clit. Each time he sucks on your neck you clench around Johnny who grunts taking an extra long stroke. You like it when he does that; it feels like he’s pushing all the air out your lungs.

“Feels good doesn’t she?” Kyle asks looking up at Johnny who seems like he’s in a world of his own. Other than your moaning and his panting you can only hear the wet sounds of him slamming into you. He’s speeding up his thrusts, his breathing becoming shorter.

You start squirming in Kyle's grip as his fingers attack your clit. Johnny bends down, hooking his arms under your legs pulling you and angling you up slightly. The new angle makes you moan out, panting as Johnny drives into you deeper and faster. Now he’s not being so gentle, hitting a deep spot inside you, gripping the flesh on your thighs.

“Johnny,” you call, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. Kyle’s free arm wraps around your midsection in an attempt to keep you still.

“You close already love?” he asks. You nod, and Kyle chuckles.

“Such a perfect omega, taking us both,” Johnny says through gritted teeth. All you can smell is vanilla and beta, the smell is almost overwhelming. The constant praise is doing something to you, and you let the warmth bubble in your core. You’ve missed this feeling.

“Johnny,” you call his name as you cum. You arch your back, and Kyle’s mouth presses into your neck. He hums, sending vibrations down your spine. Johnny’s a lot rougher when he cums, his fingers digging into your thighs as he pushes himself inside you throbbing with short bucks of his hips. He lowers your legs and you slump back against Kyle whose fingers are still circling your pulsating clit. Johnny pulls out, making you feel empty yet again.

He turns behind him pulling a towel off the top of the dresser. You twitch against Kyle's hand and he pulls away, running his hands around your body making a trail of goosebumps. Johnny kneels between your legs gently cleaning you up. You can feel their seed spilling out, but Johnny catches it with the gentle pats of the towel.

You close your eyes as Kyle holds you making sure you’re stable against his chest. You lay there panting in his arms. You keep your eyes closed, your body still pulsating as Kyle squeezes you tight.

“Deep breaths, come on.” He takes exaggerated breaths into your ear. You copy him, forcing as much air as you can out of your lungs. When your heart stops hammering you open your eyes looking up at Johnny standing half dressed in front of you. His hand comes up to brush your cheek.

“You’re amazing love, do you know that?” he asks. You don’t get time to answer, he just bends down to kiss you. You smile as he breaks from the kiss standing back up and looking round at the clothes on the floor.

“I’ll get a bath started,” he says, pulling the rest of his clothes on. You move to stand up too but Kyle keeps a tight grip on you.

“We said we’ll take care of you. That includes afterwards too,” he says. You relax, letting him hold you as he whispers streams of praises in your ears. That warm feeling in your core comes back spreading through your whole body.

When Johnny comes back he picks you up in his arms.

“I can walk,” you say sleepily. The throbbing stops and you shiver as he carries you across the hall to the bathroom.

“I know love,” he says, putting you down in the bathroom. You step into the bath sinking down into the hot water. The chill instantly leaves your body and you let out a long sigh. The door to the room opens and a now dressed Kyle walks in. You smile at him as he comes over to the tub.

Johnny helps wash your hair while Kyle massages your shoulders. They dote over you asking how you feel, telling you how well you did. You let the steam relax you as Johnny braids your hair again.

“How do you feel?” Johnny asks as he ties the braid off letting it fall over your shoulder.

“Good. Tired,” you say. Kyle’s hand leaves you and he stands up.

“I’ll get you something comfy,” he says, heading out of the room. You lean up against the tub looking up at Johnny. His hand comes to stroke your cheek.

“Perfect omega,” he says, his eyes glossing over as you project your scent for him. Kyle comes back in the room and you get out of the bath. You try to dry yourself but they won’t have that either. In fact, the only thing they let you do yourself is pee.

Their hands find you as you leave the room. You lean up against Johnny yawning.

“Nap?” he asks, stopping in the hall.

“Yeah.”

He turns to lead you back to your room.

“Wait, can I sleep with you?” you ask. He nods, smiling and guiding you back to your room. Kyle says he’s going to cook food and he’ll wake you up later. You smile at him as he goes down the stairs. Johnny lets you get into bed first then climbs in behind you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The bed is small but you fit, Johnny kisses the top of your head.

You relax, running your hands up his chest, breathing in his scent.

“Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

…

You’re woken by a knock on the door. Johnny shoots up straight away. You turn to look out the window; it’s dark now. You feel relaxed. Your body tingles when you think about the time you spent with Johnny and Kyle.

“Thought you’d want to catch the game.” It’s Simon's voice. He doesn’t come into the room or wait for a response. Johnny’s arms wrap around you pulling you up against his chest.

“Hungry?” he asks, his breath hot in your ear. Him just saying it makes your stomach growl.

“Yeah,” you say. Johnny gets up offering his hand for you and you get out of the bed. He can’t seem to keep his hands off you, stealing any moment to let his hands brush over you. As you make it down the stairs you can hear the others talking and the TV playing in the living room.

“Football’s on, you should join them. I’ll bring food,” Johnny says as you stop outside the half closed door. You nod and go in. They all look up at you. Your eyes land on Kyle who smiles. You smile back, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. John and Kyle are sitting on the sofa with beers in their hands. Simon is sitting on one of the other chairs.

“Sit here!” Kyle calls scooting closer to John and patting the empty spot next to him. You nod, going over. You thought it would be awkward seeing them all again, especially John. It’s not though, they’re all too invested in the game, or at least that’s what you think.

You try to figure out what is going on. Every now and then one of them will cheer or make a frustrated noise followed by swearing and hands being thrown in the air.

“Who’s winning?” Johnny asks, coming in with a plate of food and a glass of water. You pull your legs on the sofa crossing them. Your stomach rumbles again; you really are hungry. Johnny smiles, putting the plate down in your lap, and the glass on the table. You thank him as his head turns to look at the game before he sits down next to Simon. You’re not really sure what’s going on or how you even tell who’s winning.

You eat your pasta, listening to them talk. They talk about the game and the teams, and every now and then Kyle will lean over and explain what they just cheered or complained about. You’re not really any closer to understanding it but you don’t mind. You're just happy to be spending time with them.

By the time something called ‘half-time’ starts, you’ve finished your food. Everyone gets up to use the bathroom or get another drink. It all happens like a silent dance they’ve done a million times. Simon has started to wind Johnny up who lets out frustrated huffs, protesting his point to the amusement of John and Kyle.

Kyle hands you a beer telling you he didn’t want you to feel left out.

“We’ll be having a celebration if City wins,” he chuckles, which makes Simon start to protest much to Johnny’s amusement. You don’t get it but you smile anyway sipping on the beer. After a few sips you start to feel relaxed leaning back on the sofa.

You look over at John, his arm wrapped round Kyle’s back, digging his thumb into his shoulder. You wish it was you. Jealousy rises in you. You miss his touch. You want him to be rubbing your back. You look down at your can fidgeting with the tab.

“Yes! See that, Beautiful!” Johnny’s cheering, his hands flying in the air. It makes you jump. The TV zooms in on a man running around with his arms in the air before he’s jumped on by men in matching outfits.

“They scored,” Kyle says as it switches to a replay of the goal.

“Are they a good team?” you ask. You realise you have barely said a word since being down here.

“Depends who you ask,” Kyle chuckles.

“Best team in the league,” Johnny says, turning to you enthusiastically.

“He wishes,” Simon says, taking a sip of his beer. That seems to set Johnny off on a rant about wins and losses of other teams you’ve never heard of.

“Look, they're trying their best, give him a break LT,” Kyle says, laughing. It makes you smile as you see Johnny pout crossing his arms. It makes you chuckle too. Kyle nudges you and you finish the rest of your beer.

When the game ends Johnny’s team does win much to the amusement of the others.

“Won’t last long,” Simon says, getting up and stretching.

“Can’t let me bask in this glory for 5 minutes can you?” Johnny replies getting up too.

“Can’t let that ego of yours get any bigger,” Simon says ruffling Johnny’s hair. That makes Kyle laugh and he gets up stretching too. You look over at John who’s leaned back with his arm over the back of the sofa looking up at Johnny and Simon teasing each other as they go into the kitchen.

“Another?” Kyle asks, raising his eyebrow at you. You look up at him frowning. He points at the empty can in your hand. You shake your head. He takes the empty can off of you, smiling, and leaves the same way Johnny and Simon had gone.

You’re alone with John now. It’s not awkward. You thought it would be, but it’s not. Maybe it’s the alcohol but you don’t care. You turn to look at him and he smiles back at you. You like seeing him smile. If he’s happy, you’re being a good omega.

“Can I lay on your lap?” you ask before nerves come and eat you alive. He looks at you for a second studying your face.

“Sure,” he says, laying back on the sofa a bit more to give you room. You pull your legs up crawling towards him. You lay down facing the TV and relax bringing your knees almost up to your chest.

“Cold?” he asks as he places his hand on your shoulder. You are but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to be a bother. This is something you’re supposed to do for him. He senses your hesitation and pulls the throw blanket over you.

You can hear the crackling of the fire. You’re not paying attention to the TV really. Just the feeling of being here for your alpha after all this time, it’s what you need. His hand squeezes your shoulder. You feel him relax further into the couch, and the hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

You let out a long breath letting yourself fully relax. You’re safe with your pack. This is the way it’s supposed to be. His hand moves to stroke your hair.

“What do you think is going to happen now?” you ask. His hand pauses for a second.

“With what?”

“Now that there's no cure.” His hand starts to move again.

“We’ll figure something out,” he says. That makes you smile. He doesn’t sound worried or mad. He sounds confident, like the kind of person who just gets on with things. That's why he’s the Captain. You let out a long breath projecting your scent for him. You’ve been cold to him for so long but you miss him. You’ve missed him so much.

You hear a hum leave his throat as his hand moves further and further down your head. It eventually stops at the base of your neck. His thumb brushes over your mark and you automatically tip your head for him so he can have better access.

His hand is warm on your neck. You close your eyes enjoying the tingle you get every time his thumb brushes over the indents of his teeth.

“I promise I'll be a better omega.”

“Shh, you don't have to promise anything. You try your best, you do your best. I don't expect anything more from you.”

You like the feel of his hands on you again. His touch is gentle, and you've missed it.

“You were always there. Even when I hated you you never left my side.” You open your eyes hearing a door close. His hand rests on your neck.

“Of course. I will always be there.”

“Even if I hated you?” you ask. He lets out a little scoff.

“Even if you hated me,” he says, stroking your hair.

“Thank you.” His hand moves back down to your neck. You let out a hum projecting your scent for him. You close your eyes again letting the low sound of the TV and the fire put you to sleep.

…

Johnny opens the door. John puts his finger to his lips. Johnny smiles seeing you sleeping on his lap.

“Need anything?” he asks as quietly as he can. “Didn’t know how long you were planning on staying up for.

“She should be in bed. It can’t be comfortable,” John says, but there’s a smile on his lips. He doesn’t want you to leave. Selfishly, he wants to keep you near him for as long as possible.

“She looks comfortable.”

“I think she is,” John breathes running his thumb over the back of your neck. It’s his mark; he claimed you as his omega. A few weeks ago you wouldn’t even give him the time of day but now you’re laying in his lap letting him stroke the back of your neck. The most venerable part of your body, and it’s open to him.

“Thank you for today,” John says looking over at Johnny standing in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Johnny raises an eyebrow. “I can see why you wanted to keep her to yourself.”

"She needed you and Kyle. You took care of her in a way I couldn’t.”

“Yeah well, she has you now. That’s the way it should be.”

“Us, she has us,” John says looking up at Johnny. He nods. John looks back down at you pulling hair behind your ear, so he can stroke your cheek. “We’re a pack, and we take care of the pack.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything, just watches as John rubs your cheek.

“Take her to bed,” John sighs, looking back up at Johnny.

“Want me to put her in your bed?” he asks.

“No, I don’t want to push her."

“She came to you. I don’t think she would mind,” Johnny says sympathetically as he comes over to pick you up.

“Okay, fine.” John gently passes you into Johnny’s arms.

“Johnny?” you murmur as he scoops you up in his arms.

“Yeah, we’re going to bed,” he says, pressing his lips on the top of your head.

“I laid in John’s lap,” you say without opening your eyes. You’re so glad you did. He deserves it. Now you’re just exhausted from projecting your scent.

“Yeah ya did,” he whispers, taking you upstairs. He puts you down and you crawl into bed still pretty much asleep. You hear John walking in. You’re in his room; you can smell him on the pillows. You don’t care, you want to be near him. You hear him talk and then you feel him getting into bed. You turn over, wrapping your arms around him before he gets a chance to lay down properly.

He pulls you up against his chest, hooking his arm under your head and pulling you against him.

“I’ve missed you,” you breathe. Sleep is catching up to you again.

“I know, I missed you too,” he says. It makes you smile and he squeezes you tight. You want to talk more but you’re too tired and before you know it you’re asleep.

When you wake you feel different. You feel good, happy, safe. You see the sun is just peeking through the clouds. You roll over in bed and look at John. He’s sleeping on his side, his hand tucked under his chin, his mouth open slightly. You want to kiss him, to feel his lips on yours again.

He’s your alpha. It’s his job to protect the pack, and your job is to keep the pack together. You smile watching him sleep, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. You almost don’t want to disturb him, just stay in this blissful moment forever.

“John,” you whisper, shaking his shoulder. He doesn’t move. You try again pushing him harder. This time he springs awake looking around. You prop yourself up, and he turns to see you and smiles

“Morning,” he says, his voice grumbling. He smiles and lays back down. You shuffle up and put your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you kissing the top of your head.

“I’ve missed you,” you say. He lets out a long sigh, his hands running down your body. You project your scent for him while you breathe him in. He kisses the top of your head while you run your hand up his chest.

“I missed you too,” he says. You close your eyes letting out a sigh. There’s a warmth blooming in your chest; it's something you haven’t felt in ages. It feels good to be back in your alpha’s arms. His hands keep running up and down you. You missed his touch, his scent. You’ve missed everything.

“I’m sorry I was so angry at you,” you say.

“No it’s okay. You had every right to be upset with me,” he says. You look up at him and he kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry things happened the way that they did.”

Before he can reply you reach up and kiss him. As soon as his lips are on yours a hum leaves from deep in his throat.

You part your lips for him letting him push his tongue in your mouth. You press your body closer to him feeling his heart beating in his chest. The kiss is hot and needy, it feels amazing to be back in his arms kissing him. A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have been bothered if you never saw him again. Now you can’t imagine a life without him. Without any of them.

“I wish we could stay here,” you say, breaking away from the kiss.

“We’re going to stay here, at least for a while.”

“I wish it could be forever,” you breathe pressing your nose against his.

“We’ll come back.”

You press your lips against him. You’re craving more from him. You wish you could just spend the day in bed with him and make up for all the time you’ve been distant to him. Your kiss becomes more needy as you press your body up against him. You slip your hand up his shirt feeling the skin to skin contact you’ve missed.

His hand lands on your waist pulling you against him. His kiss is slow and long, like he hasn’t kissed you in months, letting his tongue gently press against yours. You don’t want it to end but his phone buzzing breaks you both apart. You let out a sigh as he turns over and picks it up.

You try to see the name on the screen but he moves it away too fast. He fully turns over in the bed and you whine as he goes to sit up.

“I know I'm sorry. I have to go to town to pick up some post,” he says, getting out of the bed.

“Can I come?” you ask. You wouldn't mind going back to the town. You want to spend time with him even if it is just running errands in town.

“Next time,” he says. You pout at him, and he turns around chuckling when he sees your face.

“C’mon lets get some breakfast,” he says. You sigh, turning over in bed and getting out.

…

John left to go to the town around 3pm; it was now pushing almost 5 and he wasn’t back. You’re trying not to worry about it, you just really wanted to spend the day with him. There doesn’t even need to be any sex, just peace and quiet and the smell of alpha.

You felt whole again. After weeks of pain you finally felt like you were happy. You didn’t care what would happen next, you were going to enjoy spending this time with your pack. You were in your nest with a blanket thrown over you and a book. Everyone else minus John had sat down to watch TV.

You’re not paying attention to what they’re watching but now and then they shout at the TV. It’s some kind of quiz show you think. The setting sun is lighting Johnny’s already cozy living room with a bright orange hue. It makes you smile. For once everything feels perfect; there’s nothing that could ruin the high you’re feeling.

You hear the sounds of the car coming back. Simon looks over his shoulder out the window.

“Someone's with Price,” he says. Suddenly he and Johnny tense up. The smell of nerves and fear fill the air. Johnny turns around and mutters something under his breath.

“He never said he was picking anyone up,” Kyle says standing up to get a better look past Simon.

“Is that a man or a woman?” Johnny asks. He doesn’t get a reply. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You stand up letting the blanket fall off your shoulders as Simon strides over to you.

“Stay with Gaz okay. Do as he says,” Simon says as he grips your shoulders looking at your face. You nod and he releases you. You look at Kyle reaching under the coffee table and his hand comes back out with a gun. It makes you gasp as Johnny and Simon fish bigger weapons out of various hiding spots. The curtains are drawn closed. Now you can’t even see out to the car. You can hear the engine though.

Johnny and Simon leave the living room and you hear the front door open. Car doors slamming, people talking just too far away for you to hear them. You walk over to Kyle who’s standing by the door, and you stand behind him. He turns quickly to see you and you try your best to mask your scent.

“What the hell!?” You hear Johnny shout. You gasp and grip Kyle’s shirt. There’s silence. Maybe something bad has happened, but you didn’t hear any shots go off. You hear the crunch of snow. Someone sighs and then there’s a knock at the door.

“It’s me,” Simon says before opening the door. He looks white as a sheet like he’s seen a ghost. Kyle moves to put the pistol away. Now you’re confused. You can’t keep your eyes off Simon. You can smell him; he’s angry, not upset? You flare your nostrils taking a deep breath in. All you can smell is beta now, but there’s something else too. You frown.

“This is a bad idea,” you hear Johnny say. Nerves rise in you as you look up at Simon. He looks sad, but you can’t get a read off him, and he never has a scent unless he wants you to smell it. Was it a warning? You walk into the hall and then you smell it. You almost can’t believe it. Your heart feels like it’s going to jump out of your chest. Your hands start tingling as you walk to the front door.

There she is.

Dr. Piper.

You feel sick. Your eyes widen. You can’t believe it. You flare your nostrils breathing her in, and it really is her.

It’s her scent, lavender. You never knew what that was until you smelled it in Johnny’s home. You look at John standing next to her.

You don’t know what to say, what to do. It almost feels unreal.

“You braided your hair,” she says smiling. Her voice cracks. You can see tears welling up in her eyes. She really is here, she looks different. Her hair is shorter, she’s not wearing her signature red lipstick, or her glasses. She doesn’t look like the normal put together Piper you know. She blew up a building and survived, it doesn’t make sense. You can see the dark circles round her eyes, her hands are shaking as she wipes tears away.

You swallow the lump rising in your throat but it doesn’t go away. Your hands go up to feel the braid, Johnny does it differently then the way she would do it. You look up at John who’s standing just behind her, You hear a gasp behind you and you turn around.

You see Simon and Kyle standing in the doorway. Kyle’s eyes are wide, his mouth open as he gawks at Dr. Piper. Simon’s expression is hard, his arms crossed. Kyle looks like he’s about to reach out for you. You don’t want him to touch you right now.

You mourned for her. For the second time, you thought she was dead and you would never see her again. You spent weeks punishing John for letting her die and she had been alive the whole time. You shiver as goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. Your hand goes up to rub it, it doesn’t feel the same.

There’s no bond anymore. You broke it when you thought she was dead.

You want to be alone. You take a step over to the door and Simon and Kyle part, letting you through. You go straight up the stairs. You go into John’s room slamming the door behind you and throwing yourself in the bed pulling the covers over your body completely.

Tears stream down your face. You reach up, grabbing a pillow. You breathe in his scent trying to make it calm you, but it’s not working.

She’s alive. She’s here. You broke your bond with her, you let her go. You grip the pillow letting out a loud sob. It’s not enough, you feel panic rise in your chest. You press your face into the pillow and scream as loud as you can.

next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

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genderkoolaid · 2 months ago

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As a strident critic of efforts to silence the movement for justice in Palestine in this way, I expected to encounter opposing perspectives. The conference’s many sponsors included the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and the Academic Engagement Network (AEN), two organizations at the forefront of such weaponized attacks on college campuses. Fellow speakers included operatives like Kenneth Marcus, who has helped shape the campus crusade for over two decades, including within the Department of Education during the first Trump administration. While I didn’t expect to change their minds, I felt it was important to add my voice to this contested space as a Senior Research Analyst at Political Research Associates and co-author of Safety through Solidarity: A Radical Guide to Fighting Antisemitism. I took my place alongside plenty of other experts resolutely opposed to the heavy-handed tactics of the pro-Israel Right and Center. A week after returning from LA, I opened my inbox to discover emails with blaring subject lines from Jewish Insider: “UCLA hosts anti-Zionists at conference on antisemitism,” and one day later, “ADL Alters Conference Sponsorship Policy After Anti-Israel Speakers Exposed.” The two articles listed me as one of three participants whose presentations or mere presence at the conference had crossed a line; in my case, because some years ago I worked as campus coordinator for Jewish Voice for Peace. [...]

The author also published their words at the conference. The whole thing is worth reading but here are some highlights:

Our approach at Political Research Associates, and in Safety through Solidarity, understands antisemitism as an anti-democratic political project that uses conspiracy theories to explain the world through an appeal to supposed Jewish wickedness, subversion, and control. The conspiracy theory of the elite Jewish cabal is a projected image of power, used by authoritarian and nationalist leaders to divert widespread anger, alienation, malaise, and anomie away from the actual sources of social immiseration, and towards an imaginary, diabolic enemy instead. Antisemitic conspiracy theories offer stunted attempts to make sense of the world, easy answers to deeply felt crises of political agency. They can be seductive and appealing, lending purpose, resolve, and hope in place of helplessness. In times of widespread social dislocation, when millions are grasping for answers and eager for someone to blame, authoritarians use antisemitism to sow division and consolidate power, build momentum and expand their coalition by demonizing elite cabals as ciphers for progressivism, as all-powerful threats to tradition, order, and the “common man.” Today antisemitism is a core component of a broader project to entrench authoritarian rule; to sweep away decades of civil rights advances in a wave of white racial backlash; to restructure the national polity and civic life around the contours of white and Christian dominance. Elon Musk and Steve Bannon are normalizing Nazi salutes; leading MAGA podcasters are platforming Holocaust revisionism and lurid tales of Israeli pedophile cabals to audiences of millions; top administration officials are sharing Leo Frank conspiracy theories and statements from the leaders of groups that marched at Charlottesville. [...]

Antisemitism does show up on the Left, but it structures the Right; it weakens the Left, but it strengthens the Right; it diverts the Left from its goals of freedom and equality, but it helps the Right pursue its goals of exclusion and domination. Elon Musk, the richest person on the planet who’s actively dismantling the federal government, holds immeasurably more power than any undergraduate or college professor. It’s clear where the greater long term, foundational threat to Jewish safety and thriving lies. Tracing the intersection of antisemitism with other forms of oppression gives Jews a stake in standing with Others, and Others a stake in standing with Jews. It grounds the particular fight against antisemitism in a universal project. This means that promoting a robust democracy, and working to end economic and social inequality are important means of fighting antisemitism at its root, by chipping away at the structural dispossession, desperation, and alienation that motivates people to grasp for conspiracy theories and scapegoats. This means that ending antisemitism is everyone’s business, not only out of moral concern for Jews but also because it’s essential to building a more just world for everyone. [...]

These campaigns also fail at actually fighting the real antisemitism that can exist among some pro-Palestine activism. Anti-Zionism isn’t inherently antisemitic; quite the contrary, it’s often motivated by values of justice and equity. The accusation is spurious and flimsy at best, cynical and malicious at worst. But some forms of anti-Zionism can mobilize antisemitism, knowingly or not, when fantastical portrayals of outsized, shadowy “Zionist” power take the place of grounded criticism of Israel’s injustices, or concrete assessment of the actual political influence wielded by the state or its supporters. In a few highly-publicized instances, Palestine solidarity protesters have appeared to indiscriminately target Jewish individuals or institutions to express generalized rage at Israel; subject Jews to political litmus tests; or couch anti-Zionism in the mold of Christian anti-Jewish demonology, for example. Other times, protesters have lapsed into vulgar campism by uncritically cheering on Islamist nationalist movements as vanguards of liberatory resistance, or by mobilizing oversimplistic binaries that caricature all Israelis, Zionists, or Jews as monolithic oppressors. In some of these cases, the antisemitism is clear-cut; other times, what we’re seeing may be a reductive, callous and counterproductive brand of ultraradicalism; understanding this as inherently antisemitic tends to obscure, rather than clarify, the political dynamics at play. Initiatives like the JDA and Nexus can help offer the kind of rigorous, contextual evaluation we need to parse these distinctions. Lost in the din of media hysteria and overzealous lawfare is precisely this capacity to think critically in public. It is possible to have open, honest and tough conversations about antisemitism within the Palestine solidarity movement, which is one goal of our book. But the indiscriminate, authoritarian crackdown makes this incredibly harder, fostering a siege mentality among its targets, provoking activists to double down and bristle with defensiveness and distrust.

#m.

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rmstitanics · 10 months ago

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* GENERAL OBSERVATIONS, PART THREE.

ASTEROIDS & CELESTIAL BODIES

ASTEROID ORPHEUS (3361) CONJUNCT CHIRON may represent one who looks to their past for creative inspiration. They’ll often use their preferred form of art in an attempt to understand traumatizing events or process any emotions that may still linger.

ASTEROID APOLLO (1862) in the 8H could signify an individual who enjoys creating or consuming media about controversial and dark topics.

When I see ASTEROID PANDORA (55) in the 10H, I immediately wonder whether the individual with this placement has experienced some sort of chaos or crises regarding their public image. Maybe they’ve had traumatic experiences with their main circle of friends, or maybe they’ve even received some level of backlash on social media for a flawed interaction. Whatever these natives have endured, they probably yearn to control public perception of their character in an attempt to prevent misunderstandings.

Check which house ASTEROID ARISTOTELES (6123) is located in within your natal chart to find where you crave the most knowledge and wisdom! As an example, I have my Aristoteles asteroid in the 8H of transformative experiences, death, and “taboo” topics — and I’m now a practicing divination witch who enjoys paranormal investigation.

Due to difficulty with turning intuitive ideas into real achievements, 9H CHIRON individuals might find the process of outlining an essay or project to be particularly challenging. They’re the types of students who change their thesis a bunch of times before a paper’s due date.

PLANETS IN SIGNS & HOUSES

SATURN 1H placements might have people pleasing tendencies at some point in their lives due to a fear of never meeting others’ expectations.

SAGITTARIUS SATURNS likely grew up in households where one or both parents was strict and / or religious. The challenge awaiting these folks in life is to pursue exploration of knowledge outside of what was taught to them in their youth. They probably enjoy philosophy or history, and could possibly grow up to be spiritual but not religious.

LEO MERCURY placements, was your writing style ever described as “flowery” by your teachers or fellow students before? Because this placement TOTALLY gives me the vibes of a flowery and dramatic writing style.

One could theoretically use their JUPITER placement to discover two things: 1) The field of study where they have experienced the most growth throughout their academic career and / or 2) their best academic subject. To do this, look at Jupiter’s degrees and house. I have CANCER JUPITER placed in the 9TH HOUSE in my chart, and I absolutely adore law, history, and philosophy! However, I’ve had to undergo the most growth in Cancerian concepts such as life skills in the home and actively listening to others.

CAPRICORN JUPITERS are prone to having a “the end justifies the means” philosophy when it comes to achieving their goals. They also might struggle with perspective taking / putting themselves in others’ shoes, particularly when they perceive the individual in question as someone outside of what they consider “normal”.

6H MOONS strike me as the type who love being around animals MUCH more than they love being around people, especially if the majority of their personal planets are in a water sign.

ASPECTS

SUN SQUARE URANUS indicates memorable students whose teachers / professors will remember them for many years to come.

Hard MERCURY-PLUTO aspects could struggle with maintaining a consistent routine for studying, especially if Mercury is in retrograde in the chart.

MERCURY TRINE JUPITER placements LOVE yapping in class, but it’ll either be with their peers while the teacher is talking or by frequent class participation. If you’re the class participation type, you’ve probably had a teacher say “does anyone OTHER than (your name) know the answer?” before 😭

Although this placement does make for great activists who are not afraid to call out injustice when they see it, LILITH CONJUNCT MERCURY folks NEED to prioritize being tactful due to a natural tendency to bluntly say whatever’s on their mind with no filter.

SATURN-NEPTUNE aspects need to practice intense discernment when it comes to politics — fact check everything and don’t just believe everything you see / hear on the internet or news without taking the time to research it for yourself!

Hard ASCENDANT-SUN aspects tend to be noticeably different people in public versus private spaces. Your first impression of them will likely be VERY different from the truth of the person that they are behind closed doors.

MIDHEAVEN OPPOSITE VENUS placements are amazingly creative individuals whose art may play a major role in their own identity, but they simultaneously might have a major fear of sharing that art with others. Peer review in class is an absolute NIGHTMARE for them.

#astrology observations #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #* astrology #asteroid #lilith #black moon lilith #astrology aspects #saturn #capricorn #sagittarius #academia

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eshieslovemaze · 3 months ago

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Wildest Dreams | taehyung

summary: a silent love, a stage, and a final chance—will your role as juliet to taehyung's romeo make him finally see you as you've always wished?

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: college romance, unrequited love (or is it?), lots of pining

word count: 3.4k

note: yay! finally posting something here that i'm truly proud of writing, hehe. cross-posted on my wattpad, but this version is newer, and thus, more polished. hope you guys like it!

🐚🤍

Not too long ago, I caught my first glimpse of you in the college corridors—laughing, carefree, the golden afternoon light catching in your hair. You were with your friends, teasing, joking, your laughter spilling into the air like a melody.

"Yah, Kim Taehyung! Laugh harder at my dad joke!" one of them quipped, and that was when I learned your name.

That moment was the first time you wrote your name on the walls of my heart.

We were all freshmen then. On the first day, I followed you into the classroom, only to bump into your back. Embarrassed, I mumbled an apology, but you simply smiled—soft, kind, forgiving. That smile lingered in my mind the entire day, its warmth spreading through my chest like an untamed wildfire. Miyoung teased me, of course. "Blushing already? He only said ‘it’s fine,’" she had giggled.

Three years have passed since that day. We've grown, changed in ways both subtle and profound. But one thing has remained constant—my feelings for you, deepening with every stolen glance, every lingering moment. While I kept to my small circle, you flourished, your effortless charm and talent making you a campus favorite.

I had always been your silent admirer, loving you from a distance, content in the quiet ache of unspoken longing. But when you started dating Choi Hayoon, I knew I had lost whatever chance I never truly had. She was beautiful—inside and out. Together, you were the ‘perfect pair,’ the couple everyone adored, and it was fair to all, even to me.

But oh, how unfair it felt to my heart, which grew heavier each day you weren’t mine.

I never uttered a word about my feelings to anyone except Miyoung, who held my secrets like delicate glass. "Don't be sad, sweetie. Maybe he isn't really ‘the one’ for you," she had said once, trying to comfort me. But how could that be true when my heart, my mind, my very soul unraveled into chaos at the mere thought of you?

I had forced myself to my quiet admiration. I had kept my emotions in check.

Until this month began.

The annual fest was fast approaching, and this time, it was our turn to organize it. After three years of being a nameless face in the crowd, I decided to step forward—just once.

I signed up for the drama.

And that was the unofficial beginning of us.

To say I was surprised when I saw you in the auditorium would be an understatement. You stood beside Professor Lee, talking about taking part in Romeo and Juliet. Hayoon was by your side, and the whispers among the gathered students began immediately.

"If Taehyung and Hayoon play Romeo and Juliet, even Shakespeare would rise from his grave!" someone mused, earning a wave of agreement.

I only smiled—a bittersweet curve of my lips, careful, controlled. Miyoung stood beside me, her presence grounding, but I didn’t let her see the quiet turmoil within me.

The auditions were brief—a two-minute performance to determine our roles. Miyoung and I recited a passage from Twelfth Night, our voices weaving through the words with practiced ease. The professor seemed pleased.

Then came your turn. You and Hayoon performed a scene from The Merchant of Venice, and though your skills were undeniable, hers fell short. Your immaculate skills landed you the role of Romeo instantly. When Professor Lee announced that she wouldn’t be cast due to her lack of experience in acting, murmurs spread like ripples in the crowd. Miyoung couldn't make it into the cast, too.

I didn’t know how to feel. I wasn’t sure if I should feel anything at all.

But Hayoon, ever the angel, only smiled, congratulating you. "I knew I wouldn't make it," she admitted, unbothered. "I was never into acting anyway."

You chuckled, affectionate yet easy, as if everything had fallen into place exactly as it should.

Then, the unexpected happened.

"Y/N," Professor Lee called, his eyes twinkling as he looked at me. "You will be playing Juliet."

The room buzzed with murmurs as I stepped forward. I was an unfamiliar name, a quiet presence in the background. But as Professor Lee handed me the script with an encouraging smile, my heart pounded for an entirely different reason.

I was to be your Juliet.

You approached me afterward, flashing that signature boxy smile. “Hey, Y/N! Guess we’re partners now. Let’s get to know each other more—for the sake of our chemistry, of course.”

I nodded with a nervous smile, exchanging phone numbers.

I really became your Juliet that day, didn’t I?

The first day of rehearsal.

Professor Lee had shortened the original script, ensuring the play wrapped up in an hour. My adrenaline was pumping through every vein—excitement and nerves swirling together in a chaotic rhythm.

And then, you walked into the auditorium.

Calm yet excited, your presence seemed to brighten the entire space. The moment your eyes landed on me, you flashed that signature boxy smile of yours. Just like that, my nerves ebbed away, replaced by a quiet, unexpected sense of calm. By the time I managed to smile back, you were already standing in front of me—grinning, effortlessly charming.

"Y/N-ah! How are you today?"

The nickname made my heart stutter. Did you just…?

"Pretty good," I replied, probably too fast, probably too eager.

We talked about the drama and script until Professor Lee called us to take our positions on stage.

The rehearsal began with an introductory passage, the curtains rising directly to our first scene—Romeo and Juliet meeting for the first time. It took me a moment to adjust to you in this new light. Your acting was too good, too natural. The way you looked at Juliet… at me—was it just part of the act, or something more? My mind spiraled with thoughts I had no right to entertain. If we were a couple, would you look at me the same way? Was this just incredible acting, or was I foolishly reading too much into it?

Minutes passed as we moved through the script, until Professor Lee directed, "Now, Romeo has to kiss Juliet."

My stomach dropped.

He reassured us that it was okay if the first attempt felt awkward, but we needed to work on making it look natural. You nodded without hesitation. I did too, though my heartbeat was anything but steady.

For the demo scene, I stood in my place, watching you approach me—slow, deliberate. Your gaze held mine, unwavering, and when you reached me, your palm cradled my jawline with a tenderness that felt… real.

Too real.

I barely registered my hands settling on your shoulders before our lips met. A soft touch, fleeting, yet enough to leave my pulse racing. My eyes fluttered shut instinctively, but before I could even process the moment, it was over. Professor Lee’s voice cut through the silence.

"Perfect."

We pulled away, exchanging shy smiles. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and from the way your eyes twinkled with amusement, I knew you had noticed. A chuckle bubbled from your lips, effortless and warm.

And just like that, rehearsal was over.

You left after bidding everyone goodbye, and I followed suit. But as I stepped out of the auditorium, my heart stilled at the sight before me.

You were hugging her.

Hayoon.

The way you smiled at her, the way she leaned into you—it was effortless, natural, unshakable.

A hollow ache settled in my chest, heavy and unrelenting. I wasn’t sure why it hurt so much, but one thing became clear in that moment.

Maybe you were my Romeo, but I was never your Juliet.

Heaving a sigh, I made my way toward the auditorium for rehearsal. It had been a little over two weeks, and the excitement surrounding the fest was growing stronger with each passing day. Acting in the drama with you by my side only intensified my feelings—feelings I knew would eventually hurt me.

But still, I chose to risk it all.

Even if I couldn't have you, at least there was a chance you’d remember me.

As I stepped inside, my eyes immediately found you—smiling, giggling, flipping through the script with her. My insides twisted. It was a feeling I refused to name, but I knew it all too well.

Jealousy.

Sensing my presence, you looked up and waved with that easygoing smile of yours. I forced my lips into a smile and waved back, mirroring your greeting. As I walked toward you, Hayoon beamed at me, her voice bright.

"Hey, Y/N-liet!"

I chuckled at the nickname.

I had nothing against her. She was a genuine sweetheart, after all. And yet, the mere sight of you with her made my heart ache in ways I wished it wouldn’t.

Moments later, Professor Lee entered, instructing us to take our positions. Hayoon bid us good luck before leaving, and soon, the rehearsal began.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of stolen glances, shared dialogues, lingering touches, and rehearsed kisses. Yet, I never got used to them.

How could I?

This play—this act—was affecting me more than I wanted to admit. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions tangled in knots I couldn't undo.

When rehearsal ended, I left the auditorium, craving space to breathe. My feet carried me to the back garden of the school—my quiet escape, a place usually untouched by others. Under the shade of an old tree, I sat, resting my back against the rough trunk, closing my eyes.

But even then, I couldn't escape you.

Because when I closed my eyes, all I saw was you.

Your gaze, vivid and consuming.

I don’t know how much time passed before a familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Are you all right? You looked a bit restless during rehearsal."

My eyes fluttered open to find you standing there, concern laced in your deep voice.

I mustered a small smile. "I'm fine. Just needed a little peace."

You nodded in understanding before lowering yourself beside me, your back resting against the same tree, our shoulders brushing. A comfortable silence settled between us, one that felt oddly intimate.

Then, you spoke again.

And somehow, words flowed effortlessly between us. One topic led to another, and before I knew it, we were lost in a conversation that stretched endlessly, unraveling parts of each other we hadn't known before.

When it was time to leave, you insisted on walking me home. I hesitated, thinking of her, but you assured me it was fine. "She left early today—half-day," you said with a casual shrug.

As we walked, our hands brushed more times than I could count. Each accidental touch sent a rush of warmth through me, making my cheeks burn. And then—

You held my hand.

A heartbeat passed, and then another.

"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, for I ne'er saw true beauty till this night," you recited dramatically, a teasing chuckle laced in your words.

A laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Oh, Romeo, you're too dramatic," I teased back, shaking my head.

You pouted in playful protest before we both dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the empty streets like a quiet melody.

That day, we spent time together—real, uninterrupted time. Your presence made me feel at peace, yet it did nothing to quiet the storm within me.

Because no matter how much I tried to suppress it, my heart was slipping further into the abyss of something I shouldn’t be feeling.

Kim Taehyung… what are you doing to me?

Finally, the week of the fest arrived.

The campus was alive, adorned with lanterns and festoons, buzzing with excitement. Laughter spilled from the hallways, anticipation humming in the air. Teachers worked alongside students, ensuring everything ran smoothly. But amid all the festivity, a bittersweet undertone lingered.

For the senior students, this was the moment—the final celebration before the inevitable farewell.

This was our year to leave.

Even though I had spent most of these years as a nobody, I wasn’t alone. I had my fair share of friends.

And I had you.

Maybe that was why the thought of leaving this place filled me with dread.

Because no matter how much I tried to silence it, I knew I could never gather the courage to confess my feelings. Not when you were happily with her. And yet, I still found myself aching every time I saw you together.

What an irony.

Every moment with you—seeing you walk into rehearsals, acting beside you, kissing you almost every day, and the way you started walking me home after that day—only made me more delusional.

"Y/N-ah, what are you thinking about?"

Your voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see you walking beside me into the empty auditorium for our final rehearsal.

The place looked breathtaking—soft floral decorations draping every corner, the stage dressed as if it were a bride ready for her wedding. Tomorrow, this very place would witness our last performance.

And after that…

It would be over.

"Nothing special," I mumbled, eyes drifting somewhere—anywhere—but you.

You hummed before chuckling. "Yeah, I know. Actually, you were thinking about me. I am your Romeo, after all."

I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance, but my heart was already betraying me, hammering against my ribs.

Because when you said things like that—when you flirted so effortlessly with that painfully soothing voice of yours—it became impossibly hard to control the storm inside me.

We stood at the edge of the stage, gazing at it, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

"We're a bit early," you noted, glancing around at the empty seats.

I simply nodded, unsure of what to say.

"So… tomorrow’s the day," you murmured, your gaze fixed ahead.

"It is," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Are you nervous?"

I hesitated. "Kind of."

But it wasn’t just the performance.

I was nervous about graduating.

I was nervous about leaving you.

I was nervous about becoming nothing more than a fleeting memory in your life.

Slowly, you reached for my hand, wrapping it in your own.

Warm. Firm. Steady.

You gave it a small squeeze, your voice dropping an octave as you whispered, "Everything will be all right, Y/N-ah. Trust me."

I saw our end just as it began, yet you still found ways to make me fall deeper into the madness of you.

It was the day.

The day we would stand on stage together, becoming Romeo and Juliet one last time.

Clad in a flowing white and pink, Victorian style inspired dress, I weaved my way through the buzzing corridors, past Miyoung, who squeezed my hand and wished me luck.

I smiled in response, but my heart was pounding too violently to speak.

Tightly clutching the soft fabric of my dress in my fists, I entered the backstage area.

And then, I saw you.

As if drawn by an invisible thread, your eyes met mine in an instant.

And suddenly—everything else blurred.

It was just us.

The noise, the people, the stage—everything melted away.

Only you remained.

You looked breathtaking in your Romeo attire, dangerously attractive, making my mind spin in whirls.

"Finally, Juliet is here!"

Professor Lee’s excited voice pulled us both out of our trance. I blinked as he smiled warmly at me, his kind eyes twinkling.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented, his parently voice full of pride as the other members of the cast praised me, too.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Bashfully, I thanked him, earning a round of chuckles from the others. But even then, I felt your lingering gaze on me.

Flustered, I quickly walked to stand beside you, my heart racing. You smiled to yourself, looking down at the floor.

And then—

The bell rang.

The drama was about to begin.

All the participants took their places backstage, waiting. The curtains remained drawn as we stepped onto the stage, assuming our positions for the opening scene.

I exhaled shakily, gripping your hands as we locked eyes.

Then, with an elegant sweep, the curtains pulled open.

The crowd erupted.

Cheering. Clapping.

The moment we had rehearsed for weeks was finally here.

And we gave them everything.

We became Romeo and Juliet, pouring our hearts into the act, making the audience believe in our love story.

Every movement, every glance, every whispered line felt real.

And before I knew it—

It was over.

The final bow. The closing of the curtains. The thunderous applause.

And just like that, we were over.

After congratulating our team and exchanging words of appreciation, I slipped away.

I needed air.

The back garden of the school was quiet, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the setting sun. White roses bloomed in the gentle breeze, their petals tinted with the hues of twilight.

Hugging myself, I exhaled deeply, my heart heavy.

"This is it."

I closed my eyes, letting my thoughts consume me—

But then, I felt it.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into a familiar warmth.

I gasped, stiffening—only to immediately relax when I realized it was you.

Your chin rested lightly in the crook of my neck, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

That boxy smile of yours was still there.

“The drama is done now,” you murmured lightly against my skin. “It was the most perfect it could ever be. So why are you still so tense?”

I swallowed hard.

I could feel your heartbeat against my back.

And suddenly, an unfamiliar determination surged through me.

I took a deep, shaky breath, my hands trembling as I finally let my heart speak.

"Kim Taehyung... would you think I’m crazy if I told you that I'm in love you?"

Your arms around me stiffened.

But I didn’t stop.

"It’s not just today, or a month ago… it’s been since freshmen year. Since the first time I saw you."

My voice wavered, but I pressed on.

"I tried convincing myself it was just an infatuation. But no matter what, my feelings for you only grew stronger. And I hate you for that—"

A choked laugh escaped me, tears welling in my eyes.

"I know you have Hayoon. That’s why I never said anything. But now we’re about to graduate… we’re about to part ways. I just—"

I inhaled shakily.

"I know you don’t love me, and I accept that. But my last request is—"

I looked down, voice barely a whisper.

"Remember me. Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams."

Silence.

My chest heaved from the weight of my confession, my vision blurred by unshed tears.

You were still holding me. But you were stiff.

Then, without warning—

You turned me around, gripping my shoulders, forcing me to look at you.

My breath hitched.

Your eyes burned into mine, dark and intense, brimming with something unreadable.

You leaned in, dangerously close, our lips barely apart by an inch.

My heart stopped.

"T-Taehyung, what are you—"

"What if I say I love you too?"

Your voice was lower. Rougher.

It sent a shiver down my spine.

I froze.

"W-What? But Hayoon—"

You sighed softly, eyes searching mine.

"Hayoon and I ended things a few days ago," you admitted. "We realized we liked the idea of us more than we actually liked each other. It got awkward—uneasy. In the end, we knew we were better as friends."

You took a breath, cupping my cheek.

"And then there was you."

My lips parted in shock.

"The more I got to know you, the more I realized what I truly wanted."

You swallowed, the action causing a movement of your Adam's apple.

"I didn’t just enjoy spending time with you, Y/N. I needed it. And after today… after seeing you on that stage, hearing you say those words…"

A small smile played on your lips.

"I’m ready. More than ever."

You let out a breath, your forehead pressing against mine.

"So tell me—do you say yes to our new beginning?"

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

I could barely nod fast enough.

"Y-Yes!"

And that was all it took.

Your lips crashed onto mine, molding perfectly as if they had always belonged there.

Unlike before, this wasn’t a performance.

It wasn’t a script.

This time, there were real feelings.

On both sides.

And for the first time—

I am not just your Juliet, your partner for a drama.

I am yours. And you are mine.

#bts #taehyung x reader #bts imagines #bts army #taehyung #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung x you #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #eshieslovemaze

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babygurlaura · 29 days ago

Text

REDESIGNING THE ACADEMY

STRUCTURE IN NARUTO

Honestly at times felt we should have seen more of Naruto academy days and think more could have been done showcasing how the ninja system works within Konoha which is a militarized system.

This is essentially apart of my naruto rewrite which creates a system for how ninjas are evaluated and taught within the academy. To start off we’ll start off with the entrance exam into the academy. We know from Shikamaru that you can decide whether or not you want to become a ninja. And also how a lot of ninjas who come from established clans are already taught basic and sometimes advance techniques. So with the idea of an entrance exam it’s meant to essentially evaluate the students ability and place them into the track course that’s fits their skill set.

Entrance Exam: Initial Placement Based on Ability

Purpose: Sort students into tiers or tracks based on their existing skill sets. This allows the narrative to reflect why clan children (like Sasuke, Neji, or Ino) are often more advanced due to family training.

Criteria: Intelligence (strategy, problem-solving), combat aptitude (sparring or basic taijutsu forms), chakra control, and maybe even psychological profiling (to match with senseis later).

Outcome: Students are placed into Track A (advanced), Track B (standard), or Track C (remedial) classes—or more tiers if needed.

Narrative Benefit: Shows Naruto’s underdog status isn’t just social—it’s systemic. He likely tested low due to a lack of home training or emotional instability, so he starts at the bottom tier.

Let’s now proceed with how these classes are leveled and the overall structure. There would be general classes such as history or math it makes sense in the grand scheme seeing the amount of propaganda that takes place within Konoha. But also these general courses would be utilized in strategy, mission planning and so on.

* side note Iruka would be placed as homeroom teacher who looks over all the students files and handles their evaluations *

now onto the tracks.

Shinobi Skill Tracks (Specialized Tiers)

Based on entrance exam results and ongoing evaluations, students are placed into Skill Tracks, each one tailored to their progress:

Track A (Advanced): Clan kids or prodigies like Sasuke, Shikamaru, Neji, Ino, etc.

Track B (Standard): Average students like Kiba, Hinata, and Choji.

Track C (Remedial/Development): Students like Naruto, who struggle with chakra control or combat due to a lack of prior training or trauma.

Track A: Advanced Track (Clan Prodigies & High Aptitude)

Track B: Standard Track (Average Performers with Growth Potential)

Track C: Developmental Track (Late Bloomers & Undertrained)

* side note Tenten was originally placed in track c but after further evaluation felt Track B was more suited for her but i have yet to make that adjustment cause i be working a lot *

One thing I plan on implementing into the academy would be practical mission simulations centered on team work, problem solving, leadership, stamina, and emotional maturity.

The format is basically three students, one from each track placed into a group with a professor often times Iruka to evaluate their teamwork skills mainly.

Always felt like these missions worked based for the academy as practical missions centered around teaching team work and so on.

Narrative Use:

Naruto repeatedly fails missions not because he’s uncooperative, but because others sabotage, ignore, or abandon him, reinforcing his isolation.

Iruka could witness this firsthand, shifting his attitude from skeptical to supportive.

Also for further clarification when it comes to the Track courses it’s a flexible system, students are able to “test into” specific Track A classes while still being officially enrolled in Track B or C. This allows for strength-based specialization and highlights individual talent rather than purely clan status.

How It Works:

Access Type | Requirement | Example Classes

Full Track A Enrollment

Consistently high evaluations across all areas

Sasuke, Neji, Shino, Ino

Partial Track A Access

High scores in specific subjects (written or practical)

Sakura (Genjutsu & Strategy), Shikamaru (Tactics)

Audit Access

Permission from the instructor + a qualifying project

Rock Lee (Taijutsu Theory), Hinata (Chakra Control)

======================================

Lastly how the students are evaluated and how they graduate.

For this purpose there are three evaluations, the first being one that’s done to permit you into the academy and see where your skill set lies. The second being the mid academy evaluation.

Mid-Academy Evaluation: Class Advancement or Early Graduation Eligibility

Purpose: Assess progress and see who is eligible to move up a class tier or skip ahead to graduation training.

Example: Itachi likely tested into Tier 1 from the start, and during his Mid-Evaluation, his Genjutsu proficiency and advanced battle sense flagged him as ready for early genin status.

This also adds stakes—students who don’t progress may be held back or even washed out of the Academy.

Pre-Graduation Evaluation: Readiness Check

This could be the equivalent of what Naruto kept failing—not the final “you pass or fail” moment, but an indicator of whether you're ready for the true graduation exam.

It would include:

Teamwork simulations

Mission mock-ups

Ninjutsu, Genjutsu, Taijutsu grading

Chakra nature, aptitude or potential

Graduation Exam: A Cumulative Test

Each class has a specific "Final Jutsu" (like Naruto’s class using Shadow Clones). It allows the exam to vary depending on the needs of the era, the teacher’s design, or even the village’s political state.

For Naruto’s class:

Passing would mean being able to safely and successfully use a multi-clone jutsu and complete a small mission simulation (like rescuing a “hostage” or retrieving a scroll).

Naruto fails this not just because he struggles with the technique, but because of chakra control and inconsistency, again reinforcing why the "failures" are more holistic than just one jutsu.

======================================

That’s all for my Ninja academy redesign I have made some example schedules for some of the Konoha 11 which shows how the tracks work and what classes they’d be place into. But i hope you liked my lil rambling and concept. This is honestly the most structured i’ve been with my post besides my Uzumaki OC.

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reiderwriter · 2 years ago

Note

NSFW Prompt Requests - I’m in dyer need of 127 or 150 if you’d be so kind?🥵

A/N: I feel like I say "I got a bit carried away" in every single one of these authors notes, but this one I think I really did...

Word Count: 3k

#127: "I can taste myself on you."

#150: "Stop clenching, baby, you're already tight enough as it is."

Summary: You're hot for teacher. So is every other girl on campus. Your Professor, however, is absolutely oblivious until you spell it out for him...

Warnings: Professor x Student, age gap, oral (M receiving), face-fucking, no birth control/ condoms, creampie, male whimpering and moaning mentioned a lot, PinV sex, both of them are Switches idc idc 18+ MINORS DNI

Check out my other stuff on my masterlist!

You had been in his class for around three weeks when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. If you were going to keep up your GPA and progress in your grad programme, you were going to have to either drop the class with Professor Reid, or persuade him to put you out of your misery.

You’d been intrigued by the course to start with, of course, which is why you’d picked up the criminology elective when it wasn’t a required class. But it was only available this semester as he was only Guest Lecturing while on leave from his job at the BAU, and getting that kind of insight from an actual industry professional rather than an academic really couldn’t hurt, right? You’d thought that until you’d seen him.

Expecting some older man with a stuffy tone and a disdain for modern technology, you’d been roughly awoken when he walked into the lecture hall on the first day and you found yourself hanging on to his every word as he read through your syllabus. You were spot on with the technophobia, but for everything else, you were blissfully incorrect. He was, quite possibly, the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life. You weren’t secretive about your thing for older men, joking all the time about your “daddy kink,” but you’d never had a thing for one of your actual professors before, and it was driving you insane.

It didn’t help that the word had travelled around the entirety of your campus as well, with multiple girls turning up to audit the class after the first week. You’d been green with envy since you’d seen them mooning over the man, and you’d felt disgusted with yourself almost instantly. He was your professor, he was damn good at his job, but he was so deliciously tempting that you couldn’t find it within yourself to actually pay attention in his classes. You knew it was only a matter of time until the man, who you realised was obviously blind to how attractive he was to a bunch of twenty-somethings with a penchant for danger and a willingness to try all kinds of new things, would catch on to how many of his students were openly lusting for him.

You hoped that you had learned enough in his classes on behaviour that you could accurately hide your feelings and thoughts, however sinful and objectively obvious they were. Your hopes were crushed on that fateful day three weeks into the semester.

You’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed already. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, your clothes were all still wet inside the washing machine in your apartment meaning you had to throw on a short skirt and pray you didn't flash anyone, and your roommate hadn’t closed the fridge properly the night before, so the milk you wanted to use in your morning coffee had spoilt. After dragging yourself into class, the last thing you’d wanted to see was twice as many students auditing the class as the previous week.

To give it to the man’s obliviousness, he hadn’t noticed until about two thirds of the way into the class, when he asked a student why they weren’t taking notes. He’d seemed confused. You were almost furious that he didn’t know what effect he was having on you, on every girl in the vicinity, but, more importantly, you. Unable to help yourself, you let out a scoff that gained his attention.

“Is there something wrong with the class materials Miss…” he trailed off, waiting for you to supply your name to him.

“Oh, no, uh, Y/N. My name is Y/N, there’s nothing wrong, sir. I’m sorry.” His lips twitched as you replied, but he went on with his class, as you sunk into your chair in shame. You were going to have to drop the class now. He must hate you, or think you were stupid, or think that you hated him, and your thoughts were spiralling so out of control that you hadn’t noticed the class had ended, and he was calling up at you from the lecturing desk.

“Miss Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, and his goddamned eyes were filled with such concern you hated that every part of your body was screaming with desire for him. Unable to respond, he tried again.

“If you have the time, would you like to come talk to me in my office? I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.” You should’ve said no, just based on the ridiculous scenes filling your mind, but you didn’t hesitate to nod your approval. You picked up your bags and made your way down the steps to where he was waiting with all of his stuff near the front door. He opened the door for you, and you felt your heart race as you awkwardly slid by him in the doorway. He had to be a fucking gentleman, too, right?

You followed him as he made his way to his office, staying silent the entire way. He looked like he wanted to make small talk but didn’t know how, choosing instead to just mirror your silence. When you reached his office, he apologised for the mess and showed you inside, letting you take a seat on the couch whilst he put all his things away. The room was littered with books of all sizes, and you noticed that the titles didn’t seem to have one common subject linking them all, or even, in fact, seem to be written in the same language. You spotted a beaten up copy of War and Peace on his desk next to an obviously used coffee mug, and some paper files that looked to be the reading from that morning’s class.

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly plan on having guests, uh, make yourself comfortable?” He asked it as a question, and loosened his tie as he said it. You stared at the small patch of skin on his neck, your eyes lingering just a moment too long before you remembered you were in a room with an actual FBI Profiler, and that if your thoughts were any louder, he’d handcuff you himself. As tempting as that was, you really didn’t want your Professor knowing about all the ways you’d imagined him fucking you.

“Professor Reid, I’m sorry, I have to leave, and- and I think I have to drop out of the class.” You stood up suddenly, and he stood up too from his place at his desk, shocked at your sudden anxious outburst.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, is there something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked taking a step closer to you, but you took a step back again, accidentally pressing your back against one of his many bookcases in your haste to avoid him.

“Yes! I mean no, it’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable. I’m not uncomfortable, really!” He had the look of a kicked puppy on his face now, and you realised this man would be the death of you. You weren’t even sure what it was about him that entranced you enough to stay and continue the conversation.

“I can’t focus in your classes, Professor,” you sighed out, letting your eyes drop with the embarrassing confession.

“That’s perfectly fine, many people struggle to pay attention in college classes. Is there anything I can do in my lectures to accommodate to your needs?” Your eyebrows screwed up in frustration with his obvious professional kindness.

“No, Professor, I’m sorry, unless you stop looking like that there’s nothing you can do.” You ran a stressed hand through your hair as you begged your mouth to shut and stay shut.

“...What?” The confused tone in his voice let you know that he had no clue at all what you meant by your words, but he didn’t go further. You chanced a glance up at his face, and were met with a small blush rising to his cheeks, as you watched the words process in his brain.

“Professor, every single person in that class that is attracted to men would kill to do absolutely sinful things to you. You’re like the campus’s collective wet dream right now. You had to know that, right?” You sigh out, finally putting the man out of his misery.

“Oh. No. No, no, I didn’t. Know that, I mean, I didn’t…Is that why there are so many people auditing the class? They want to…. Do that with me?”

“Fuck you, Professor. They want to fuck you. You can say it, we’re both adults.” You resigned yourself to the fact that this conversation was probably going to haunt every waking hour for the rest of your life, and just let it happen, pushing through the cringe to help him come to certain realisations.

“And that’s why you want to drop the class?” he asked finally, looking back up at you.

“Yes.”

“Because you want to…fuck me?”

Your mouth dropped open at his words, as you desperately tried to back track, but all that came out was hot air and blubbering sounds as you felt your brain short circuit like his had just moments before.

“I mean… I guess,” you finally stuttered out, your fight or flight instinct begging you to just run, but something deeper, something carnal planting you in position and making movement in that moment impossible.

“Oh…. right.” He nodded at you, his lips spread in a thin smile as he nodded at you awkwardly. You stood there together in silence for a minute, but it became clear soon that the logical part of your brain was no longer in control of your mouth.

“Can I?” you asked, almost startled at your own boldness.

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice raising higher in tone at the incredulity of your statement.

“Can I fuck you? If I do, maybe I’ll be able to, you know, pay more attention in class. Get it out of my system, you know.” Growing emboldened by your own words, you took another hesitant step towards him, reaching your hand up to gently touch his arm. His jaw clenched at the contact, but he didn’t move away, didn’t suggest you stop right there and forget this conversation ever happened.

“Please, Professor Reid. Please fuck me,” you trailed the hand up his arm and back down his chest as he stood there just watching you beg for him. You discarded your bag on the chair, and keeping your eyes focused on his, trailed both of your hands down to his belt, slowly enough that he could push you away at anytime.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Miss Y/N?” He asked quietly, and you smiled, finally happy to get a reaction from him. The smile had dropped from his lips and there was something suddenly dark in his tone that had you clenching around nothing.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, letting your hands start working on his belt, undoing it agonisingly slowly as you watched him control his breaths. When you finally had it undone, you finally looked up at him again, and gave him a smile as innocent as you could muster.

“You have my permission,” he whispered into your ears as he gently put a hand on your head and pushed you down to your knees, perching himself on the edge of the desk. You wasted no time then, desperate to live out each and every single one of your fantasies with him. Reaching into his pants, you found him already hard and pulsing, and you released his cock from its confines quickly. Spitting into your hand, you gave him a few quick strokes as you watched him grow even bigger under your touch.

Letting out some sinful breathy moans, you looked up at him, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut as you finally reached your tongue out to lick at the tip of his cock. He twitched at the contact, and you felt the warmth pooling between your legs as you watched his each and every reaction. Finally wrapping your lips around him, you decided to put him out of his misery, sinking down on his dick an inch at a time until he was hitting the back of your throat. He was delightfully vocal the whole time, moaning and whimpering so much that you almost pulled off him completely and begged him to fuck you raw. But the taste of his cock was intoxicating and you wanted more and more of him. After a few minutes of your agonisingly slow pace, you felt his hips beginning to buck up to match your pace as he began to face-fuck you. He grabbed a handful of hair, and you did your best to relax your throat, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his thigh and sinking deeper into your open hips on the floor.

His eyes were still screwed close, but he was moaning out your name now, with a few expletives thrown in too, having done a complete 180 from the few minutes earlier when he’d hesitated to even say the F word in conversation. You felt he was getting close when he started thrusting deeper, sloppier in his movements and more breathy in his moans. He suddenly pulled out of your mouth and lifted you to your feet, bringing you face to face with him.

“We didn’t… we didn’t say where I would, um…” he tried to say but you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a hot kiss to his mouth, your tongues quickly twinning as he returned it in kind. You stood there, lips locked and breathless in that space for quite some time, neither of you caring about the lack of oxygen you were getting. Finally, using the hand that was still fisted in your hair he pulled you away from his lips, and you whimpered pathetically at the loss of contact.

“I can taste myself on you,” he panted into your neck as he held you close, the words sending a shiver down your spine and forcing another moan out of your mouth. The pain from his tight grip in your hair only heightened your pleasure as he moved his lips back to your exposed neck and continued his ministrations.

“Please, professor….” you begged again, desperate for his attention. “Please fuck me.”

Without removing his lips from your neck, he quickly moved the two of you back to the couch you’d been sitting on before, guiding you into his lap, his cock still hard and free from his pants. Your skirt spread open, and your hard landing meant you could feel all of him pressed against you. You thanked the gods for your suddenly well-timed laundry efforts as he grabbed the base of his cock and started teasing you through your panties. You were sure they were soaked through as you sat in his lap, grinding down on his perfect cock, his mouth still pressed into your neck.

“Fuck me, please fuck me,” you moaned, and he complied, finally hooking a finger under the seam of your panties and moving them to the side as he pushed up into you with another throaty moan.

“Yes, thank you. Thank you Professor, thank you.” You moaned out in bliss as you sank further and further down on him, pushing further than any man had been. before.

“Stop clenching, baby, you’re already tight enough as it is,” he ground his teeth in a hiss, and you moaned at his words, the pervertedness of them shooting straight to your core.

“Can’t…help myself. You feel so good, sir.” He started moving then, holding your waist as he started lazily thrusting upwards. After having your mouth wrapped around him, he knew that too much too soon would mean that this wouldn’t last long, and you had begged him nicely, so he wanted this to feel as good for you as it did for him. Gripping one of your hips tightly in one hand, he let the other fall under your skirt, and started pressing into your clit. You threw back your head at the contact and started riding him, matching each of his upward thrusts with a downward thrust of your own, letting his thumb gain speed as it followed you up and down.

“Fuck, professor, thank you…I’m gonna cum, fuck, thank you so much,” you stuttered out as you could feel your orgasm rip through you, collapsing into his arms as he thrust quicker into you now.

“Y/N, where… where should I….” His voice trailed off, and after a few seconds regaining your sanity after your climax, you finally answered the question he’d been desperately trying to answer.

“Inside… Inside me, Professor Reid, it’s okay…” he whimpered at that, at each thrust he pushed into you, his head falling to the crook in your neck and your hands stroking the hair at the base of his neck as you clenched around him again, finally pulling the desire out of him. He came noisily, even with his face buried in you, moaning so delightfully you knew the sound would be your new distraction for the next three weeks.

When he finally regained his composure, he let his hands drop from your waist, his head rolled back on the couch, and you fell with him, wrapping yourself around him as if you never wanted this coupling to end. You stayed there, head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and drifted to sleep.

You awoke an hour later, but there was no sign of the Professor. He’d cleaned you up somehow, because there was no unpleasant feeling between your legs, and he’d wrapped a blanket around you as you slept, making sure you were comfortable. Collecting your things and making to leave, you almost convinced yourself that it had all been another fantasy, and that you were becoming seriously delusional about the man. As you approached the door, however, you spotted a small note taped to the handle, and quickly pulled it into your hands.

Miss Y/N,

Thank you for visiting me today. I hope you decide to stay in the class, I certainly could learn a thing or two from you.

- Spencer Reid.

P.S. You’re lucky I’m an MIT Graduate with a job in the FBI. There’s a security camera in my office.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #professor spencer reid

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