#fic: mine

[beelmons]

Luxury Poker Nights pt. 2

Pairing: Hotch, Reid, Morgan x fem!reader Rating: Explicit, smut (18+, minors do not interact with this story) Word count: 5,806 cw: unprotected sex (do not recommend), sex-servant kink, voyeurism, multiple partners, non-vegan food options, slight degradation, free use kink Summary: It's Aaron's turn to host the poker night, and he figured it would be a great move to invite the entertainment they all fervently enjoyed last time: you. A/N: This was so highly requested I hope it lives up to expectations. Prompted by an original blurb found here Tag list: @illumi3 @ash-recs @canyonmooncreations @howabouticallyou @unlikelyqueenninja @kay-moranguinho and my always honorary mentions: @ihavemanyhusbands @cassiemartzz

Meeting Aaron Hotchner was nothing short of an absolute pleasure. Gentle, kind, considerate, funny when he finally got rid of the stoic boss facade, everything you would love in a partner whether casual or serious. All these reasons played a role in deciding to partake on a very specific contract: to serve as his servant, sexually speaking. 

"Hey," Aaron greeted you before leaning in to press a friendly kiss to your cheek. 

"Hey, Mr. Hotchner." you replied. 

His head tilted and eyebrows raised with playful offense "I've told you, if you don't want to call me Aaron, at least go with Hotch." 

Every so often he would call you in, mostly to a very beautiful house owned by a man you knew as Rossi, and you'd come for the sole purpose to act out your role. To serve and please them. 

This time, however, he was hosting in his own apartment. It was the classic bachelor pad, the adult version, barely decorated but tidy and resourceful. You had been in there only once, but you had memorized the area pretty well. He also looked especially handsome, navy blue polo shirt and denim black pants with casual sneakers, you could notice his toned biceps in that outfit. 

"What are my instructions for today?" you asked as you got in, taking a look around to remember the layout. 

"The usual. Although, I might ask you to take charge of the kitchen for a little bit. Bring snacks, beverages, nothing too complicated. Oh, and…” he began to say, reaching for a bag that was laying by the entrance “this.” 

From it, he pulled out what seemed like a traditional maid apron. You could tell he had it tailored for your body, and that the lace around it seemed to be fine, not the cheap ones costume stores had. You reached for it and pulled it from the strings you were supposed to tie, you hovered it over your body to catch a preview of what it would look like, the man had a good eye, it sure made you feel hot. 

“Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can ditch it.” he tried to reassure you, seeing how you kept admiring the piece. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Hotchner. But a maid outfit? I thought you preferred me in the bare.” you teased. 

“Don’t worry, we still get plenty of access to the parts of you we love the most, being that the apron is the only garment of the costume you will actually wear.” his hands slipped in his pockets, his face lighting up with a smug smile “You can change in the bathroom, the guys should be here soon.” 

You made your way to the mentioned room to obey your first order of the night. Aaron waited patiently in the kitchen, putting together a couple more things so that the serving part of your job would be easier. Nonetheless, a knock on the door distracted him from his duty. He hurried to open, immediately being greeted by Morgan and Reid. 

“Hey, where’s Dave?” he asked, noticing a missing member. 

“He said he’s got something to do but he’ll catch us—” Morgan’s eyes fixed on something behind Hotch, and his train of thought completely disappeared “—later.” 

The boss turned around when he noticed Spencer’s perplexed eyes, similar to Morgan’s, and he smiled to himself as he turned around to watch you already in your ‘uniform’, to call it some way. The apron was comfortably secured around your waist, the length of it barely covering your front to the middle of your thighs, your back absolutely exposed, being that the fabric of the apron was only on the forepart, your upper body out in the open, with your nipples already perked from the cold air conditioning hitting them. And to them, you were the most beautiful of monuments. 

“What’s your safe word?” Aaron asked, his eyes immediately scanning your body.

“Cacao.” you said confidently, your head nodding in reassurance. 

Aaron looked back at Spencer and Morgan, making sure they caught what you had said. They both shook their heads in agreement, and so he locked the door behind them “Let’s begin poker night, then.” he ordered. 

“I’ll get some drinks for you guys.” you said, and you were about to move to the kitchen when Hotch’s voice stopped you. 

“I believe I haven’t given you permission to speak.” he emitted in a commanding voice. 

You understood his words for what they were: a warning. He had been clear enough, when you were there to work, you had to be diligent. Always keep yourself busy, available, and quiet, those were the rules you had signed up for. Your hands folded on your lap and you bowed your head slightly in response. 

Once they were out of your sight, you headed to the kitchen. You gathered a couple of snacks that Mr. Hotchner had prepared; some peanuts, pretzels, and cut up fruit, added with three open beers. He had let a tray out for you as well, possibly with the intention of making everything easier. By the time you got to the table and began to spread the food and beverages around they had already dealt the cards. 

You settled the empty tray on the side on a random surface, and Mr. Hotchner spread one arm in your direction indicating you that he wanted you to join his side; you did as he desired and his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to sit on his leg. As if ritualistic, the hand that was closer to his body was grabbed and brought to his lips, a gentle kiss landed on the back of it, and then he guided it to his member, that at some point he had already exposed. It was an instinct, you already knew what to do. Your hand began to slowly massage the barely hard shaft, and you could hear him exhale particularly hard at the sensation. 

“Rules will change for tonight. You can’t bet ‘All in’ unless you have at least fifteen chips, and you can’t bet two rounds in a row.” Aaron began to say. 

“Isn’t 15 a bit expensive?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed with doubt. 

“Not at all, given that an ‘all in’ winner also gets 10 minutes to command our servant as they please.” his hand dragged upwards, purposely taking his time to brush your skin with his fingertips, nipple included, until they landed on your chin, tilting your face to have you look in the direction of the other two men “And you could agree, she’s worth the risk.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the way they hungrily stared at you, but they didn’t say anything further, both Morgan and Reid simply went back to looking at their cards. 

The game began and you hadn’t been given permission to move, you had to remain on Mr. Hotchner’s leg, caressing his member. He seemed unbothered by your steady movement, but you could feel him throb every so often, and it would fill you with cocky pride. That was another rule: you weren’t allowed to go rogue, they came when they wanted to, not when you caused them to. If you acted too smart and tried to make them climax before they wanted to, you were sidelined, given the silent treatment. That was more punishment than doing anything else to you, because chances were you were going to enjoy whatever else. 

You would steal a glance at random times to notice his tip swollen and reddened, even when he tried to keep composure, and continued to play his hands normally, you had learned the little twitches his dick made whenever he was getting close. His head turned to place a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, giving you permission to keep going. Your hand trailed down to give his balls a gentle squeeze, which caused a loud groan to come out of his throat, and after a couple more fast strokes he began to spill his seed. 

Mr. Hotchner had been clear that he did not like messes; his entire member was coated in his semen, and some had spilled over his pants as well. You reached for one of the pockets the apron had sown on to find a handkerchief that you recognized as his, in seconds, you were on your knees, you wiped clean the fabric of his pants, his shaft, on the other hand, didn’t require the cloth, you grabbed at the base and licked a strip up, repeating the same movement until he was clean, and hard yet again. 

“All in.” Morgan’s voice snapped everyone’s attention, and since you hadn’t been given indication to do otherwise, your mouth kept working Aaron’s dick.

“Already? You’ve only won one round.” Spencer asked, his math not quite adding up. 

“I’ve got enough.” he clarified. 

“You got exactly 15, though, if you lose this, you don’t get any more.” Hotch looked in his direction.

Morgan’s head tilted slightly to the side, catching sight of your still bobbing head. He smiled as a response to his boss’s explanation, pushing the chips forward to the center of the table. 

“She’s worth the risk.” he said, a wink sent to Spencer. You couldn’t help but blush at his words, even if you weren’t able to stop your current activity unless indicated. 

The other two men exchanged looks, if they didn’t raise, they would still lose, perhaps that was part of Morgan’s scheme, but they weren’t about to just give you up by default. They pushed the corresponding chips to the pool in the center, and Reid was the first one to open his cards. Full house, nines over jacks. Hotch was in a slump, two pairs, queens and kings. 

“Full house.” Morgan said before he opened his cards, and Spencer’s attention was specially perked “Aces over sevens.” he finally said. 

Spencer let out a soft curse under his breath as Morgan laughed in pride, he was certainly rejoicing on having made that play. You received a light tap on your shoulder that indicated you it was time to move masters, and so you stood up and directed to stand next to Derek. 

“Actually, sweetheart, I will need you in the kitchen for a bit.” he said, his hand nonetheless landing on the skin of your rear, gently squeezing it “Peanuts and pretzels are a bit hard on my stomach, do you think you could make me a quick sandwich?” he asked ever so chivalrously.  

“Anything in particular you would like?” you asked, taking his question as permission to speak. 

“Some ham and bacon would be excellent, thank you.” with a soft slap of your ass he sent you your merry way. 

Kitchen duty was on the original arrangement, although you didn’t quite picture yourself making sandwiches, Derek’s smile was so charming you would learn gourmet cuisine just to please him. 

You gathered the required stuff, bread, some mayonnaise, and the ham and bacon. Being that you were topless, using a pan was out of the question, so you used the tray on the small electric oven that was next to the stove to cook the pork strips. You were too entranced by the silly way in which the meat shrunk to notice that Derek had walked into the kitchen, only becoming aware of his presence when he leaned next to you against the counter. 

“You make a great maid.” he pointed out, and you bolted up a little from the surprise. His hand instinctively reached for your waist, trying to keep you from falling back “Easy, you might hurt yourself.” 

Even when he made sure your feet were steady, he didn’t remove his hand from where it was, in fact, he simply took a couple of steps closer. 

“I enjoy servicing.” you said, eyes traveling south. You could see his cock already hanging out from his zipper, and you tried to reach for it in an attempt to caress it. His free hand, however, stopped you. 

“I can see that. You also take initiative, that’s impressive.” he began, his hand bringing yours up to press a kiss to it in a similar way Hotch used to do, but instead of allowing it to stroke his member, he directed it to the kitchen utensils you had laid out “But I believe for things to be done right they have to be done with the utmost concentration, so why don’t we focus on that sandwich, huh?” 

You pouted a little and he let out a light chuckle at your disappointment. You went back to the task at hand, getting a dull butter knife to begin spreading the mayonnaise around the slice. You felt the warmth of his touch leave your waist, and you were about to complain yet again until you felt one of his fingers sneak between your legs and trail up your slit. 

You shuddered and your legs instinctively closed. He tsk’ed his tongue in disapproval, and you understood to return them to their original position. Derek wasted no time, the two fingers in the middle of his hand slipping into your cunt. He was fixated on your face, absorbing every expression as you melted due to his digits, your hands gripping on the surface, leaving the sandwich unattended. 

“I haven’t told you to stop working, have I?” he whispered commandingly. 

His fingers began to curl upwards inside of you as they continued to move inside and out, getting coated with your juices. You tried your best to keep yourself still, your hand shakily reaching for the rest of the ingredients. He didn’t stop his movements even when you dropped the knife on the counter from the way he hit the back of your cunt.

“Careful.” he warned at the clinking sound, you peeked over your shoulder while you grabbed the utensil and out of the corner of your eye you could notice his hand moving over his now hardened cock “Come on, beautiful, keep going.” 

You shook your head a little in an attempt to clear it, even when his relentless fingers weren’t giving you the opportunity. You finally managed to pay attention and began to assemble the deli meats. You barely noticed when he moved behind you until you felt his tip rub against your entrance. 

His hands ran over your front as he pushed inside of you, slowly, and they landed on your breasts. A pleasure mewl slipped past your mouth, but you cut it short. 

“Come on, now, I’m not Hotch.” he complained while he gave you the chance to adjust to his member “You don’t gotta have my permission to talk, let that voice out.” 

His hips snapped rather roughly against yours, a loud slapping sound echoing around the kitchen; it caused a loud moan from you, one that you were sure could be heard from the other room. “That’s a good girl.” he praised. 

His initial rhythm wasn’t slow, after all he was in a hurry. It made assembling the sandwich all much more difficult, you struggled to open the door of the electric oven, almost getting burned thanks to the way his cock so deeply pushed inside you, all while your throat was unable to keep quiet, intermittent noises unsteady from his thrusts. 

One of his hands slipped down and in between your legs, the tip of his middle finger rubbed at your clit with a gentle speed, almost unmatching to his hips. You sensed him look over your shoulder to check up on the status of his food, and your hand trembled as you set the bacon down to finish it up. He laughed with pleasure, and his fingers dipped on the skin around your hips. 

“Can you take it, baby?” you could feel his thick member erratically twitching inside of you as he asked, and you nodded your head fervently “Of course you can.” he reassured. 

He snapped a couple more times, rough enough to make you lose your balance and press up against the counter, before you heard him grunt and felt your cunt being filled with his spill. The sensation of his cock pushing your walls sent you over the edge, and you began to drip with your release, a loud moan accompanying the blissful sensation. He pulled out with ease, not waiting for you to come out of your high, and stepped away to grab the meal you had prepared. 

“Thank you, beautiful, looks delicious.” he winked at you with his signature charming smile before he began walking out of the kitchen “Oh, and pretty boy said he wanted some iced tea, be a doll and bring it after you’re done cleaning up, thanks.” 

Without further word, he vanished from your sight. You had to take a second to catch your breath, desperate for a bit more friction. You considered touching yourself, but if Mr. Hotchner were to catch you, you wouldn’t be able to come again all night, he would make sure of it. 

You could feel Derek’s cum beginning to drip, but the cleanliness of the kitchen was a priority. You abided by the task that you had been handed, after a couple of minutes of cleaning up, since you hadn’t made a big mess, you prepared the beverage for Dr. Reid and headed back to the area. You settled the glass of iced tea next to the man that had requested it. 

“All in.” as soon as you stood next to him, you heard the youngest of the group exclaim, he then muttered a casual ‘thank you’ at the gesture of having his drink brought over. 

Hotch and Morgan exchanged playful glances. They knew he was rushing, his decision possibly prompted by the fact that your breasts were so close to his face; they noticed the bobbing of his adam’s apple, and Aaron had paid attention to how he palmed his bulge while he heard you get taken in the kitchen. Logic just flew out of the window when you were around, and his coworkers adored seeing that side of him. 

“You got me.” Morgan said as he folded his cards, and Reid cockily took a sip off his drink.  

“I’ll play.” Hotch mentioned before adding his chips to the pool. 

“Two pairs. Kings and Queens.” Spencer opened his hand. 

On his part, Hotch could simply scoff while he threw his cards on the table. “Jacks and Queens.” he said with pretend defeat. 

The blond man boasted with his expression in pure pride. He didn’t use to be the kind to order you around, unlike the other two who had gotten very comfortable, and preferred you took the initiative during game sessions. 

This time, nonetheless, he looked quite eager to take control. Once he noticed you looking at him expectantly, waiting patiently for your command. He narrowed his eyes, ever inexperienced, trying to come up with something, or rather trying to find the right way to ask. 

“Could you…” he stopped to try and analyze his next words “Could you bend over?” he motioned towards the table. 

It took your entire strength to not laugh, you weren’t making fun of him, he was just ridiculously adorable, and it made hard contrast with the whole situation in the first place and his actual sexual interests. You obeyed, not wanting to make him self-conscious, moving Derek’s plate out of the way elegantly before resting your entire body face-down against the piece of furniture. 

You let out a quiet whimper from the contrast in temperature; your ass was left up and exposed in his direction. He finally stood up, and you looked back to peek at what he was up to, his hips had lined up with yours, his member was still clothed, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing at your asscheeks and pressing his bulge against your dripping cunt. 

“Why don’t we change the game?” his eyes were glued on your skin wrinkling up with every push, but he kept talking to his coworkers “How about blackjack? Hotch can play house” he proposed. 

“Reid, it’s literally illegal for you to play blackjack in two states.” Hotch pointed out. 

“That’s true. You have an unfair advantage.” Morgan added. 

“Card counting can only be done with extreme concentration and observation of the cards being dealt.” his eyes didn’t leave your body, his palm gently massaging your skin as he kept rubbing himself on you “And I happen to be too busy to pay enough attention.” 

“Alright, but blackjack is a fast game. The player needs to win at least three rounds to claim their prize. Draws don’t count towards the winning number.” Aaron clarified.

The rest of the players nodded in agreement. Mr. Hotchner was the dealer, since he was playing the role of ‘the house’, and he began assigning the first round of cards. Before he got to Reid, though, he noticed there was no space on the table, your body occupying most of it, and so he resolved he would just put it over your naked back. 

You gulped in surprise and your body seemed to get hotter, you surely weren’t expected to be used this way; your nipples brushed against the surface of the table, and Reid noticed how you pushed back against him slightly. 

The doctor pulled away, satisfied for the time being with the friction that he had gotten, and realized there were a couple of white-ish stains. 

“Come on, Morgan!” he exclaimed once he noticed it was semen “Can’t you clean up after yourself?” 

Derek could only break into a laugh, and you noticed a small smirk on Aaron’s face as well. 

“Sorry, kid.” he simply said, waiting for Hotch to open his second card. 

Reid made an unamused expression and crouched down to observe the situation. You still had some drip down your thigh, and your slit still had some traces of Morgan’s release. 

“I’ll help you out, but I need you to do something for me.” he said, palming at your ass to let you know he was talking to you; you hummed, replying that you were listening intently “I won’t be able to use my mouth, so if I suck, it means hit, if I insert, it means stay” 

You furrowed your brows with confusion, but he didn’t give you much time to understand. You felt his tongue trail up your inner thigh, taking the liquid that had spilled over it with it, and shortly the muscle pressed against your slit, taking a lap at your entire sex.

Your hands gripped at the side edges of the square table, on your right side Derek Morgan was looking intently at his cards, on your left Aaron Hotchner was paying close attention to the youngest’s movements. He snapped back to the game once your pleased noises started flowing, his hand darting out to land on top of yours and rub at the back of it slightly. Aaron dealt the second round of cards and Reid’s landed on your back once again. 

“14.” the older man said. 

A little distracted by the way his tongue teased your labia, you didn’t pay attention to the words the dealer had said until you felt Spencer’s lips wrap around your clit and intensely suck the air in. The sensation, which was foreign, made your legs go weak; the man pressed his face against your rear to keep you up, and it only made the interaction so much hotter. 

“Hit me!” you exclaimed in between moans. 

“8. Adds to 22.” Hotch said calmly. 

Reid grumbled against your cunt, his tongue going back to your entrance instead, superficially licking, taking his time to taste everything around it. 

Morgan was busted as well, which meant the house took the round. Spencer kept a steady and slow pace; you felt the cards being removed from your back and, almost immediately, a new one was added. 

“20.” Hotch said again. 

The youngster’s hands had been placed against the outer sides of your thighs in the meantime, however once he heard the number they traveled up. He pulled away and you slightly whined at the lack of contact, his thumbs spread the outer part of your pussy open and his tongue immediately slipped inside your entrance. 

“Stay.” you struggled to let out, only coming out as a shaky breath. 

Hotch opened a couple more cards, Derek was busted again, so there was a chance for Reid’s win. 

“21 for the house, house wins.” Aaron exclaimed. 

Your head defeatedly laid against the wooden table, the man buried in your rear could feel your walls clenching and your hips slightly moving to grind against yours. Your shaky breaths didn’t only alert him that your second orgasm of the night was coming, the other two men could also tell. 

“Reid, your time with her is almost up.” Aaron pointed out after taking a look at his watch. 

Spencer pulled away once again, to your discomfort, and narrowed his eyes pretending to think.

“I’ll tell you what, win this round and I’ll let you orgasm.” Reid proposed to you. 

You trembled a little with anticipation, feeling your orgasm edging on. Instead of allowing his tongue back on you, he simply pressed open-mouthed kisses to your labia, making sure he wouldn’t touch any sensitive areas. 

Aaron dealt another round of cards over your back, not even paying attention to your begging face. 

“16.” he notified you since your eyes were tightly shut with irritation from being so close yet unable to release. 

“Hit me.” you commanded, still feeling Reid’s wet lips kissing your sides. 

“3. Adds to 19.” He clarified as he threw another card against your back. 

“Hit me.” you said once again.

Aaron and Spencer exchanged looks, it was a very risky move, statistically heavily improbable.

Hotch opened the new card against your back, and he let out a pleased chuckle. “2. Adds to twenty one.” 

Reid laughed with incredulity, but he was a man of his word. His lips clasped your sensitive nub once again, and he sucked the air in as his tongue moved rapidly from side to side. A high-pitched moan at his movements, and you couldn’t help but to release your juices over his face. You could hear an erotic slurping sound from the back, he was abiding by his promise of keeping you clean. 

“Well played!” he beamed at you and cleared the cards from your back “That was a very unlikely pull, I’m surprised you made it.” 

“Certainly.” Hotch reassured as he dealt the next round of cards.

Reid had sat back down on his chair, and as the pieces of carton landed on you, you decided to stay put on the table. Spencer’s eyes would travel from his cards to your ass from time to time, almost as if he was pondering his next move after he won. 

However, he wouldn’t be as lucky, and neither would Derek, since the next round was won by the house, which meant Hotch was back in control. You were about to stand back up and his hand laid on your bare back, stopping your movement,

“Actually, honey, why don’t you remain there for a little bit more?” he commanded and you obediently remained “Reid, move.” he said standing up.

The younger furrowed his brows with unintentional defiance “But this is my seat…” he quietly complained. 

“You can have your seat back once I’m done with her.” Hotch said, his tone was as imposing, but you could tell he was a little more gentle. You didn’t know the exact nature of their relationship, but you had figured Spencer was a soft spot for him. 

He finally obeyed and stood up and away from the chair, leaving enough space for Hotch to stand behind you. You could immediately feel the tip of his member prodding at your entrance, after what Reid had done to you, you certainly didn’t need any more preparation. You were overstimulated as it was, but his cock was always welcome, and he could tell by the way you were clenching around nothing simply by having him so close. 

He smirked to himself at the feeling and immediately allowed himself inside of you. You grunted with pleasure as you felt him enter, your fingers, tired from gripping on the sides of the table, beginning to curl around in the air. 

“Here, you can grab onto this.” the ever so chivalrous Derek Morgan reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, giving you a soft area for you to squeeze trying to not lose control. 

Mr. Hotchner wasn’t going to pretend being gentle, his thrusts picking up speed as soon as you had gotten used to his size. He moved his shirt slightly aside, enjoying every second of watching himself disappear between your contracting walls. He let out a soft groan in pleasure, and you could tell he was beginning to lose himself in you. His hand gripped at your buttock, squeezing roughly to help him move your hips back and forth. 

The other two participants didn’t seem to move a finger, they could only stare, with pleased expressions on their face, at the way tears began to prickle on the corner of your eyes. Reid reached to land a hand on top of your head soothingly, and his kindness was always appreciated. 

Your obnoxious sounds were a delight to the three of them, therefore they dreaded the tune of a ringing phone interrupting the melody they adored. Hotch reached for the gadget within his pocket, furrowing his brows at the caller ID. 

“Yeah, JJ?” he said and made a ‘shushing’ sign to Spencer and Derek. 

Reid gently moved his hand from your head to your mouth, initially he was simply going to cover it with his palm, but an impulsive thought beat him to it: his index and middle finger slipped inside your mouth and pressed against your tongue. 

“Suck.” he ordered in a whisper “It will help you keep quiet.” 

You obeyed the doctor’s order, however, focusing on coating his digits in your saliva; your sounds were kept muffled in your throat, but they escaped your lips from time to time, since Aaron was not giving you a second of rest. 

“Can’t it wait? I see. It’s fine, Reid and Morgan are with me, call Dave, we’ll meet you there in 15.” Hotch continued instructing. He was doing his best to appear unbothered, and he was purposely hitting deeper each time, almost making it a challenge for you to keep your sounds down. 

“A case?” Morgan inquired as soon as his superior got off the phone. 

“And urgent.” he put the device away once again and leaned slightly over you. His fingers glued themselves to your clit, circling it slowly, he was trying to, most likely, rush your orgasm. The pleasure it brought to you was a little painful, being that it had been the part of your body that had received the most attention during the night. You whined at the sensation, and Reid had to slide his fingers further back to keep you from screaming. 

“You know, Hotch, there’s a question that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.” Spencer suddenly emitted, and Aaron looked curiously in his direction, prompting him to inquire “Are you really paying her?” 

The question caused Hotch to chuckle slightly “No, it’s more like an arrangement.” he confessed, still focused on pounding your cunt. 

“Then what does she get out of it?” his eyes narrowed as he observed you, fucked out of your mind, swallow your cheeks around his fingers. 

“She gets to come,” he clarified “as many times as she can take.” 

As he spoke, his hand raised to land a loud, yet not utterly strong, slap on your ass; he did that sometimes when he allowed you to release. His hips snapped one final time, pressing all the way in to spill his cum inside of you. Your third orgasm of the night was divine, your teeth slightly gritting against Reid’s skin. 

You laid there, absolutely exhausted, for a couple of minutes as they gathered their things and fixed up their clothes. Once you had recovered your energy enough to stand up, you felt your knees betraying you almost immediately. Morgan bolted from his nearby spot to offer his body as support, his arm surrounding your middle. 

“You alright?” he asked with concern and you nodded. 

“Here.” Spencer came closer with a wet wipe that he handed to you. 

“I’m sorry we can’t see you off, but this is urgent.” Hotch came out of a random room with a briefcase on his hand and his pristine suit already on “Rest as much as you want and help yourself to anything in the kitchen, just make sure to lock the door when you leave.” 

Without saying any further he leaned closer to you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. He muttered a ‘let’s go’ directed to his subordinates and almost dashed outside the apartment. Morgan simply took a quick peck at the side of your head and told you to ‘take care’. Spencer stood there awkwardly for a second; you could see in his eyes that he was trying to do something, anything, but he couldn’t find the right gesture. Unable to take it much longer, you curled your hand into a fist and offered it in his direction. He bumped it with a fist of his own, and both of you laughed with a bit of embarrassment.

“Listen,” you said before he could move away, slightly entranced by his hazel eyes “the arrangement I have with Mr. Hotchner…” you diverted your gaze, suddenly slightly embarrassed “...it’s not exclusive.” you finally said. 

Spencer’s eyes opened and eyebrows raised in surprise, were you insinuating what he thought you were? His mouth opened and closed in search for an answer, but he struggled to make sense of anything, too scared to diffuse the interest you had shown in him. 

“You don’t have to agree right now,” you reached behind you, to the side table that had the landline phone on it, to grab a pad and a pen and immediately wrote down your number “if you want to explore a contract of your own, give me a call.” you said with a smile handing the paper over to him. 

“I will!” he said with almost too much excitement. 

“Reid!” Morgan yelled from the corridor. 

Spencer let out a quick curse and wrinkled his face with frustration “I’ll call you.” he said before he left in a rush. 

You giggled a little with teenage-like excitement, a feeling that you hadn’t experienced since you first started your dynamic with Mr. Hotchner. New guy, new conditions, new games. Perhaps poker is not the only way to have fun. 

#the worst part of posting ANYTHING is literally tagging #ugh i hate this part but ok lets go #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotcher x reader smut #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x you smut #fic: mine #fic: smut #hotch #fic: hotchner #fic: morgan #fic: spencer #aaron hotchner/reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x you smut #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x reader smut #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x you smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #aaron hotchner fic

[elementalkit]

the brother who lived — the black brothers, #wolfstar 6k.

Seventeen years after Regulus's death, Sirius lives. Bellatrix's Killing Curse rebounds during the battle at the Ministry of Magic and now Sirius must confront the ghosts of the past, as well as the lightning bolt scar on his chest.

› tags: mcd (regulus), sirius black lives, angst and feels

› link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53587978

#the marauders #the black brothers #regulus black #sirius black #wolfstar #jegulus #harry potter #fic: mine #fix it fic

[redbelles]

It’s been three years since the wedding, and he’s run out of excuses not to visit. They’re expecting him today. Marge said as much in her last letter, the lovely slant of her cursive telling him she’d have supper waiting for him. The faintest whiff of her perfume clung to the paper, something soft and floral.

Five o’clock on the dot. Italian, she promised. Your favorite.

the chimneys hardly ever fall down a john/gale/marge fic by @redbelles

#masters of the air #mota fic #mota #clegan #buck x bucky #buck x marge #bucky x buck x marge #ot3 #userfrench #fic: mine #buck has two hands! #bi people exist! #anyway!!!!!!!

[volturialice]

Hi! I messaged you about the mini book exchange back in May, and here are the photos of your fic! I don't think the person who did the binding is on tumblr.

Here's a link for the typeset as a readable pdf: https://drive(.)google(.)com/file/d/104w0GrSHdZS2yaSyThGp-hwZZutciu0Y/view?usp=drive_link

and here's one that's formatted for printing (page 1-7 are the front side of each page, 8-14 are the back side of each page): https://drive(.)google(.)com/file/d/1YHuhFndvvynPhKvuUqr6qNMaiD0R9H7H/view?usp=drive_link

Thanks again for letting me typeset your work for the exchange!

me looking at this typeset + binding of my fic

Ahhhh thank you so much!! The typeset is INCREDIBLE—those folio-esque motifs everywhere completely floored me. like. exceeding my wildest dreams over here?? the flawless elizabethan vibes it looks SO legit I feel like I just plucked it off Ye Olde Early Modern Printing Press 😍😍😍

and in a totally-not-coincidence, the person who ended up doing the binding is actually a friend who sent me my own physical copy!! do I even need to tell you it has skyrocketed to the top of the list of things I would run back into my burning house to save from a fire

#asks #tragedie #EVERYONE LOOK AT IT EVERYONE LOOOOOOOOOKK #fic: mine #fanbinding

[khaothanawat]

bad buddy fic everything you thought your life would be

(3k, teen+, post-canon, fluff, drunk texting)

He’d stripped the second he’d walked in their door and beelined directly for the shower, then barely toweled off before heading straight to the bed, to Pran. To where he’d assumed Pran would be, warm and soft and waiting for him. If Pran were here right now, he’d be tugging Pat up, turning him around until Pat’s head was pressed into the cotton of his t-shirt, rather than the perfectly ironed sheets. Pran would shove his nose into Pat’s wet hair and mumble about Pat being a nuisance, about how annoying it was to sleep next to a giant wet man. Pat would pout into Pran’s chest and say ‘I showered for my boyfriend’ and Pran would just hum, his arms tucked even more closely around Pat’s shoulder, and he’d smile a little harder into Pat’s hair.  Really, Pat thinks, the fact that none of this has happened to him is the greatest injustice he could ever dare to dream of. Pat comes home to a suspiciously empty bed.

ao3

#bad buddy #bad buddy fic #bad buddy the series #bad buddy fanfic #patpran #pat x pran #show: bad buddy #fic: mine #fic: bbs #ship: bbs: pat x pran #it turns out when I have to write bb fic on the spot I will simply default to writing pat being a deranged simp #i barely proofread this honestly it's just 3k of romantic nonsense

[vinca-majors]

after the storm | chapter 11

#THE END!!!!!! 🤍🤍🤍 #thank you all for joining me on this 2 year odyssey #i love this story and i gotta say i'm so glad this is over #don john x hero #hero x don john #much ado about nothing #much ado about nothing 1993 #keanu reeves #kate beckinsale #brian blessed #william shakespeare #shakespeare #kenneth branagh #hero #don john #edit: mine #writing: mine #fic: mine #fanfic #you might be wondering about my illustrative choices here (olive trees instead of seaside? why oranges but no kids?) but the fact is #i made this 16!!! months ago and the coloring was such a pain that i still have ptsd and i am just not!! going to remake it!!!

[n3cr0p0l1s]

i have been right all along

i've got a secret, you won't believe it

well i got this feeling, that i was put here for you

dabi x reader

summary: another night you can’t sleep. you get out of bed, frustrated, deciding to at least be a productive insomniac, but destiny has other plans. 

wc: 2.8k

warnings: gn reader, dabi threatens reader once, mentions of blood/injury, drug use (weed), typical dabi/reader scenario, very heavy theme of destiny/fate, soulmates implied (kinda) but this is NOT a soulmate au, title is i have been right all along by armor for sleep (author is here to push the emo touya agenda), see end of work for a very ramble-y author’s note

you glare at the ceiling. you’ve tried all the typical techniques, yet sleep evades you for another night. no matter the number of sheep you count (hundreds, thousands) sleep does not greet you. the popcorn of your ceiling seems to glare back. frustrated, you rise from bed and slip on your sweater, figuring you may as well be productive at—you tap your phone screen—1:56am. ugh.

it’s as you shuffle down the hallway that you hear it—a quiet, repetitive thud.

the building you live in is old, and you’re more than familiar with its strange creaks and groans, but this is not the thump or hum of an old building. you still instantly—the sound is too close to be from somewhere deep within the building. you refuse to let that thought, the chill it shoots up your spine, to take hold of you. taking a deep breathe to steel your nerves, you move to the end of the hallway.

from what you can make out in the darkness everything is as you left it only a few hours ago—fuzzy blanket still crumpled in a pile on the couch, dirty coffee mug still on the table. light from the nearly full moon pours in through the glass sliding door that leads to your balcony—it’s small, quaint, but it and the view were the reason you chose this apartment—the peacefulness of moonlight something you would bask in if what was on your balcony didn’t force a sharp gasp past your lips.

the glass of the door, usually covered in nothing more than dust, is smudged and smeared with blood. a trail crimson leading down to the heap of what, you assume, to be a man, with his head leaned back against the glass. had he been hitting his head against the glass? the bloodied stranger does not give you the opportunity to continue that train of thought—his head turns, fixing a piercing blue eye you, his glare sharp. you freeze, mouth agape—if it hailed razor blades, you think, this is what it’d feel like.

your gasp must have been louder than you thought. the man turns his head forward again, staring through the gaps in the balcony’s banister. the man’s voice is low, threatening, as he speaks, “run or scream and i'll torch the entire building.” his hand raises, blue flame coming to life in his palm to underscore his threat.

you don’t actively keep up with current events for the sake of your mental wellbeing. you catch enough of the news to not be ignorant of the world around you, but that flame—you’ve glanced it on the news more than once.

a man, beaten and bloodied, on your balcony at near two in the morning could only ever be trouble, but this man—dabi, you remember the newscaster calling him, the cremation villain—is more than trouble. he’s dangerous, deadly. your anxiety spikes. you can’t leave him there …right? you can’t run or call for help, his threat and reputation make that clear, and trying to defend yourself would only cause you to embarrass yourself in the last moments before he kills you. but—you think—even if he hadn’t threatened you, you wouldn’t want to alert anyone to his presence anyway, to be the catalyst that gets him in tartarus.

you’ve heard enough about the league of villains to learn their purpose, their mission, and can’t say you disagree with them. their choice of actions certainly cross more lines than you can count, but the hypocrisy and deceit inherent to the current hero industry is something you are intimately familiar with—it makes your blood boil.

silence has settled over your home once again, the lack of sound becoming a roaring buzz in your ears. the man—dabi, you remind yourself again—still stares ahead, paying you no mind. with a quiet determination, and the little courage you can muster, you insert yourself into the course of his night. “are you… do you…” dabi’s head turns lazily to you, turned enough this time that both his eye are on you—they rove up and down your figure, taking you in.

dabi can sense your fear, it rolls off you in droves, your anxious heartbeat palpable (or—is that his?). he can’t gauge the extent of his blood loss, hasn’t been able to with how woozy it’s made him. the darkness beginning to creep in at the edges of his vision is enough to tell him it’s far from good.

it’s obvious you’re putting significant effort into hiding your fear, all but shaking in your pajamas and house slippers, dabi wants to laugh, mock you for trying to hard, but a steadfastness in your eyes stops him. his gaze lingers there—something within him tumbling into place the longer he stays fixed on you—he hopes you’re too frightened to notice. s’just the blood loss, he thinks, doesn’t matter.

you clear your throat to break dabi out of the trance he’d slipped into. the eye contact is stifling, too much for your nerves to handle right now and it feels like you can’t fucking breathe. “if you–i can… help you, if you want…”, the air still in your lungs rushes out as your stint of bravery wanes. for a moment you think the skin around his eyes crinkles in amusement at your terror, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared—a trick of the moonlight.

“ya sure that’s a good idea, sweetheart?” he sneers, “i get the feeling you know who i am.” his head thuds against the glass again as a shock of pain seems to run through him. your body jerks towards the door to help him, moving before your brain catches up, only just stopping within arm’s reach of the door. “no-yes, kind of? but i really would rather you not bleed out on my balcony?” your tone raises up in question, unsure. dabi seems to find the uncertainty at your own words amusing—he barks a laugh before taking a sharp inhale and clutching both arms around his torso, curling in on himself in pain. you move again, hand making contact with the door handle. slowly you unlock the door, waiting to see if dabi registers the click of the lock.

he’d give you another warning before he made good on his threat, right? your intuition is telling you he won’t hurt you—there’s zero fucking logic to it, this gut feeling, but it has hold of you and it won’t let you go.

the sound of the door sliding open pulls dabi’s attention back to you. with the glass no longer separating you, you can hear how ragged his breathing is, see the pallor to his unburned skin—not good. he looks seconds from keeling over and you really don’t want him, or anyone, dropping dead on your balcony. under even these circumstances you’re dumbstruck by his features—he’s gorgeous.

you crouch down and offer out a hand to help him up. if dabi notices how badly that hand shakes, he does not mention it.

---

getting dabi inside is nothing short of a feat—for someone so lithe he’s heavy (you’re not weak per se—at least, that’s what you’ve always said—however lifting a grown man, nearly dead weight as he leans on you, has you reconsidering your self-assessment). he drops unceremoniously into the dingy, chartreuse eye-sore of an armchair you keep banished to the corner of the living room. (you can already see his blood seeping into it, muddying the old fabric. it’s going to be ruined, already is, and you’re glad, you fucking hate its mocking shade of yellow-green.) under the light you see the extent of his injuries. it that gut feeling showing up again, causing something to twist in your chest that you refuse to name. (you know it—the feeling of not being able to protect friends, loved ones—rage.)

dabi can sense your unease, has sensed it this whole time, and feels the need to break the tension—whether for you or himself, he refuses to think any deeper on it. his head rests on the back of the chair, face towards the ceiling. “comfy chair”, only a mumble, still his voice makes you jump. you stop for only a moment in your assessment of his wounds, seem to relax some. you huff a small laugh, “i fucking hate the thing.”

---

dabi is compliant in your helping him. you remove his coat and shirt, his torso having the worst injuries, with only a slight shake to your hands. you’re confused by the large gashes that trail into fresh burns—a moment later you realize he must have cauterized them to slow the bleeding (another something you will not name sinks in your gut—sorrow). periodically you ask if what you’re doing hurts. he only huffs, “nah, sweetheart. ‘s fine.” you glance up and see the his lips pulled up in an almost smile (the crinkle around his eyes is back—it wasn’t a trick of the moonlight).

having dealt with the worst of dabi’s injuries you sit back to asses your work—definitely not the best, you think, but his breathing is no longer ragged and a bit of color has returned to him. his head rests on the back of the chair again, eyes closed. you take the opportunity to really look at him—the contrast of healthy and burned skin mesmerizes you. (you don’t understand the suddenly craving to touch that comes over you—to graze your fingertips along his staples, to acquaint yourself with the patchwork of his body).

dabi peeks his eyes open, watching as your gaze travels down the expanse of his exposed skin. so lost to your thoughts you do not see him move until he’s invaded your personal space. you startle, sucking in a harsh breath and jerking away from him. “didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart”, his voice is quiet, sheepish. then, with a gentleness you’d think a villain incapable of, his hand grips your forearm and strokes his thumb back and forth along the skin—an apology you realize. your brain sluggish as the earlier adrenaline wears off, you look at his hand, blinking dumbly as the last few seconds process. you mutter a “’s okay” and place an unsure hand on top of his. (he’s so warm—how did you not notice earlier?)

dabi pulls his hand away and looks away, missing the way your face falls at the loss of his touch. you clear your throat to grab his attention, “you can, uh, shower if you want.” you refuse to make eye contact before continuing, “your clothes too, i can wash them, if you’re okay with it.” there’s no response, you look up expecting him to be mean, to laugh at you—a silly girl being fooled into safety by a villain, but dabi’s expression is confused rather than smug, “ya sure?” you nod and there is a long pauses as he stares at you, his expression unsure (dabi should spit in your face—burn down your building like he’d threatened hours ago, show you how foolish it is to offer hospitality, kindness, to a man like him. a criminal, a murderer. but dabi is a selfish man above all else, so instead he shoves down down down the feelings you cause to flare within him).

you wait for him to continue, worried you’ve crossed a line. then—the smugness you’d expected before is there, “was expectin’ ya to tell me to get the fuck out”, he laughs, dry and harsh. “surprised you haven’t.” he gestures vaguely to the room, “’specially after bleeding all over the place.” your response matches his in tone, digging your usual personality out from underneath the night’s layers of fear and anxiety, “not the worst it’s seen actually, ‘m kind of a klutz”, you shrug and laugh, the sound twinkling in dabi’s ears (he shoves it down down down). “you ruined that god-awful chair so, thanks, for bleeding all over the place.” you feel woozy when you stand, your body’s weariness making itself known, “um, g-gimme a sec to grab you a towel and stuff… first door on the left is the bathroom”, you point towards the hallway and excuse yourself to grab a towel and clothes for him—an old pair of your sweatpants, a t-shirt you stole from an ex.

---

while dabi showers you pick up the bloody heap of his clothes and throw them in the wash. the remnants of your first aid kit lay scattered around the living room—you’ll pick up the disarray tomorrow, you’re too tired to care right now. moving to the kitchen, you grab the window cleaner from under the sink and glance the time on your stove—3:26am. ugh. you head to the sliding door wanting to at least attempt removing as much blood from the glass as you can. in the dark you’re sure you miss some, but it’s clean enough that a random passerby won’t call to report a blood spattered balcony. you roll your eyes at the thought.

the shower is still running when you walk back inside and beeline to the bookshelf to grab the old cigar box off the bottom shelf. it’s been a fucking long night (christ—still is a long night), you think you deserve a little substance abuse, as a treat. you slip back onto the balcony, placing the box down onto the small patio table and sit in its matching chair. you pull your supplies out of the box and pack a bowl.

it’s been a while and the first hit burns but—god—it’s exactly what you need right now. you close your eyes and listen to the ambient sounds of the at night city. the past few hours replay over and over in your head, unable to move make sense of the gut feeling that has now dug its claws into you—you don’t know how much time passes like that.

the scrape of the door sliding open dredges you from the depths of your thoughts. lazily you look over and see dabi leaning against the wall opposite you, his arms crossed over his bare chest—he’s only wearing your sweatpants. he’s beautiful—ethereal in the moonlight.

you hold out the bowl and lighter to him, his eyes unfocused and staring off into the night, you hum to grab his attention. dabi quirks an eyebrow at you, not moving otherwise. you give a small shrug of your shoulders and he deems that enough of an answer to his unspoken question. he takes the bowl only, not the lighter, from you. and raises it to his lips. he takes a hit by bringing a small flame to life on his fingertip—its the most radiant shade blue you’ve ever seen, more brilliant than the ocean glittering in the sun. you wonder if it’s possible to drown in flames, if they’re as blue as dabi’s.

your mind feels far away from your body and you don’t realize you’re staring until dabi breaks the silence for the second time tonight. you can hear, almost feel, his smirk, “ya good over there, sweetheart?” your eyes flutter as you come back to yourself, “yeah. sorry, ‘m tired.” you look down, bashful at being caught staring. unsure what to say you start fidgeting with your fingers.

dabi hesitates—he wants to apologize for ending up on your balcony out of all the others, for ruining you night and chair (even if you said you fucking hated it). the words are too heavy on the tip of his tongue so instead he sighs and looks out into the night once more, “wasn’t plannin’ to bleed out on your balcony” he pauses and turns to face you again. “but thanks for”, he gestures vaguely to the wounds on his torso “this, ‘s not gonna happen again. but i won’t bleed all over your place if it does, pick some asshole’s balcony to fuck up, promise.”

he’s going to leave, you realize, the villain that bled all over your home is going to walk out of your life just as suddenly as he appeared. you don’t want him to leave—it’s ridiculous, you know—but you choose to trust that damned gut feeling. “your clothes are mid-wash, gotta wait for that unless you plan on wearing my sweatpants to wherever you’re going” you fix him with a pointed glare, “and those are my favorite, i'm not letting them outta my sight.” you force a laugh, hoping it hides the dejection in your voice. dabi rolls his eye at you, the slightest smile gracing his features, “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

(you want to ask how he ended up there on your balcony, with you—why you. something about the night weighs heavy in your chest, the yet unknowable significance and consequences of tonight. whatever cosmic fucking bullshit the universe decided to make manifest on your balcony, you can’t help but feel a little rueful. there’s no logic to these thoughts, you know that, but down to the marrow of your bones you feel it. and you know, cosmic bullshit or awful happenstance, you are fucked.)

note: hello! thank you for taking the time to read, it’s very appreciated ♡ this started as a short thing i couldn’t get out of my head and then turned into a very self-indulgent beast LMAO. after not writing for so long it’s been really enjoyable getting back into it (all it took was a little bit of dabi induced brainrot). i’ve actually become really attached to this, and have bits and pieces i (still) can’t stop thinking about. so there’s a small chance i write more to this? but i’m just going to let it all swirl around in my brain for now. again, thank you so so much for reading!! 

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x you #iadfakdjsnadfkj very nervous to post this #fic: mine

[adraveins]

down comes the claw

Gale is beginning to understand it - why Jewel isn't afraid of what illithid potential holds.

A short thing about Jewel re-writing the rules of the biological determinism game, as any good charlatan would.

#haven't written fic in a hot minute but whew. miss jewel.... <3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #oc: jewel #fic #fic: mine #mine: dnd

[theharrowing]

Mine

Prince Jungkook sets his sights on his father's new favorite concubine, and Jimin shows his prince pleasure beyond anything he has ever felt before.

🌙 Jungkook x Jimin

🌙 word count: 4.3k

🌙 royalty au, strangers to lovers, smut, slash, nsfw, explicit, 18+

🌙 warnings: top jimin, bottom jungkook, use of the word “whore”, hand restraints, first time anal sex, oral sex, possessive behavior.

🌙 note: jungkook's father is not part of the actual fic lmao.

🌙 written for jikook week! the theme is “royalty” and i guess i didn't get enough of sex worker pjm in Baby, so i'm back for more.

🌙 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🌙 posted sept. 2022 | read on ao3

"Who…is that?" Jeongguk mutters as he sits up straighter in his chair and zeroes in on one of the dancers before him.

A beautiful man with dark brown hair and full, pouty lips catches Jeongguk's eye. He wears silk adorned with gems, which flows from his taut, muscular frame, and he dances by with his mouth pulled into a smirk and his eyes set on Jeongguk's father—the king.

"That," Jeongguk's chamberlain says barely above a whisper, "is your father's new favorite. And he is off limits."

Off limits, Jeongguk thinks as the man twirls and his smile brightens the room. We'll see about that.

Jeongguk sits tall on his father's throne while the rest of the court sleeps. He wears a hooded robe made of deep blue velvet, which hangs over his eyes, and he only lifts his head to the sound of bare footsteps entering the chamber and a deep, pretty voice cutting through the silence.

"You wanted to see me, your majest—"

As Jeongguk's gaze lifts, the man's words die in his throat. He appears startled yet intrigued and does not make a move to leave. A light pink silk robe loosely covers him, falling just above his knees, and Jeongguk cannot help but let his eyes wander. 

"What is your name?" Jeongguk asks.

When the man says nothing in response, Jeongguk lowers his hood, lets his dark hair fall over his eyes, and flashes the man a winning smile.

“I am Prince Jeongguk; I mean you no harm. Please, what is your name?"

"J-Jimin," the beautiful man mutters. 

Jeongguk grins as he lets "Jimin" drip from his lips like honey—he likes the sound of it on his tongue. 

"S-sir—" Jimin begins meekly as his eyes fall to the floor. 

"Call me Jeongguk."

Jimin takes a deep breath. "Jeongguk...sir...I am flattered that you have called for me to come see you, but I am afraid the king has instructed me to only come to his calls."

Of course he has, the greedy bastard. 

"I'm afraid I don't give a fuck what my father has instructed," Jeongguk bites back. 

The pretty man flinches as if Jeongguk's words sting and Jeongguk almost feels bad for snapping. But there is a glimmer of something dark and mischievous in Jimin's gaze that tells Jeongguk that, perhaps, his attraction is not merely one-sided—perhaps he likes Jeongguk's rough demeanor.

With the tips of his pretty, slender fingers, Jimin plays with the hem of his pink silk robe. "But sir—"

"Jeongguk."

"Jeongguk," Jimin corrects himself with a smirk, tilting his head to gaze at Jeongguk through his eyelashes. "I mustn't disobey my king."

A deep, sardonic chuckle rocks through Jeongguk's chest as he stands from his father's throne and steps down to ground level. Jimin's eyes widen as Jeongguk approaches—just tall enough to tower over Jimin. 

"Tell me, pretty," Jeongguk groans as he lifts a hand and uses two fingers to tip Jimin’s chin upward, "do you like how the old man touches you?"

Jimin stares up at Jeongguk with his pretty, plump lips parted. Jeongguk flicks his tongue out to lick his bottom lip and watches as Jimin's eyes follow the movement. 

"Do you enjoy my father's body?" Jeongguk continues, and he cannot help but laugh as he adds, "Does his cock still work? Or do you whimper haplessly in his arms and pray for it to be over?"

With a smirk, Jimin purrs, "I perform well enough to keep my king satisfied."

"Sounds depressing."

Jimin raises his eyebrows but says nothing in response. His loyalty is admirable, and Jeongguk cannot wait to break him. 

"Come with me?" Jeongguk asks, though his gaze is sharp, and he shows no hint of accepting anything but yes for an answer. 

"And if I'm punished for disobeying my king?" Jimin asks sweetly. 

Jeongguk leans forward and crowds Jimin's space. His fingers slip from Jimin's chin to the nape of his neck, pushing through soft waves of dark hair. 

"If he lays a finger on you," Jeongguk mutters a hair's width from Jimin's lips, "I will fucking kill him."

A soft gasp leaves Jimin's lips as Jeongguk pulls his into a smirk. "Come with me."

Jimin nods softly—a faint movement—as he whispers, "Yes."

With a nod of his head, Jeongguk's chamberlain drapes a similar deep blue velvet hooded robe over Jimin's shoulders, and Jeongguk lifts the hood to conceal Jimin's beautiful face before taking cover beneath his own. Jeongguk takes Jimin by the hand without another word and leads him to his bedchamber. 

The moment Jeongguk closes the door to his chamber, he shrugs the deep blue robe to the floor. It falls heavily around his feet, and he takes a step forward, toward Jimin, who stands in the center of the room, bathed in blue with wide eyes. Jeongguk is barefoot and wears white silk underclothes, with the neck of the oversized top hanging loose over one shoulder. 

"Like what you see?" Jeongguk asks with a smirk. 

Jimin smiles, cheeks blush-pink, and he nibbles on his bottom lip, and damn, does Jeongguk want to eat him alive. 

"I do," Jimin mutters sweetly. 

Jeongguk cocks an eyebrow, standing with his hands on his hips. "So, show me."

"I'll show you," Jimin purrs. "As long as you're good."

Jimin shrugs off the dark blue robe, letting it collapse to the floor. His pink silk covering hangs open, exposing a shoulder and nipple, and Jeongguk fights the urge to rip it off and pull Jimin into his arms. He wants to see what the pretty dancer will do—wants to give Jimin the opportunity to take the lead.

Nobody ever takes control with Jeongguk. Perhaps it is something about the way he carries himself, but people always expect Jeongguk to take the reins and be the one to fuck them. Jeongguk does not want that this time; he wants to feel what it is like to get fucked.

"As long as I'm good?" 

A shift in Jimin's body language suggests that Jeongguk may be in luck. Jimin squares his shoulders and stands up tall, and despite being slightly shorter, his aura spreads and makes the room feel much smaller. Jeongguk feels his heart speed up and his breathing slow, and he watches the pretty man's lips tug into a smirk.

"Yes," Jimin says. "Now, be a good boy and strip for me." 

Despite wanting to be controlled, Jimin's words take Jeongguk aback, and his mouth falls open. "What did you just call me?"

Jimin cocks an eyebrow. "I don't like to repeat myself."

A scoff rocks through Jeongguk's chest, but he complies and pulls his loose shirt over his head in one swift, quick motion. Jimin's eyes widen at Jeongguk's chest and arms, and Jeongguk feels smug under his wandering gaze—he works hard to keep his body in shape and enjoys the attention. 

Jimin backs toward Jeongguk's large bed and leans against the edge of the mattress, eyes on Jeongguk, who slips his thumbs below the waistband of his knee-length underpants and pushes them down. As the silk falls in a heap on the floor, leaving Jeongguk completely bare, he begins to approach Jimin. His cock hangs heavy between his legs—not yet hard—and Jimin stares, licking his lips.

"Get on the bed," Jimin instructs.

"Wh—"

"Are you going to be a good boy, or not?"

Jeongguk cannot believe Jimin's audacity, and he tongues the inside of his mouth. It turns him on so much his head spins, and he struggles to handle the way being bossed around by someone below him in status makes him feel. Jeongguk walks past Jimin and climbs onto his bed. Unsure what Jimin wants of him, he sits near his pillows and stretches out his legs.

"I want to fuck you, Jeonggukie," Jimin mutters sweetly as he climbs onto the bed on his hands and knees.

"Good," is all Jeongguk can bring himself to say.

The grin that tugs at Jimin's lips is absolutely sinful, and Jeongguk feels his skin turn red hot—every inch of him yearning to be touched. Jimin sits high on his knees and begins to tug at the silk cord around his waist. 

"Lay down," Jimin instructs, pulling the silk cord free. His robe falls open, and Jimin gets back onto his hands and knees—a tease to Jeongguk, who desperately tries to see every inch of exposed skin. 

Jeongguk settles against his pillows and lays, keeping his eyes on Jimin. As Jimin begins to crawl toward Jeongguk, straddling his legs and hips, Jeongguk takes in deeper and deeper breaths as if the air around him is beginning to thin. Silk dances over Jeongguk's skin, and he has the perfect view of Jimin's bare chest and legs, and the tip of his hard cock hanging below his tummy. 

"Hands above your head," Jimin instructs.

"Why?"

"Good boys do as they're told."

Jeongguk fights the urge to grab onto Jimin and defy his orders. Even the king does not speak to Jeongguk this way. But Jeongguk's eyes fall to one of Jimin's hands, and he notices the silk cord wrapped tightly in Jimin's fist.

"You are not going to use that to tie—"

"I am," Jimin interrupts. "It will be loose; you can break free if needed."

With a heavy sigh, Jeongguk complies, lifting his arms over his head and crossing his wrists over one another. He has to scoot down slightly and wiggles beneath Jimin, who watches with a smirk. 

Once Jeongguk is settled, Jimin moves off of him and crawls up the bed. As he gets into position beside Jeongguk to fasten the silk around his wrists, Jeongguk surveys Jimin's body. Curves of muscle grace his frame beautifully, and he is paler than Jeongguk, with a cock that is thick and pretty, standing hard against his tummy. Jeongguk wants to wrap his lips around it and suck the precum that has leaked out from the small slit on his cockhead—wants to bury Jimin's cock deep into his throat until his nose nestles against the dark hairs at its base. 

Jimin makes surprisingly quick work of restraining Jeongguk's hands above his head, presumably to one of the bamboo logs that make up his bed frame. Jeongguk gives his hands a tug and is surprised to find that Jimin did not, in fact, make the knot loose. 

"I can't make it too loose," Jimin coos as if reading Jeongguk's mind. "What would be the fun in that?"

Anger rises in Jeongguk, and he tugs again at the silk, finding his movements futile. He opens his mouth to complain, but Jimin sits high on his knees and shrugs away his robe, melting away his frustration. Exposed shoulders and an unobstructed view of Jimin's chest and legs have every muscle in Jeongguk's body relaxing. 

"You're lucky you're so fucking pretty," Jeongguk groans, sounding angrier than he is.

Jimin hums. "Is that so?"

"Is this what you do to your king, too? Tie him to the bed like some kind of prisoner?"

Slowly, Jimin leans over Jeongguk, so close, Jeongguk could tilt his chin and capture Jimin in a kiss. Jimin takes Jeongguk by the jaw and gives him a gentle squeeze. 

"Mention the old man again, and I will leave you tied to your bed with your cock hard, leaking and untouched for your chamberlain to find."

Jeongguk says nothing, can only stare at the pretty lips that taunt him so, and Jimin smirks and places a soft kiss on Jeongguk's jaw, then sits up. 

"Have you been fucked before, my pretty prince?" Jimin asks.

It takes just a moment for Jimin's words to fully settle over Jeongguk; being called pretty throws him off.

"No."

"No?"

Jeongguk swallows a lump, suddenly feeling exposed and uncertain. "I've fingered myself before."

"But you have fucked others before?"

With an incredulous huff, Jeongguk grumbles, "Yes, of course I have fucked others before!"

Jimin chuckles and nibbles on his bottom lip. "And you have carrageenan oil?"

Jeongguk nods his head to the side, in the direction of a small bedside table. "In the jar."

Rather than get off the bed, Jimin leans all the way over Jeongguk, giving him a glance at his soft, round ass. Jeongguk wonders if the desire to touch and feel Jimin could drive him absolutely insane as he clenches his fists and strains his neck to see more. 

Jimin finds what he needs, and he settles back down beside Jeongguk with a small, decorated jar in his hand. Jimin examines it with a grin, then sets it down on the bed gently, being sure not to let the lid fall off.

"Quite a lot is missing," Jimin muses with a smirk.

"Are you calling me a whore?"

Jimin scoffs, mouth falling agape. "Is there something wrong with being a whore?"

For a split moment, Jeongguk regrets what he has said, worried he may have offended Jimin, whose profession includes many responsibilities, including being a whore. Jimin breaks into laughter, lightening the mood, but Jeongguk still feels awkward. 

"Don't worry, my prince," Jimin says sweetly, "once I'm done with you, you'll only have eyes for this whore."

Jeongguk, for once, has no quippy comeback, and he watches with bated breath as Jimin takes the jar of lubricant oil and walks on his knees down the bed. Instinctively, Jeongguk spreads his legs, giving Jimin space to get between them, and even attempts to angle his hips upward. He wonders if he should have laid on his stomach. 

Jimin sets down the small jar and reaches beside Jeongguk for a pillow, and at Jimin's simple instruction to "lift," Jeongguk raises his hips, allowing Jimin to slide the pillow beneath him. Jeongguk feels a bit silly with his body exposed at such an angle, but he keeps his knees bent and legs spread, and focuses on the beauty before him as he tries not to let himself spiral. 

"Such a nice, thick cock," Jimin mutters sweetly as he adjusts Jeongguk's hips the way he wants him. "Next time, I want you to fuck me with it."

Next time. Jeongguk likes the idea of a next time with the pretty man—likes the thought of holding him down and burying his length deep while Jimin moans and cries. 

A slick finger touches Jeongguk's hole, and he flinches, clenching his muscles. Jimin giggles sweetly and leans his head against one of Jeongguk's thighs, and Jeongguk does his best to relax, letting out a deep breath. 

"S-sorry," Jeongguk grumbles. "You surprised me."

Jimin touches him again, and although his entire body responds, it's with a wave of pleasure that settles over Jeongguk like a warm embrace. Jimin inserts his finger, which is smaller than Jeongguk's but it penetrates at a much more precise angle, and Jeongguk's eyes squeeze closed at the stretch.

Although Jimin is slow and careful as he eases into Jeongguk's tight rim, the feeling is overwhelming, and Jeongguk trembles and gasps for air. Everything feels so tight, like all of Jeongguk's skin is being flayed and stretched, and he moans and whimpers involuntarily as Jimin works him open with one finger, and then two.

By the time Jimin is easing the third finger in, Jeongguk's gasps become silent huffs of air, and the pain of the stretch mixed with the pleasure of Jimin stroking his tight walls, has Jeongguk dizzy and desperate for more. 

"Such a good, good boy," Jimin purrs as he sucks on the sensitive skin on Jeongguk's inner thigh.

Jeongguk moans softly and stares at the ceiling as a shiver quakes through him. "Please," he rasps, ready for the pretty man to fuck him.

"Begging already?" Jimin teases.

Jeongguk lifts his head, blinks his heavy eyelids and nods. "Please, Jimin"

Jimin is devastatingly pretty as he smiles back and nips at Jeongguk's skin with his teeth. Jeongguk wants to taste his lips—wants to taste all of him. Next time, he thinks. 

The high Jeongguk feels from Jimin's fingers is intoxicating. He likens it to having too much rice wine, feeling as if he's somewhat dissociated from his body and floating just outside of himself while somehow remaining acutely aware of everything. 

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers again and again.

Jimin gets onto his knees between Jeongguk's legs and rubs his hands over Jeongguk's knees and down his thighs. Jeongguk's legs remain bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress, but Jimin spreading them further turns him into rubber, and they fall to the sides. 

A cute, melodic giggle shakes through Jimin, and Jeongguk gazes at him, feeling absolutely powerless to him. He has all but forgotten that his wrists are tied above his head and does not fight to have them released.

"Gonna fuck you now, my pretty prince," Jimin sing-songs, and Jeongguk opens his mouth to say, "Yes, please," but the sound dies in his throat at the feeling of Jimin's cock dragging across his stretched hole.

"You look so good tied up and spread for me," Jimin says as he gently presses the tip of his cock against Jeongguk's entrance. Jeongguk gasps and moans from the stretch that Jimin's fingers could not have possibly prepared him for, feeling his body tremble from his fingertips to his toes. "Ooh, and you sound so pretty, too."

"Please," Jeongguk whimpers, unsure what he is asking for, this time; he feels embarrassed to be spoken to like an object, but there is a part of him that wants more. 

Jimin starts slow. So slow that every slight curve and ridge of his cock can be felt dragging against Jeongguk's walls, carving out a place inside of him. It feels as intoxicating as it does maddening, and Jeongguk pants and sobs from the pain. 

By the time Jimin is fully inside Jeongguk, hips pressed against Jungkook's ass, a sheen of sweat covers his skin, and he concludes that, indeed, he might actually be driven insane from lust. Nothing has ever felt quite like this before.

"Big," Jeongguk whimpers, and Jimin giggles.

"My prince is so tight," Jimin teases with a smirk. "How did I get so lucky to fuck your pretty, virgin hole?"

"S-s," Jeongguk tries, finding it difficult to think, much less speak, and he swallows a lump in his throat and tries again. "S-stop teasing m-me."

Jimin pulls his hips back slowly, and Jeongguk loses all sense of time and space. Never has he felt so overwhelmingly full, and the slide of Jimin's cock has him drooling and shaking. 

"Ready?" Jimin asks, and although Jeongguk is certain he could never possibly be ready, he nods and says, "Yes."

Jimin snaps his hips forward and punches the air from Jeongguk's lungs with a loud moan. Jimin's head lolls side to side, and a pretty deep blush covers his chest and neck. Jeongguk pants, desperate to catch his breath. It takes everything in Jeongguk's power not to let his eyelids flutter closed, and he watches intently as Jimin's lips tremble and he lets out a soft moan of his own.

"So fucking tight," Jimin groans as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, causing Jeongguk to almost scream. "You feel amazing, my prince."

In a brief moment of clarity, Jeongguk nearly responds to tell Jimin to call him by his name, but Jimin begins to fuck him at a steady pace, sending pleasure surging through him at breakneck speeds, and all words are lost on Jeongguk's tongue, replaced only by whimpers and moans. 

Jimin wraps his arms around Jeongguk's thighs and hikes his legs up, giving Jimin more room to fuck him deeper, and Jeongguk's cock slaps uselessly against his tummy, dribbling a sticky line of precum from the tip. Jeongguk wants to touch himself and absentmindedly tugs on his restraints before succumbing to the reminder that he cannot move his arms. 

"I won't last long," Jimin whines through moans, and Jeongguk feels grateful, desperate to feel a release of the pleasure that feels like it might never stop building. 

"T-touch me," Jeongguk begs.

Jimin licks his lips, shakes his head, and says, "Try not to cum. I want you to spill in my mouth. Want to swallow every drop."

The thought of Jimin's pretty, plump lips stretching over his cock has Jeongguk more eager to cum, and he squeezes his eyes closed for a moment in hopes of thinking about anything else. 

"S-stop talking like that, or I will definitely cum," Jeongguk whines.

Jimin giggles and picks up his pace, fucking Jeongguk so hard and fast, only choked sobs fall from Jeongguk's lips while Jimin moans deep, needy sounds. He feels the pleasure build to unimaginable heights, somehow tensing and relaxing every muscle in his body simultaneously, and although he never wants this feeling to end, he needs it to.

The rhythm of Jimin's hips becomes unsteady while his moans grow deeper and more desperate. Jimin's face scrunches and relaxes, and Jeongguk cannot take his eyes off the sight of him lost in pleasure. 

"Gonna cum," Jimin whines. 

Jimin leans forward, spearing his cock impossibly deeper, and Jeongguk squeezes his fists shut and tries with all his might not to orgasm by tensing every muscle he can, despite being unsure whether that will even work.

"Fuck," Jimin groans as his head falls forward. "You're squeezing me so tight, Ggukie."

The nickname accompanied by the deep slide of Jimin's length is nearly enough to send Jeongguk hurtling toward the edge of orgasm despite his cock being left untouched. Thankfully, Jimin's hips tremble and thrust deep before stopping, and Jeongguk feels his cum spurt into him, hot and wet.

Jimin's cock throbs as he empties himself inside Jeongguk's ass, and Jeongguk is shocked by every slight movement that he can feel. He wonders if Jimin's cum is dribbling out of him or if it's sweat that he feels dripping down the cleft of his ass. Perhaps it is both.

Jeongguk, son of the king who is used to being in charge and in control, feels perfectly used—like nothing but a toy for Jimin to fuck—helpless to do anything but lay and let Jimin do as he wishes. He loves it—loves the release of letting go and not having to worry about anything but his pleasure and the pleasure that Jimin chases. 

The realization that they have not so much as kissed or explored one another before Jimin tied Jeongguk up and fucked him mercilessly sinks into Jeongguk, settling bone-deep. It feels freeing, in a way, though Jeongguk would like to kiss and nibble those pretty lips the first chance he gets.

Jimin pulls his cock out of Jeongguk in one swift movement, and Jeongguk is ripped from his thoughts, back to reality, as a moan shakes from his chest. He whimpers from the loss of being so incredibly full, but before he has a chance to let it weigh him down with disappointment, Jimin sinks down between Jeongguk's legs and takes Jeongguk's cock in his hands and mouth. 

Never has anyone swallowed Jeongguk's length so deep all at once, and Jeongguk's back arches as he moans, lost once again to pleasure. All the world could crumble away, and Jeongguk would never know—would only perceive the feeling of Jimin's lips, tongue and fingers sending him hurtling towards orgasm.

Jimin swirls his tongue and sucks in his cheeks eagerly, bobbing his head while his hand twists up and down Jeongguk's length, overstimulating him in the best way. Jeongguk looks down to find Jimin staring up at him through his eyelashes while tears pool and spill onto his pretty cheeks, and that is all it takes to push Jeongguk to the edge.

"F-fuck, gonna c-cum!" Jeongguk sobs as his pleasure builds to a breaking point, and he spills into Jimin's mouth.

Jimin hums as he eagerly sucks and swallows, and Jeongguk pulls at his restraints. He could swear that body has been set alight from pleasure and left to burn brightly before crumbling to a pile of ash. Jimin does good on his promise to swallow every last drop and sucks until Jeongguk is overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

"Please, please," Jeongguk whines as his body convulses from Jimin's eager mouth. 

Jimin releases Jeongguk's spent cock and sits up slowly, stretching his neck from side to side. Jeongguk watches, stunned momentarily by the sight of Jimin's spit-slick lips and tear-streaked cheeks, until the urge to kiss the pretty man becomes so overwhelming he petulantly tugs at the silk around his wrists.

"Please," Jeongguk groans, and Jimin returns with a giggle before climbing up Jeongguk's sweaty body and settling on his chest to undo his hands. 

Jimin's soft cock is so close to Jeongguk's mouth, he laments not having his face fucked while he lay restrained and helpless. As his hands are released, Jeongguk feels the urge to jerk Jimin's cock back to fullness so he can have his mouth used just as his body was, but Jimin slides away from Jeongguk's chest, and he cuddles up to his side, wrapping an arm and leg over Jeongguk's torso. 

Soft, warm lips touch Jeongguk's neck, and Jeongguk turns his body, groaning from how stiff his arms and legs feel. He takes Jimin gently by the chin and slots their lips together, and Jimin moans against Jeongguk's mouth, gasping as Jeongguk flits his tongue out to taste his own salty release on Jimin's lips. 

"You're mine now," Jeongguk groans against Jimin's mouth, watching as Jimin smiles. 

"But the king—"

Jeongguk shuts Jimin up by licking into his mouth and deepening their kiss, and Jimin shifts his body closer and holds Jeongguk tighter, whimpering with each pass and tangle of their tongues. 

With Jimin pliant in Jeongguk's arms, his mind floods with visions of patricide and treason. Jeongguk is tired of his father's rule, anyway—he is ready to take over the throne.

"I'm your king," Jeongguk groans while his hands explore every curve they can reach and pull Jimin impossibly closer. "And you are mine."

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[bemydoctor]

The Cold Shadow

Title: The Cold Shadow

Summary: Bucky is sinking slowly. He is overwhelmed by negative thoughts of the worst kind. Trouble is, he can’t climb back up on his own. Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to.

Characters: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson

Trigger warnings: sleep deprivation, alcohol and drug abuse, thoughts of suicide and self-harm, mention of blood, depression, PTSD, mentions of nightmares and night terrors

Other tags: Language, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sad!Bucky, Crying!Bucky, Sam Wilson is a good friend, Bucky Barnes needs a hug, Bucky Barnes gets a hug, Bucky Barnes feels

Notes: Dealing with PTSD is a roller coaster. There are ups and downs, good moments and bad ones. This fic is in no way insinuating that he will miraculously get better after an episode like this. It’s just a chapter on his journey to recovery. It puts him on a path that is hopefully forward and maybe we can hope the next drop of this roller coaster won’t sent him as far back down and he will be better prepared to deal with it and ask for help. All my knowledge on the subject comes from TV shows or other works of fiction besides Google and YouTube, and not from any sort of professional qualification or personal experience. Edited by myself. Please message me if you find anything I might have missed.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44369254/chapters/111587995

Words: 4016

>---<

Bucky listed to the side slowly, eyelids drifting close. His sluggish brain’s delayed response was to get his body upright again.

He blinked blearily, feeling like he was glued to the floor, as if gravity had increased tenfold turning his limbs to lead. His metal arm was so heavy it was just a useless hunk of metal beside him. Moving the fingers on that hand too much of an effort to even bother trying. Anyone who saw it would think it wasn’t even properly connected to his body.

Sometimes, his head would start falling, eyes rolling to the back. On occasion he would catch himself, forcing his mind to work for long enough to lift it again. It wouldn’t stay like that for long and gravity would soon resume its course. Usually, however, it was his head abruptly falling forward and almost hitting his bent knees that would get him to snap it up again. Not too much though. There wasn’t enough energy left in him to get him very far.

He tried to keep his eyelids from drooping, to at least keep them a sliver apart. The tiny slit of blue from the wall across from him slowly getting thinner and thinner. No amount of trying would get him to pry them open again.

A particularly sudden fall of his head woke him. He sluggishly raised it back, getting it to a position it wouldn’t take too much effort to keep it up.

If he had the energy, he would smile for finally getting his mind empty enough to make everything go numb. No amount of alcohol, pills or needles had managed that, his super soldier metabolism too fast to let any of that have any effect. For a moment he had even considered cutting himself. Maybe blood loss would be able to get him there. But then the exhaustion from several unslept days made him consider this.

His dreams had gotten bad enough that sleep was even more torture than wakefulness. Of course, being awake meant thinking too much, feeling too much, hurting too much. But sleeping was even worse. Without any barriers, his subconscious would take over and the nightmares were at a point in which waking up was getting more and more difficult leaving him stuck in a never-ending loop of terror. He would wake up with a sob, drenched in sweat, face covered with tears, lungs sucking in so much air it felt he would pass out straight back to sleep.

So he gave up on sleep altogether.

And right now, because of that, he felt like heaven.

His mind could barely come up with the idea of keeping his body from falling down. Any and all thought had drifted away several hours ago. He was floating in clouds. Finally at peace.

Was this what it would have felt like if the needles had worked?

A deep sense of calm overwhelmed him. He wished he could stay there forever. To just drift away and never wake up again.

Finally be free.

>---<

Sam called Bucky’s name again, his banging on the door more frantic this time.

“Bucky, I know you are in there. Open the door.”

He waited a few beats.

He banged more insistently. “You can’t hide from me, I’m tracking your phone.” More seconds passed. “Bucky, if you don’t open this door, I swear to god I’ll kick it open.”

Still nothing.

Sam sighed. His concern had turned to annoyance when Bucky wouldn’t open the door, but the silence brought the worry back, fiercer than before. This didn’t feel right.

Yes, Bucky would ignore him. He would make Sam wait and knock several times. He would ignore him away, then grumble and groan but would eventually open the door, if only to grunt at Sam and tell him to leave.

Sam shook his head, trying to keep his voice level.

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said as a last attempt to ease the worry away.

He tried the doorknob, not surprised to see it locked. He looked around the nearly empty street. He lowered himself and looked under the mat, finding nothing there. He tried the empty pots on the dead garden next to the entrance and under the rocks nearby.

“Shit!” he swore under his breath.

He would imagine Bucky to be the type to have more than one lock, so even if Sam managed to pick the obvious one, there would be others on the inside.

Sam took in a deep breath and decided to try the window. It was higher than he would have liked but he eventually managed to get it open. He looked around again, hoping no one had called the cops on him.  

He jumped through. “Bucky?”

He continued across the empty living space not seeing much out of place until he stopped by the kitchen counter. It was littered with empty whisky and pill bottles scattered around. He picked up a rubber tourniquet, the kind used to give someone an injection. He saw the empty syringes inside the sink and ominous thoughts swam through his mind.

He forced his legs to move again, his heart now hammering in his chest. He turned into the corridor that led to the bedroom then rushed to his friend’s side.

“Bucky!”

Shaky hands hovered over the limp form on the floor. For a moment he retracted them, too scared to proceed. He swallowed thickly and took in the sight of his friend. No obvious signs of injury or smells that could indicate he had overdosed. He wasn’t even clammy. In fact, he was still breathing. Not only that, but his breaths were deep and steady, and Sam realized the man was asleep. Really very asleep.

“Hey, Bucky!” he whispered, trying not to touch him. When he got no response, he tried again, this time in his normal tone. “Buck, wake up!”

Bucky hadn’t even changed his breathing rhythm. Sam took in a deep breath, resisting the urge to call an ambulance. He remembered the empty bottles of medicine on the counter. They wouldn’t have worked on him. He knew super soldiers couldn’t keep drugs in their systems for long enough for them to have any effect. Not without an elephant-sized dose on a constant IV drip.

But that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t try. If he was desperate enough.

“Hey, Buck, it’s Sam.” He touched his friend’s shoulder gently. “Bucky!” He shook him slightly.

No response. He let out a shuddering breath.

Sam shook him. “Wake up, Bucky!” he said more loudly.

This time, he noticed a slight change and the dread started to fade away. Bucky was alright. Just sleeping.

“C’mon, man. Just wake up.”

Sam tapped Bucky’s cheeks which seemed to rouse him a bit. He continued tapping away, not stopping even after he saw eyes squinting and a moan escaping his lips.

“That’s right, open your eyes for me.” He stopped his ministrations to look at him.

When it seemed like Bucky would fall right back to sleep, Sam continued slapping the man gently.

“Ngh.”

A pathetic arm movement that Sam could only guess it was Bucky’s attempt at waving him off made Sam grab Bucky’s chin to turn his head at him.

“Don’t go all lazy on me. Open your eyes.” he said firmly.

“Shhh. Go ‘way.”

Sam grabbed the limp man’s arm and forced him to a sitting position. Bucky slumped a bit and Sam pulled him back up again. Bucky’s reluctance was making Sam’s worry climb up his esophagus. He swallowed it back down. When Bucky started relaxing again Sam held him upright.

“Na, uh. Stay!” Sam commanded.

“M not a puppy,” he slurred.

“Then stop behaving like one. Now open your damn eyes!”

Eyelids fluttered for a few moments before slowly prying open. Bleary eyes blinked slowly, seeming to have difficulty focusing on him.

“Hey,” he said softly. Sam lifted the man’s chin and looked into his eyes, one at a time. He didn’t see anything that would normally worry him.

They started to close again.

“No. Keep looking at me.” Sam continued to search Bucky’s eyes for anything of concern.

Bucky finally focused on him. His brows drew together in annoyance. He rubbed his eyes then had to gall to pout his lips like a petulant child.

“What the hell, man? What happened?”

“I was taking a nap! What does it look like?” He waved around.

“Here? On the floor? In the middle of the corridor?”

Bucky shrugged. “Good place as any,” he murmured.

“What about, I don’t know, the bed?” Sam waved his arms around towards the bedroom.

Bucky brought his knees up against his chest and looped his arms around them. He supported his head on them. “Why are you here?” he said tiredly.

“Because I was worried about you. I’ve been texting and calling you for days!” He sat down in front of him. “Jesus, Bucky, I thought you were dead!”

He lifted his head. “Well, obviously I’m not. Now, will you leave?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked at Bucky, examining him. The dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, unkept beard, and he didn’t need to sniff the air to know he hadn’t showered in days. His heart sank.

Bucky huffed. “Why are you still here?”

“Bucky, please, talk to me. I want to help.”

“Then leave me the fuck alone!” He shook his shoulder away from the hand Sam was about to place there.

Sam shook his head. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Sam?” His voice cracked and Sam’s heart also cracked a little along with it.

“You need to let me help you, Bucky.”

>---<

Sam moved to sit next to him then just stayed there by his side, their bodies touching. Bucky felt Sam’s body heat and released a shuddering breath, resisting the urge to lean onto him. For several moments Sam was a constant solid presence that wouldn’t let go. “You are not getting rid of me,” he said.

Bucky hid his face on his hands. For several moments, his entire existence was solely focused on getting a hold of himself and yet the vice grip around his chest wouldn’t let go. He felt it tighten and spread all over his body like a cold shadow that turned everything into misery. The pressure inside his head was getting stronger and stronger until it turned into tears that started to sting at his eyes. He suppressed a sniffle and tried to breathe through it but his eyes continued getting wetter by the minute. He started trembling and couldn’t stop himself.

A warm hand circled around his back. Bucky felt himself lose control when the gentle touch pulled him for an embrace. He let himself breakdown for no other reason than the fact he no longer had the energy to hold back. He buried himself on Sam’s shoulder and simply let go. The hand rubbed circles on his back through his tremors, but it only made the weeping turn into desperate sobs.

He gripped tightly and gave up fighting the tsunami of emotions that flooded out of him. He felt himself unable to stop. Every single tear that his body had ever produced overflowed out of him along with all the snot and spit too. He shook uncontrollably and wrapped his hands around Sam.

Sam held him through wails that felt like it would never end. Every single bad emotion that had clung to his chest over the last several weeks, months, years, being washed away.

Time seemed to have stopped. He didn’t know how long it lasted. He felt like he had been sucked into a vortex and come out the other side dazed and muddled. He sniffed away the last few sobs and broke away from Sam, still shaking, feeling a weird sort of disconnect between himself and his body. He was exhausted. Everything moved too slowly. He sat on the floor, shoulders hunched down, mind numb.

“You good?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice to work.

“Why don’t you take a shower? That will help, ok?”

Bucky nodded again, too tired to argue.

Sam stood then an arm appeared in Bucky’s field of vision. He took the arm and gingerly got up onto his feet. Sam held onto him until he was sure he wouldn’t fall.

Bucky walked timidly, still feeling out of sorts. When he got into the bathroom, the water was already running.

“Do you need any help?”

Bucky shook his head and supported his weight against the sink, looking away.

“Okay,” Sam said before he left, leaving the door open.

Bucky shed his clothes and stepped under the stream, the hot water easing the knots he hadn’t realized he had. For several minutes that’s all that he did. He breathed through the numbness and eventually managed to find the energy to scrub himself.

By the time he was finished, he could barely keep himself upright.  He put on the clean pair of sweatpants Sam had left for him at some point during his stupor.

He turned his head slowly when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Hungry? I made you an omelet.”

Bucky shrugged.

“C’mon. It’s ready.”

He sighed, too spent to do anything else. Sam had gone through all that trouble; he might as well try. He dragged his feet all the way to the stool behind the counter where the plate was laid out.

He managed to take a few bites before he found himself unable to swallow any more. He pushed the plate away, looking sheepishly at Sam.

“What about the juice?” Sam looked at him across from the counter.

Bucky forced a few gulps down then put the glass down, surprised to find it empty.

Sam rounded the counter. “C’mon. Time for bed.”

“I’m not a child,” Bucky muttered, shaking his shoulder to get Sam’s hand off.

The comment seemed to have no effect because Sam continued to supervise Bucky all the way into the bedroom. Bucky practically collapsed onto the bed.

“You don’t need to tuck me in too,” he mumbled, even though Sam was already pulling a blanket over him.

He really wanted to complain again, but his eyes were already closing and whatever it was he was going to say, he figured it must be less important than the gentle pull of sleep.

>---<

He woke up surrounded by gentle darkness. A faint light came through the window and Bucky figured it must be nearly morning.

He stared at the ceiling.

It was weird. He felt well rested. His body was relaxed, and his mind refreshed. He tried to remember the last time he felt that way.

He couldn’t.

Then, memories came back to him. The bottles, the pills, the syringes. Sleep depriving himself for days in the hopes of a short reprieve. The thoughts of maybe not waking up again.

And Sam.

He shuffled to the edge of the bed and placed his bare feet down, standing up. He realized his bladder was nearly bursting so he made his way to the bathroom.

After he was done, he followed the faint light and stepped into the living room, finding Sam sitting on the lone armchair in the middle of the room, reading his copy of The Hobbit. Upon hearing Bucky’s footsteps, he looked up, putting the book down.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He stood. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he said, failing to contain the annoyed edge to his voice. He shouldn’t be annoyed. Sam was trying to help.

He walked over to the stool and sat down, noticing that all trash had vanished from his place. He also saw that his sink was empty and that the marble had been scrubbed clean. His shoulders sank.

“You didn’t have to clean up.”

Sam walked over to him. “Yes, I had. This place was disgusting.” He moved over to the fridge. “Hungry? I can heat up the rest of that omelet.”

Bucky scratched the back of his head. “What time is it? How long was I out?”

Despite Bucky’s lack of an answer, Sam had taken the omelet out of the fridge and was putting it in the microwave. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to the second question, but it is now sunrise.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose. “You stayed here all night? Where did you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Sam shrugged and placed the food in front of Bucky.

Bucky slumped his shoulders, guilt and shame seeping into him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do any of that. Shouldn’t have.” He looked down at the steaming plate, the smell making his stomach growl. “Not for me, anyway,” he continued softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I had to. You’re my friend, Bucky.”

Bucky looked up at him finding it hard to find any words.

He looked down again. “Why?”

Sam chuckled. “What do you mean why?”

He sighed. “Well…” He looked straight at Sam. “The first time you saw me, I ripped the steering wheel off your car before crashing it with you still inside. The second time, I tore your wing out then kicked you down to what should have been your death. Then the third time, after blowing up a tunnel on top of you, I knocked you out, trying to escape custody.” He ran a hand over his face. “Do I need to continue?”

Sam laughed.

The man actually laughed.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t you.”

Bucky shook his head.

He grabbed the fork and started to pick at his omelet, suddenly finding himself too hungry to continue the conversation.

“C’mon. After you finish up, get changed. We’re going out.”

Bucky whipped his head up. “Where are we going?”

Sam waved at his fridge. “You need stuff. Besides three eggs, all you had inside was an empty carton of milk. An empty one. What kind of animal puts an empty carton back into the fridge?”

Bucky decided his eggs were more interesting and was in the middle of stabbing it with a fork when an alarm went off. He looked at the direction it was coming from, seeing his phone next to the TV, blinking and blaring at him.

“Ah, yes. I took the liberty of setting up a few alarms on your phone.”

“What for?” Bucky asked making his way to silence the damn thing. He unlocked it and saw a series of alarms programed into it, all with different names. This one was for waking up. The next one for breakfast. There was one for cleaning, showering, cooking...

“So you don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

Bucky continued to scroll through, finding his entire routine loosely timed out for him. He ground his teeth. “How did you even unlock it?”

Sam smiled. “Did you know you are a very heavy sleeper?”

Bucky slumped back onto the stool and tossed his phone aside.

“Look,” Sam started. “I just want to make sure you don’t spiral out of control again. Keeping a routine might help. And if you hate it, you can always change it to something you like.”

Bucky let go of his fork, suddenly having lost his appetite.

“Keeping busy is a great way to stop thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about,” Sam continued. “Keeping a stocked fridge, having stuff inside your place, doing something you like.”

“I don’t need stuff,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you do. You need shelves.” He waved at an empty wall. “Then you need stuff to put on the shelves.” He pointed at an empty space on the floor. “You also need a couch. You know why I didn’t sleep? Because you got nowhere for me to.” He paused. “You need a coffee table. Some magazines to put on it. A side table over there.” More pointing. “And then some more stuff to put on it. Some pictures on the walls would be nice. Some plants that aren’t dead, knickknacks, throw pillows, I don’t know, whatever it takes to make this place feel like it’s yours.” He walked closer to him. “I can help you with all of that. You don’t even need to ask.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I insist. And if you don’t go shopping with me, I’ll go by myself and buy everything on my own and have it delivered. Possibly choosing the worst possible color.”

Bucky finally looked up at him.

“When you wake up and open your eyes, you will find yourself somewhere that feels like it belongs to you. Not an empty shell.”

“What if I can’t stop thinking, Sam?” His tone was quiet, defeated. He slumped even further onto the stool.

“Then you can talk to me.” He took a deep breath. “If reading a book, going to the movies and cooking dinner won’t work, you call me. Talk to me, yell at me, doesn’t matter, just don’t keep everything in then try to pour it out in all the wrong ways.”

Bucky suddenly felt his chest constricting again and had to breathe through several times to get himself back under control. “I don’t know how.” His voice still sounded hoarse.

“Then I’ll help you. Because that’s what friends do.” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are not in this alone and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were.”

Tears started to sting at his eyes. He blinked them away. He still felt like he didn’t deserve any of it. He certainly didn’t deserve Sam.

He sniffed and wiped away the tears. He was tired. He was bone tired of always feeling like his body weighed a hundred tons. That every step was a chore and that every moment that he lived was one he didn’t deserve. He was tired of thinking, he was tired of feeling, he was tired of being miserable. He looked up at Sam.

“Can you try that for me?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t know.”

“C’mon. Get dressed.”

Bucky looked out of the window. “It’s too early.”

“You’ll be surprised how early some places open.”

He didn’t know that was true or not but he knew there was no fighting him. Sam would keep bugging him and bossing him around so he just complied.

“Fine.”

>---<

The door closed behind him and Bucky made his way to the kitchen. Sam walked over to the counter and placed the shopping bags down, Bucky following suit. There were too many things, in way too many bags, what seemed like an excessive amount of food for someone that grew up during the Great Depression. Bucky placed his hands on the counter and just stared.

Sam started to take packages out of the bags and spreading them around. “Are you going to help or not?”

By the time they were done, cupboards were full and the fridge fully stocked. Everything from canned foods that could feed him for a year, to just enough vegetables to last a week.

“I still don’t think it was all necessary.”

Sam ignored his comment, talking the items that weren’t food over near the armchair. He looked back at Bucky then let go of the stack of books and magazines on what seemed like an imaginary coffee table. The items scattered across the floor.

There was something about the scene that almost made Bucky chuckle, but he resisted the urge.

“Come on. You thought that was funny. Admit it.”

Bucky glared at him. “Hilarious.”

“Yes, it was.”

Sam was now grinning, his unwavering smile lighting up the room. Bucky failed to keep his lip from quirking slightly upwards. He rested his hands on his hips and shook his head, lowering it until his chin touched his chest.

“That was so fucking stupid.”

Sam raised a shoulder. “Whatever works, man.”

Bucky let himself finally smile. It wasn’t a grin, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the smile from someone that was finally feeling warm air after weeks of being freezing cold.

“Thanks, Sam.”

>---<

#fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes #sad bucky #sam wilson #sam and bucky #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes has ptsd #bucky barnes has nightmares #sam wilson is a good friend #sam wilson is a saint #sam wilson is a gift #tfatws #fic: tfatws #fic: mine #the falcon and the winter soldier #recovery #bucky barnes feels #emotional hurt/comfort #bucky barnes fic

[yuthoe]

Fatigued (PENTAGON: Hui)

after a quick look at my last fic post, i realized that it's been a little more than a year since i last posted any original thing from me lmaooo

i still have an unfinished vampire!wonho fic but i keep getting stuck cuz writing smut is haaaard. so since i have downtime from our workshop i decided to finish this, so i'm sorry if it seems like the ending is rushed. this one is still super tame compared to the others i have mapped out (as far as angst goes, this is not the heaviest one lol) so i hope y'all look out for those

PAIRING: Hui (Lee Hoetaek) x gn!reader. GENRE: fic, general, angst. WARNINGS: vampire!au—contains mentions of blood. WORD COUNT: 1,697.

---

Hoetaek closes the door to his apartment quietly, slinging the strap of his crossbody off his shoulder and carefully setting it on the floor of the entryway before toeing off his shoes. In his other hand he holds a rectangular insulated bag, small enough to not be conspicuous, but big enough to fit his refills if they’re packed right.

It’s the first time he’s come home to his apartment in a week, cooped up in his studio composing songs, fixing demos, struggling with lyrics. It was only the notification from his phone reminding him of his appointment at the hospital that got him to get up and fix the clutter around the room.

Now he tiredly carries the insulated bag into the kitchen, propping the fridge door open with his leg and opening the zip of the bag carefully.

The blood bags are carefully packed into the container—enough for around two weeks. Hoetaek doesn't need to feed often (he's gotten a good handle on his thirst throughout the decades), but he still regulates his feeding times so he doesn’t burn through them all in one sitting. Before he holed himself up in the studio, he made a point to stock his body up on nutrients so he didn’t have to bring any bags to clutter up the mini-fridge there.

Hoetaek sighs, blinks hard a few times to clear the daze out of his eyes so he can store the bags properly at the back of the fridge, but giving up quickly. He’s dizzy, sleepy, bone-tired, and frankly a little smelly from working non-stop these past few days. Before he passes out from exhaustion, he decides to just dump the refills onto the only empty space near the front of the fridge. A nice, hot shower and a soak in the bath is in order.

He dumps the now empty bag on the countertop and makes a quick stop to the bedroom to fetch his towel, before heading to the bathroom. Along the way, he taps on his phone with one hand, typing out a quick text to you. 

Hey, honey. I'm back at the apartment. Gonna take a quick shower, but you can come in anytime. 

Hoetaek leaves his phone on the counter top, and inch by inch relaxes as he settles into his bath time routine.

—

The bath is steamy when he finishes an hour later, refreshed and ready to take a much-deserved break. He whistles as he pads barefoot to the bedroom to change into the soft and comfy pajamas you gave him recently. When he finally finishes dressing and doing his minimal skincare routine, he steps out to the living area and sees you seated on the small couch.

“Oh, hi, babe! Didn’t hear you come in.” A lie. He heard it loud and clear when his phone buzzed on the counter midway through his shower; heard the quiet thud of the door and the lock fastening on the latch when you came in; heard the shuffling of your feet as you walked around the apartment in your house slippers; heard you rifling through the kitchen and the fridge looking for food or something to make a light meal with because he knows you like cooking for him after he’s had a tough day at work.

Cat’s out of the bag, as far as Hoetaek is concerned—you definitely saw the blood bags in the refrigerator. He is just delaying the inevitable at this point, refusing to acknowledge that he knows about your discovery and the worried and suspicious look on your face as you sit in silence.

“Yeah, I got in around fifteen minutes ago,” you say. He notes the way you twiddle your thumbs in your lap, looking away quickly to make a beeline to the kitchenette. It’s clean, just the way he left it an hour before, with no signs of anyone attempting to cook anything. Hoetaek figures you were too shaken by what you saw and gave up trying to whip something up and pretend everything is fine.

It is with a quiet resignation that he reaches into a cupboard for an opaque mug and rummages in the fridge for a blood bag, keeping his back towards you to hide him unscrewing the stopper and squeezing out the thick liquid into the mug. “Are you hungry? We can get something delivered,” he calls out, drowning out the sloshing sounds of the blood pouring out from the bag. Once he’s filled the mug almost to the rim, he screws the cap back on with practiced ease, licking his fingertips clean before stowing it back in the fridge, just on top of the pile.

Hoetaek hears you stand and pad all the way to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area as he looks for a reusable straw in one of the drawers, plopping it in the mug. “No, I’m good,” you say. The sweet taste of A-positive soaks his tongue as he takes a sip and he sighs in relief. He takes another drag through the straw before turning to face you, that worried look still on your pretty face. “Just…”

Your nails nervously tap on the faux-marble countertop. “Are you okay, Hoetaek? Are you sick or something?”

He holds the cooling mug tightly in both hands, shrugs. “What do you mean?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I… I saw blood bags. In the fridge.” And then you start rambling. “I was just looking for something to cook for you because I know you’ve been at the studio working the whole week and figured you might want a salad or noodles or something. I didn’t mean to see—they were just there and I thought it was a pile of, I don’t know berry flavored jelly, I guess? But then I flipped one over and realized it’s blood and it had the label and everything, so I freaked out because how did you get that much blood and what are you gonna use all of it for?? Now, I’m concerned and worried and just a little bit freaked out about this whole thing.” Your fingers continued tapping a staccato rhythm as you talked, and finally still when you stop to catch a breath.

The mug almost falls out of Hoetaek’s hands as he regards you with shining eyes. He’d been lying to you, keeping such a big part of himself a secret from you for years. He can tell himself that he did it to protect you, to keep you away from the uglier side of him, but that’s not the whole truth. The fact of the matter is, Hoetaek is just scared; he is scared that you’ll just run off when the truth comes to light and he doesn’t think he can handle that.

The vampire sets the mug down on the counter next to the refrigerator, the contents well out of your sight, before standing in front of you. He lets the marble island between you act as a barrier, even as he takes both your hands in his. His thumbs smooth across your skin, teeth biting at his lip as he tries to find the right words.

“Babe… Thank you for worrying,” he finally starts. “But you didn’t need to. I’m not sick, although I know you get concerned that I’m too pale sometimes, but that’s just because I’m cooped up in the studio a lot.” He chuckles, and sees a corner of your mouth twitch upwards. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve been together for almost three years. And considering that I plan to get on your nerves for the foreseeable future, I suppose I need to be straight with you.

“I’m…” He takes a deep breath. “Well, to put it simply, I’m not human. I’m a vampire and I drink blood. I was born in the late 1890s, but I’ve been 30 for around eighty years or so.” He watches your face, looking for any sign of disgust or apprehension in the lines on your forehead. “I know this is a lot, and I’m not expecting you to stay after finding out about all this. If you need a break—from me—I completely understand.”

Hoetaek squeezes your hands and is about to release them, but you tighten your grip.

“You…” Hui’s brows knit as he watches you struggle to find words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies quickly. “Take all the time you need.”

“No, it’s… I’m okay with it, I think?” You keep his hands in yours as you round the corner of the island to stand beside him. “I don’t mind that you’re a vampire, at least. I know I have questions, but I just don’t know how to word them properly, I guess?” The heat of your palms travels up as you drag them along his arms, across his shoulders, and stop to gently hold his cheeks. “I still love you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you say. “I have no reason to stop loving you, Hoetaek.”

He squeezes your hands, knuckles white. “But…,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I’m not like you, I’m not human—I’m different… Does that not scare you?”

You look square in his eyes, searching for something in them, and then you slowly shake your head. “No. You’re you, and as far as I’m concerned, the only different thing here is that you apparently drink blood straight out of the bag. You don’t feel different, you don’t look or sound different. So you’re still my Hoetaek, right?”

Hoetaek thinks he could cry. It never crossed his mind that you would turn him away after baring himself—you have no bad bone in your body. But hearing you say so confidently that you still love him, that he’s still yours… made his long dormant heart almost beat again.

He surges forward and wraps his arms around your waist, buries his nose into your neck. (He is definitely not crying.) “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

Hoetaek feels your head rest against his, your arms embracing him so gently, so carefully. “I love you, too. Always.”

#kdiarynet #uninet #universe net #pentagon #pentagon hui imagine #pentagon hui scenario #pentagon scenario #pentagon imagine #hui scenario #hui imagine #fic: hui #fic: mine #fic: not spicy #theme: vamp col

[beelmons]

Mandatory team-building exercise

Pairing: BAU x Fem!BAU!Reader (becomes Hotch-centered) Genre: Smut (18+, minors are not encouraged to interact or read this story) CW: unprotected sex (i do not encourage), slight exhibitionism (not really, but ppl know stuff), jealous!hotch (a lil only), hoeing around, reader is bisexual Word count: 6,795 (very sorry about this) Summary: After a night of drinking, your boss proposes a bonding exercise so the team can get even closer: Everyone must make out with you, and you have to choose who kisses best. A/N: I got too carried away with this, no idea if i did any good, but here you go. Tag list (tagging everyone who reblogged and voted hotch): @ssamorganhotchner @montyfandomlove @hotchners-sweetheart @hey-dw @cassiemartzz &lt;;3

Best part of going to O’keefe’s was wrapping the night up at Rossi’s, slightly tipsy, laughing about everything, and generally enjoying the genuine personalities of your friends, no masks or guards up, which was something hard to do at work. David’s house was a place where you could bare your soul and still feel safe. 

“...and I swear, everyone just thought it was the most normal thing.” JJ said while swinging her glass of wine around, and the people around her let out a light laugh. 

“I bet Rossi could agree with that, couldn’t you?” Morgan directed the question to Dave “After all, it’s your fault that we don’t get to fraternize with other agents, ain’t that right?” his comment made everyone laugh once again. 

“No, no, never within the same department. I was in the bureau during the 70’s and 80’s, you didn’t get that many women out here, let alone in the BAU. By the end of my career, we only had two female agents in this unit and I had already been married thrice. So, do the math, if I had wanted to sleep with someone from the same unit, it would have had to be…” he made a pause for dramatic build-up “well, Gideon.” 

The entire team let out a disgusted yet amused grunt at the mere idea of seeing two of their former bosses interacting in such fashion. You watched Spencer’s face be particularly crumpled, he was possibly picturing it in vivid detail by accident, consequences of having such a bright mind, so you decided to grab the hand that was holding his long island tea and push it gently towards his lips. You giggled at how he automatically obeyed and swallowed down a rather big gulp of his beverage. 

“I’m just glad these are problems we don’t have to face in the BAU, you know, fraternization between agents.” Hotch said, taking a sip off his glass. 

The silence that took over the group was deafening. Accusatory looks were being exchanged between everyone, and they could notice how certain glances lasted longer than appropriate. Hotch didn’t usually stay long enough to see how the nights ended, when everyone was too hammered to call their own cabs, or too impaired to question themselves whether the person they were kissing was or was not part of the team. 

“Well, I think this is a conversation you kids should have without your parent present.” David, who was way faster at reading the situation compared to the unit chief, got up from his chair, leaving his glass by the table. Aaron sighed in what seemed like disappointment, and immediately followed Dave's actions. “No, no.” the older man quickly put a hand on his shoulder indicating him to sit down “I think it’s better if you stay; do some bonding. I’ll be in my room, sleeping, don’t be afraid to be noisy, the place is soundproof, just make sure to leave the alarm active once you leave.”

Incredulity washed over the unit chief as he watched his fellow team leader walk away from the situation. The eyes had turned to him instead, silently questioning about the decision he was going to take. It was a bit awkward to discuss your personal affairs with your boss present, sure, but it’s not like you didn’t have a relationship with him. Hotch, reserved and all, knew each member to a level of intimacy that few others could be able to reach, and had protected them in ways no other superior would approve of.  

“Whatever I hear today will come through the ears of your friend, not your superior, but there’s no discussing this back at the office, understood?” the boss clarified as he went back to his seat, his hand reaching for the scotch he had left on the table. There was a second of doubtful silence, people were unsure how safe it was to share such private, and risky, information. Hotch started to catch up, feeling slightly unwelcome and bothersome, so he let out another sigh.  

“Elle was Reid’s first time.” you spurted out of the blue, trying to ease the anxiety that was probably growing within your superior. 

“Hey!” your partner yelled out, being sat next to you on one of the couches, clearly offended that he was the scapegoat to the situation. 

“Greenaway?!” Morgan asked from across the living room. 

“Do you know any more Elles, Morgan?” you said, your eyes rolling. 

“How did you even land that, kid?” the dark-skinned man continued to ask. 

“I’m not really a fan of discussing my sex life out in the open, which is why this was told in confidence to my close and dear friend” the young doctor shot you a quick glare with a hint of anger on it. 

“Oh, so now it’s a sex life?” JJ teased. 

“Totally.” you said, taking a sip of your own drink before continuing “Because he told me this two minutes before he shoved his tongue in my mouth, and his fingers down my pants.” 

“No way!” Prentiss let out while everyone else laughed in surprise, Hotch’s eyebrows simply slightly raised at the confession. 

Reid was sinking on his seat, his ears reddened from the looks that he was receiving. You made sure to squeeze his thigh lightly and shoot him a smile, which deflated the uneasiness that he was feeling. You didn’t mean any harm, and there was no wrong in letting the secret out in front of your most cherished friends, they would have found out one way or another. 

“Morgan and I made out once.” Garcia interrupted the teasing in order to protect her favorite boy wonder from any further teasing, and Derek drew a smug smile on his face at her affirmation. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Hotch contributed with an absolutely unphased expression, or so until another idea ran through his mind, his brows furrowing in concern “Hold on, was this on company time?” both suspects froze in their place and exchanged questioning, guilty looks. Regardless of the answer, their expressions had been enough to give them away “you know what? it’s better if I don’t know.” 

“That office is certainly cozy, don’t you think?” JJ said once again, her eyes traveling between you and Penelope. 

“Impossible.” Derek’s eyes spread wide open, his jaw basically dropping “Please don’t tell me the three made out in Garcia’s office and didn’t invite us to watch” he let out in a pleading, hurt tone. 

“Four.” Emily barged in. 

The men in the room seemed to melt at the revelation, the expression being quite literal for Morgan who slid down the chair in defeat, landing on his knees as if he had been shot in the cruelests of fashions. Spencer could only furrow his brows and let his mouth fall open, already trying to picture the situation. 

“Was it like, taking turns on each other? or the four of you putting your lips together in one single kiss?” the blond asked in order to assess the spatial situation better. 

“I’d say it was kind of a free-for-all sort of situation.” Prentiss answered him. 

“At some point, I’d close my eyes and whomever’s lips came to mine, I was fine with it.” JJ commented, earning a flirty giggle from the rest of the girls around her. 

“You women are killing me.” Morgan said once again, but a sudden epiphany seemed to come through his brain, and he turned in your direction with a pointed finger “Wait a second. That means you have been through everyone’s lips?!” he said in surprise. 

“You’ve made out with her too?!” Garcia said in an offended tone. 

“Christmas last year, got a little carried away with that mistletoe kiss.” he admitted “But nothing further than that.” 

Everyone’s eyes turned to you, the crowd had a mixture of accusation and admiration on their faces, depending on who you looked at, and their staring was making you a little uncomfortable, if you were being honest. 

“Have you all looked at yourselves? This is a ridiculously hot group of people. Being bisexual is very hard with a team like this.” you argued in your defense and decided to down whatever liquid was still inside your glass. Their faces seemed to light up with a hint of shyness. Everyone thought so, of course, but compliments on your physical appearances were not something you exchanged frequently. It was nice to hear once in a while. 

“Did you ever end up sleeping with someone?” Hotch’s question took everyone by surprise, yet they were intrigued enough to allow him to ask uninterrupted. 

Your eyebrows raised with slight offense “Come on, Hotch, I’m not a slut. The closest I have come to was Reid, and even so we stopped because I didn’t want to jeopardize our jobs.” you complained. 

“Sorry, that was not my intention-” he began, until Reid’s question cut him off. 

“Who’s the best?” he asked. 

“Spencer!” JJ yelled accusingly. 

“No, no, let the kid ask.” Morgan put a hand in front of JJ’s chest, trying to keep her opinions from coming out. Yet again, you were put as the center of attention, but you decided to shrug off the question. 

“It’s not like I keep track of each time!” you let out, pushing your friend by the shoulder playfully at his suggestion “Most of them were really far apart from each other, and it only happened once with each one of you.” you clarified, your eyes traveling to Aaron, as if you were trying to justify yourself to him. 

“So, what I hear is: if they were to happen one after the other, then we could find out?” Emily questioned in your direction. 

“There’s a pretty spacious coat closet by the entrance.” Reid pointed out. 

“Oh, we could make it into a competition, and whoever wins gets to sleep with her!” Garcia blurted with a little too much excitement. 

“Wha-” you tried to complain in confusion “Stop your horses, I don’t even get a say in this?!” 

“No.” Hotch stated. The way his eyes were stern, yet completely determined, caused a sensation in you that could only be described as lust. He was always commanding, but there was something about him instructing you to do the dirtiest things to your coworkers that had gotten you excited “This is now a mandatory team-bonding exercise.” his words came out almost like an order.  

There was yet another exchange of looks, this time excited ones, between the team members, and they decided to look at you for approval. “Okay, but sleeping with me is one hell of a prize, and I don’t seem to be getting anything out of this. So, how do I win, and what do I win?” 

“Seems fair that you have a reward as well if you achieve your desired result. How about, if no one is able to convince you to sleep with them, you get one of their vacation days each.” Hotch proposed. “Garcia and JJ, since the two of you are committed you don’t have to actively participate, but you will place a bet on the member you think she’ll most likely succumb to, if you win, you get the loser’s vacation day.”  

Your mouth crooked with pleasure, an expression that your partners mimicked. You were feeling exposed, in the good way, in the kinky way. You still took a second to consider, you knew there was no going back if you agreed to this, but yet again, these were the people you had trusted your entire life to, your job, your safety, your dignity. They would never do anything to undermine you, and their respect for you wouldn’t waver for something like this. 

“We have to set some rules, though.” Spencer weighed in “Only mouths and hands allowed in the erogenous zones.” 

“You worried that if we allow something else you’ll lose?” Morgan teased.

“Mhm, sure, we know what you’re trying to compensate for with those biceps, Morgan. I’m not afraid of you.” his friend teased back. There was a short moment of playful conflict between the two, when Derek pretended to jump menacingly towards Reid, yet he was stopped by Penelope’s hand on his chest. 

“Okay. I’m game.” you agreed along with a nod of your head “Who wants to give it a try first?” you asked, taking a look at the entire group. 

Bunch of eager hands raised at the cue. Morgan’s and Prentiss’s almost touching the ceiling as they competed to see who could raise it higher. JJ and Penelope, who were unfortunately not single at the moment, could only laugh at their little quarrel. Your finger moved rhythmically, pretending to select at random while humming a classic ‘choosing’ song. Ultimately, your digit landed on Prentiss and you wiggled it to indicate her to follow you; she stood up to reach for your hand, allowing you to lead her towards the closet by the entrance. 

She locked the door behind her and turned around with her hands extended towards you, trying to find your body in the pitch-dark small room; your eyesights finally adjusted to the lack of light and you could barely make out her shape. 

“You sure you’re good with this?” she double-checked once her limbs landed on your waist. 

“Em, I love the commitment to consent, but stop talking.” you ordered. 

Within seconds, your own arms wrapped around her neck urging her to come closer; she obliged, happily, and her own head bent forward to meet your lips. You could taste the faint flavor of her balm, which you identified as piña colada. 

Her lips moved slowly, yet sensually, the hands that were gripping your hips pulled them closer, and you could heart the rustling of your clothes rubbing together. After a couple of seconds, her tongue began to prod your bottom lip, ever so chivalrous asking for permission. You chuckled amusedly at the gesture, and she took advantage of the opening to slip in. 

Emily liked to take her time, not really taking control, more like exploring a place that always felt familiar and was revisiting just then. On your side, your fingers curled into the slightly messy hair, and your body rolled on its own to be feeling more of her against you. 

You could feel her hand dragging upwards over your clothes, she traced the side of your body and caused your shirt to come up a little bit, the cool air felt interesting against your now hot skin, and so a sound slipped past your lips. It was Emily’s turn to laugh, pulling away so she could make out your eyes. 

“Better than last time?” she asked, her face not leaving yours. 

“Mhm.” you could simply hum, still breathless from the session. 

“Do you have enough material to work with, judge?” she teased, her nose grazing yours in a playful manner. 

“You will be hard to top, Em.” you admitted to her as your body pulled away. 

“Not the first time I’ve been told that.” she joked “I’ll send in the next contestant, who do you want me to get?” 

“You know what? Just send in whoever you’d like, surprise me.” 

She smiled before sneaking out of the narrow room. You were left alone with a bunch of coats and purses, your idea building anticipation within yourself. Spencer or Morgan, who would come through that door? You were dying to know. Although, if you were being honest, there was only one other person you wanted in there with you. However, you weren’t sure if the team-bonding exercise applied to him as well, he was the sole pair of lips you were dying to taste, and still the only ones you hadn’t. 

Your train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the door; you jumped slightly in your place, and the man that was entering the room could notice. 

“Whoa, sweetheart, you that excited to see me?” Morgan chuckled at your startled reaction, and he swiftly closed the door behind you. 

“You’re a pleasant surprise, yes.” you said trying to ease your nervousness. Morgan made you particularly uneasy, not for anything bad, you were just sure that man had some sort of a psychic ability, he would always guess what you were thinking without even opening your mouth. 

“You were expecting someone different, weren’t you?” he stood before you, towering over your body. 

He took a couple of steps forward and you retracted until your back eventually hit the wall, he continued to pace forward until the gap between your bodies almost disappeared; being caged in by him, your hands traveled to your front, and they landed on his chest, almost as if you were trying to put some space in between you. 

He caught up to your actions, observant as he was, and so he raised his own hands to cup your cheeks. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness once again, and you could see the natural glim of his as he looked into you. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, alright? We can just pretend like we did until Hotch gets his turn.” he reassured, and your mouth dropped open. 

“Why would you-” you started to try and justify yourself, but he cut you off with a laugh. 

“I’ve got an eye for tragic lovers.” 

You sighed a little bit; Morgan had to be a mind reader, there was no other way. As if he was doing just that, his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped back to give you more space. Your hands desperately clung to the front of his t-shirt, not allowing him to escape any further from your grip. 

“Hold on.” you told him “There’s no need to pretend, he already thinks we’re going to do it, so what’s the harm?” 

The room was a bit too dark for you to make out his specific facial expression, but you were sure his eyebrows were raised in a startled surprise. 

“Damn, you’re good at convincing.” without further delay, his hands darted back to the position on your face, and he used them to pull you forward. 

You felt his lips on yours immediately, he was less gentle than Emily, but nonetheless chivalrous. You had to grant him access to your mouth, and he quickly obeyed your desires. His fingers moved back to the nape of your head, keeping you in place against his mouth as his tongue danced fervently around yours. 

Your hands had moved back to his chest, using them to stabilize yourself since his strength and mild roughness was making you lose your balance. You couldn’t help the slight squeeze that you gave his pecs, being that they felt firm under your fingers. Derek took your initiative with the touch as an invitation to do so as well. One of his arms fell down, and sensually slipped to your lower back, he was cautious, lowering inch by inch in search of any sign of complaint or rejection, but you didn’t provide  any, and his palm gently began to caress the area of your ass. 

Your hips rolled unconsciously against his, his breath hitched inside his throat as you did so to the point where he had to pull apart to catch it back. He didn’t want to leave you unattended, therefore his head tilted to the side to take a gentle nibble at your jaw before he moved down to your neck. The hand on your neck joined the other on your rear, adding much needed pressure to his front; you let out a pleased sound, and it was his sign to retract. 

He stole a quick, last peck from your lips before he pulled back. “I think I’ve done a good job.” he said with a cheeky tone.  

“Certainly, contestant” you went along with the joke and he answered with a laugh “Please send in the next test subject” he nodded at your instructions and calmly walked out. 

Thanks to Morgan’s comment, you realized that Aaron was probably game as well, and the mere thought of him appearing behind that door at any given second was making you nervous enough to begin pacing around the small room. You yet again reacted when the entrance was open again, and you must have made a movement or expression that indicated disappointment, because Reid pursed his lips at the sight of you. 

“Not who you were expecting?” he asked before he closed the door behind him, and you could notice the tint of sadness in his voice. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” you reached out towards him in an attempt to find his hands, and when you finally did you pulled him closer to you “You know it’s always a delight to make out with you.” you tried to reassure him. 

“It’s mutual, you know?” he said, his hands still in yours. 

“I figured, I am an excellent kisser” you teased. 

“That’s not what I meant.” his voice seemed more stern than usual “You and Hotch.” 

You were thankful for the darkness that didn’t allow the blush of your face to be seen; after a couple of seconds, you cleared your throat, trying to avoid sounding too hopeful. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to kiss me” he added “Plus, I don’t know how comfortable I would be doing so while you think of another man.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his candor. Vulnerable Spencer could always sway you, mostly because you knew none of his words ever held an ill intention. He was honest to a fault, and you always felt compelled to soothe his anxieties. 

“Then be good enough to make me forget.” you almost let out as a whisper. 

You knew it would have to be up to you to take control with him, so you cupped his face and quickly dragged him down to your level to press a kiss to his lips and shut up whatever other excuse he was going to emit. Spencer was much more familiar with your lips compared to others, barely any foreplay before his tongue was already massaging yours sensually. His fingers gripped your hips in a similar fashion he had done before (that one time you were telling the rest of the team about). 

He pushed you backwards a bit, having you pressed against an already too familiar wall, and you could feel his knee slipping past your thighs, right in between them. His lips continued to work around yours, gently nonetheless, but you could feel the grip on your hips getting tighter, and you realized he was trying to move them, bringing friction to your front. 

A light moan slipped past your lips straight into his mouth, so his body moved forward to press against you a little tighter. “Isn’t that cheating?” you took the opportunity to say. 

“It’s not.” he answered before taking another kiss away from you “My mouth is where it’s supposed to be.” 

You giggled at his logic; Spencer was just that good when it came to loopholes. You were too focused on the pleasure that was taking over you as your clothed crotch continued to rub against his leg to actually care. Your hips started to take a rhythm on their own, and your kiss turned into a session of adjoining lips panting in unison. His fingers kept digging further into the skin that he had managed to expose due to the movement. 

At some point, your head dropped back to allow yourself to get lost in the moment, and you felt his lips attack its base with open-mouthed, yet non-invasive, kisses. Your legs began to shake and Spencer pressed against you to keep you up, your light orgasm running within every vein of your body. 

He let out a light chuckle as he pulled away from you, making sure you could keep your balance. “Bet Morgan didn’t do that” he said proudly. 

You hit him in the arm and pushed him towards the door with a smile, watching him smugly prance his way out. You laughed to yourself to disguise the anxiety that began to overwhelm you. You made sure to fix your clothes in a somewhat presentable manner, and you unconsciously pressed yourself back against the wall, as if you were too scared to meet him face first. 

Your heart felt like jumping straight up out of your chest when the knob finally twisted the damned piece of fine wood open. For the brief moment the hall light illuminated the insides, your eyes met, you could see the startle in his eyes once he noticed the way you stood there seemingly frozen by his appearance. He couldn’t bear the sight, his hands immediately darting to your face without having even shut the entrance. In a blink, his entire presence was right by yours, and his nose rubbed desperately against your own, almost as if it had taken all of his strength to stop himself from kissing you right away. 

“Can I?” he asked in a mutter. 

“Yes.” you barely let him finish his question when you answered. 

Your firm and resolute agreement was nothing but a turn on to him, and his lips pressed passionately against yours without a second thought. You struggled to catch your breath as he devoured every inch of your now plump skin. His hands were nowhere near quiet, either, they presumed permission to explore as well and traveled south to where your lower-back, and any work you had done to tidy your shirt was long gone, being that he was heavily bothered by the fact that you were clothed.

The tip of his fingers were carefully memorizing the areas where your skin curved, every so often gripping selfishly with the intention of leaving at least a faint mark. You wondered how he could keep going without taking a break, and as if he could read your mind he pulled away.

“That’s plenty to be able to judge your performance.” you joked, suddenly aware that this had all begun because of a silly game you had tipsily come up with. 

“I’m sorry.” he said, his hands fixing themselves on your face instead, keeping it still to have you at the same level as him. 

“What for?” your eyebrows furrowed questioningly, even if in the darkness he couldn’t quite see your expression. 

“It’s not enough for me.” his lips smashed onto yours once again with a similar force “Please tell me this urge isn’t one-sided.” he tried to reassure himself. 

“It’s not.” you hurried to clarify, and your hands tugged at his shirt to serve as guarantee. 

Aaron reached for the hem of your top and swiftly pulled it over your head, giving your aching lips a second of rest. Once your breasts were partially freed, you noticed him bend over, and one of his hands moved the remaining fabric away to expose your nipple; the way his mouth so hungrily latched to it made you shiver with pleasure, your right limb moving to his hair, and the left one covering your mouth to stop the loud moan from coming out. He didn’t take long to bring your other nub attention as well, and caged, throaty whines began to fill the room. 

You could feel his erection pressing against your hip; he would roll them from time to time just as a reminder of the effect you had on him. You couldn’t process all that, though, if you were being honest, his every move, kiss, and suck driving you further away from sanity. As if his mouth wasn’t already doing wonders around your chest, you bolted up when you realized one of Hotch’s hands had found its way inside your pants, toying with the elastic band of your underwear. 

“Aaron.” you removed the cover from your face to let out an aroused moan of his name. 

He finally let go of your upper body, his back straightening to be close to your face once again “Tell me,” he almost whispered “when he was doing this to you, were you thinking of me?” 

When you didn’t jerk away from his touch, he moved past the last restrictive garment, and one of his digits trailed up your entire slit, an experimental feeling to gather your reaction. To his pleasure, you melted into his touch, and the lack of light didn’t allow you to see the wide smile it generated on him. He took advantage of your approval to slip his finger inside your cunt. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased as the aforementioned began to painstakingly slowly twirl within you “Tell me, is there anyone else that can make you this agitated? So wet, so desperate to be touched?” 

“N-No” you tried to answer in one go, however, the way the tip of his finger caressed your walls in search of reactions was not allowing you to think straight. 

“I’ll ask you again.” he said, his tone ever commanding “While he was touching you like this, did you secretly wish it was me?” he kept pressing his initial line of questioning, that you were too gone to remember it was about your little anecdote with Reid. 

His wrist twisted in a way that allowed him to penetrate deeper, owning a moan that you tried to subtly suppress. 

“Yes!” you cried out in the lowest tone you were able to, still oddly aware that the rest of your coworkers were outside. 

“Let him know.” he basically growled against your ear, you lacked contact in your lower body for a second, only to let out a loud, uncontained whimper once he added a second finger to the formula. You grabbed for dear life onto his biceps, trying to keep your balance as he continued to thrust his fingers inside and out, your head also laid against the crook of his neck, unable to keep yourself facing him as he spilled dirty nothings in your ear. 

“Aaron, please.” you begged as your hips tried to get him even further within you “I need more.” 

The arm that was helping you keep still moved so his fingers could tangle in your hair, his grip allowed him to tilt your head back with a gentle tug, not quite enough to hurt you, but firm enough to force it a little. 

“I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget every word but my name.” his mouth pressed against yours once again to give you a reaffirming, rough kiss.

He removed his hand from your downside, and it energetically began to search around for the top he had removed earlier. Unable to find it, between other pieces of clothing and the darkness of the room, Aaron decided to remove his own shirt and hurried to throw it over your shoulders. 

Your face reddened at his intentions, he was trying to cover you so the rest of the members wouldn’t see you literally half naked. Once he was comfortable with how many buttons he had hooked, he grabbed your hand to guide you outside the narrow closet. 

Unfortunately for the both of you, and his subordinates, the only path towards the guest rooms, that Dave had prepared earlier, was to follow the hallway that crossed the living room area on the side. You braced yourself mentally, your hand covering your face as you began to feel the confused sights of your coworkers during your little parade. 

“Last one out set the alarm.” you could hear Hotch command, but you didn’t dare to look back at your friends, or him for that matter. 

The rest of the group simply stared at how their shirtless superior was dragging a girl, their very best friend, who was wearing his shirt over what was obviously a barely clothed chest, to the rooms their other boss had prepared for a very specific purpose. They exchanged puzzled looks in complete silence until Emily spoke up. 

“Anyone know the alarm code?” she asked. 

Back to you and Aaron, he had chosen the closest door he could find open. As soon as you stepped in, he grabbed your hips once again to press them against his, his erection made itself known against them, and you couldn’t help but to curiously wander one hand down. Your foreheads met and so did your eyes as you palmed his front; he let out an airy quiet moan. 

Not able to take his frustration any longer, he twirled in his place along with you, making you stumble and fall on your back on to the bed. He landed right on top, his palms against the mattress cushioning the fall so he wouldn’t lay his entire weight on you. 

There was no exchange of words, only a quick glance at your covered bottom that you understood as a command. Your back arched upwards and he could steal a glance of your perked nipples rubbing against his lent shirt. Shortly, you began to wiggle underneath him to remove the pants that you were pushing down along with your underwear. Once you were exposed, garments missing somewhere around the area, Aaron sat on his knees to unbuckle his belt. 

The second his member became exposed, you let out a pleased gasp, which prompted him to smile in a rather shy way. Your legs subtly spread apart, revealing more of your intimate parts, and he understood that as an invitation to enter. His tip trailed slowly up and down your entrance, but before you could complain, he began to push in. He was as desperate as you were, and the way you let out a soft whine at his size. 

Once he had pushed all the way in, he reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers together and pushing them all the way over your head. He could get a clear view of your face and breasts, and once he made sure you had adjusted to him, his hips began to move. Another moan escaped your lips, so he leaned down to meet his mouth with yours, planting a passionate, deep kiss to it. 

You could feel yourself being filled by him, soft noises coming out of your mouth into his at the gentleness of his thrusts. Said gesture, however, wouldn’t seem to last long, and you noticed in the way the grip of your hands felt tighter with each one. 

“No one else can touch you like this.” he pulled away from the kiss to focus on the side of your neck, you felt his lips attach to the skin and roughly suck on it. Aaron pulled away to admire the redness that spread on the spot, proud of the mark that he knew it was going to leave. 

“No one else.” you reassured, your back arching a little at the pulsating pain on your neck. 

“Good girl.” he praised, his hips snapping with a particularly rough thrust that caused a low ‘fuck’ out of you. 

“Don’t hold back your voice.” 

He repeated his movement, and this time you squirmed trying to free your hands, a loud, throat-deep whimper resonating around the otherwise empty room. He smirked at the volume of the sound, yet his hips continued to pound in you, the initial slow movements gone from his rhythm. 

“Aaron…” you whispered in between moans “I want to cum.” you tried to beg. 

“Not yet, sweetheart.” his eyes glimmered with certain darkness

His hips changed angles even when his current speed wouldn’t give in, the way he was pushing now allowed your clit to rub slightly against his lower torso with every thrust, probably so he wouldn’t have to use his hands and set yours free. 

“I need to know I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.” he growled “I need you to say you’re mine.” 

“I’m-” you were about to start talking when he snapped his hips roughly, and you could feel him slide all the way in, his balls making a loud clapping sound when they hit the skin on your ass. The sound you made was loud, almost like a scream, and you were sure whoever was still outside certainly heard it. 

“What 's that? Couldn’t hear you.” his mouth had curled into a smug smirk. 

“I’m yours, Aaron. I’m all yours.” you cried out, your wrists once again twisting in an attempt to free themselves. 

He muttered another praise and let go of your hands, which could only fall flat to your sides and grip onto the sheets of the bed; he leaned back to be sitting on his knees once again, not allowing his member to slip out of you, and grabbed at your hips to slide them onto his lap. He held them in position as he continued to thrust, but one of his thumbs snuck to the upper part of your cunt, rapidly teasing the sensitive nerve bundle. 

You kept slightly gritting your teeth, your walls clenching around his shaft without mercy, and even if it was not obvious on his face, you could tell by the way his member throbbed inside of you that he was about to reach his limit as well. 

“Cum.” he suddenly commanded, and you didn’t need anything more. 

You allowed yourself to be engulfed by your climax, your body twisting itself and your hands pulling at the fabric beneath them, your legs also curled, basically pushing your partner in your direction, not even giving him the option to pull back. 

On his part, his head was thrown back, and you could see the way his adam’s apple bobbed with the loud groans he let out, his fingers gripping tighter on your skin, however this time the mark that his hold would leave was a complete accident. 

He didn’t pull out once he had spilled himself completely into you, instead, his body dropped forward, his arms slipping under your body to hold you close to him, head on your chest, eyes closed, just trying to take in the fact that he had just made love to you. 

“Aaron?” you said with a curious tone, your arms wrapping around his back and allowing one of your hands to tangle in his hair. He answered with a short hum, too tired to give you an actual answer “Does it bother you that I made out with the rest of the team tonight?” you asked, nervous that it would have hurt him in any way. 

“No.” he said matter-of-factly “As long as I only get to do it from now on.” 

You shared a light chuckle, and without noticing, the both of you drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning was a bit awkward for Rossi, being that he was not expecting to see the entire team, save for you and Hotch, curled on his living room furniture. JJ, Reid, and Emily had curled up together on the larger piece, while Morgan and Garcia cuddled on one of the individual seats. The clearing of his throat woke everyone up in a startle, and they looked around confusedly for the missing members of the group. 

“What the hell happened last night?” David asked no one in particular. 

“We were playing a game, and we must have fallen asleep waiting for it to end.” Garcia said with a slightly suggestive, yet groggy, voice, and Rossi decided it was better not to ask. 

“By the way, how do we interpret this?” Emily asked “Who won?” 

“Do you even have to ask?” Morgan scoffed, and Emily shrugged in defeat. 

“Then, who won between the two of you?” Reid asked, pointing at JJ and Garcia. 

“No one, really.” Jennifer replied. 

“What? You both failed? Who did you choose?” Morgan inquired. 

The blondes exchanged looks to see if they had had the same thought, and so they replied in unison once they had figured they were correct. 

“Spencer.” their tones were flat, almost as if the answer was obvious. Reid lit up in a smile, wiggling his eyebrows victoriously at Derek. 

“What?! No way you would just pick him!” he was baffled at the answer. 

“Girls talk, Derek” Penelope told him “Let’s just say Elle reviewed his service with five stars.” 

The group broke into a shared laugh, and Rossi only interrupted so he could inquire on the whereabouts of his friends. 

“Where’s Aaron?” he prompted. 

“One of the guest rooms.” Reid said. 

“And is he with…?” Dave continued. 

“Yup” the five members said in unison, referring to you. 

“Also, Rossi, if you don’t mind, I kind of have a design suggestion.” Spencer turned in the direction of his superior

The older man raised his eyebrows, curious about the words that were about to come out of the younger’s mouth. “Let’s hear it.” 

“Please make all the rooms soundproof.”

#aaron hotchner #spencer reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner/reader #hotch/reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner/you #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #hotch smut #mine #fic: hotchner #fic: mine #fic: smut #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fan fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fic

[draculesmihawk]

EYES LIKE SINKING SHIPS ON WATERS (I ALMOST JUMP IN)

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x OFC

Summary: He’s a stranger. She’s an unusual assignment. He may be everything she’s looking for, but she’s a presence that grows more intriguing – and infuriating – by the moment.

CHAPTER SIX: and it's my whole heart (deemed and delivered a crime)

[AO3]

It happened in an instant.

She wasn’t within reach. Too far ahead of him, too angry at him, too far up the incline of the forest terrain when her steps seemed to stagger and her legs gave out from under her. She had hit the dirt roughly before his eyes, the side of her body crashing and taking the brunt of the damage against the hard woodland ground. Her body was unresponsive as she slumped down the dirt slope a few feet off from him. 

Mihawk himself wasn’t sure what he had called out to her at that moment. It could have been her name. It could have been a command to stop. The words could have caught in his throat, leaving only a strangled noise passing his lips. Whatever sound he made, it didn’t matter. Not when he was rushing over to where Aurelia had stopped. Knees driving into the dirt beside her, Mihawk reached out to inspect her. She was breathing. That much he was relieved to know. What had caused her to stumble? He had no clue. He slowly turned her onto her back, taking note of the scrapes along her left side that she sustained from her fall. Hauling her up carefully, he kept one arm around her as he drew her onto his lap. Her body curled into his and her head came to rest on his shoulder as he sat with her on the forest floor. Mihawk brought his free hand to her cheek, brushing the dirt from her face. He took in the slow breathing, the furrowed brows, the way her eyes were moving behind closed lids.

His lips moved to brush along the crown of her head, dipping to her ear as he murmured whatever reassuring words he could think of to her. His hand moved to brush along her arm. Wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, then back down. A soft attempt at rousing her. He shifted in his position, pulling back to look at her face. A pinched, pain expression lingered, her mouth a set line as she tried to lift her head from his shoulder.

“Open your eyes for me, little dove.”

Need was apparent in his voice. There was no other way to describe it. Mihawk simply needed the sight of her eyes upon his own. Those incredible warm eyes, the narrowed gaze, looks that were lit with amusement usually at his expense… Whatever she could give him, he would accept at that moment. His hand moved to trace the swell of her cheek, the line of her jaw. It wasn’t until he reached to brush her brow that Aurelia’s hand reached up, fingers curling over his. The soft hum in response from her had Mihawk’s breath catching in his throat. His hand turned, fingers taking hold of her own. He pressed a kiss to her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckle as he did.

“Mihawk.”

Her voice came out in a shaky sigh.

“I’m here. I've got you.”

Mihawk shifted, legs parting as she tried to sit up. It took longer than usual, a hiss of pain on her lips as she ended up sitting between his legs. He kept a knee propped behind her, and remained at her back for stability. His hand remained in hers, his eyes still searching for her own. She brought her free hand up to her face, fingers tenderly pressing against her temple. It wasn’t until the discomfort subsided that her eyes fluttered open. She winced at the light, blinking repeatedly as she tried to get her bearings. 

"There we are," Mihawk said, as Aurelia's eyes set up on his, "You took quite the tumble, darling."

Darling. 

That was a new one.

It sat with Aurelia when Mihawk assisted her back to camp. At his insistence, of course. His very frustrating, very handsome insistence. They moved in silence after the ordeal. The fall, what they spoke of before the accident, what they were doing before all of that… Awkward silence seemed like the best option to go with at the moment. One hand gripping the bag of fruits, he led them down the sloped forest grounds. His other hand was kept at her hip, her hand resting atop his as he guided them through the thicket and onto the sandy beach. She assumed she looked positively dreadful, as the smile Shanks had on his face disappeared at the sight of her. It had been enough to alarm the others, then there was no stopping the swarm of worried faces. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Shanks asked immediately.

“This better not be your doing,” Benn spoke over her head to Mihawk.

“I’m gonna fix you up a drink,” Roux offered. 

“You tried to brawl the Warlord in the woods, didn’t you?” Yasopp whispered to her.

They all seemed to speak at once. At her, at each other, to themselves. A mix of voices messily moving through the air around them. It wasn’t Mihawk’s hand on her hip anymore, but rather Shanks’s hand. Aurelia didn’t even notice the change of hands until Shanks began to lead her further towards camp, orders being sent out to the other men to give Aurelia some room to breathe. Shanks led her to a makeshift seat, sitting her down before he moved to crouch down in front of her. Her head swiveled slightly, unable to find the familiar glint of yellow eyes in the small group.

He was just there a moment ago.

“Are you okay?”

Surely he wouldn’t leave now.

“Aurelia…”

Would he?

“Sweetheart.”

Darling .

Aurelia’s attention snapped to Shanks when she felt his hand touch her shoulder, rousing her from her thoughts. Curious eyes watched her as her mind seemed to catch up to the situation. She looked down at herself, taking in the new tear along the right side of her dress with a sigh. This skirt seemed doomed to be torn up. Her right forearm seemed to have gotten scratched up as well, minor scrapes and cuts on her arm and her leg where the dress was torn. Seeing her discomfort at the sight before her, Shanks unhooked the clasp of his black cape. He draped it over Aurelia’s lap, covering the skirt of her dress.

“This is all very unnecessary,” she said, even as Roux pushed a cup into her hand. 

“This is nothing,” Roux replied back with a grin, “Just something to warm up the stiff bones.”

“And we take care of our own,” Shanks assured her.

Despite her words, Aurelia flashed the two men a thankful smile. It was that. Right there. That desire to aid those considered part of the team, the crew … It felt like a family being with Shanks and the other men. Aurelia had a family in blood. With all the requirements that seemed to follow that kind of bond. This felt like the type of family that took care of their own not out of obligation, but because they chose to. Because they wanted to. Because it felt right to do so. 

“Thank you,” Aurelia said, before taking a sip from her drink. 

Shanks slowly smiled as he watched Aurelia keep the sip in her mouth, refusing to swallow it. She flashed Roux a thankful smile, which screwed into a look of distaste once the other man turned to leave. Shanks laughed as Aurelia’s face twisted at the taste. Some sort of spiced alcohol. Very strong, very hard to drink down. Because it was Roux that gave it to her, she wouldn't spit out the drink, taking her time instead swallowing down the liquid. Shanks took pity once she did, taking the cup from her hand and drinking down the contents of the cup.

"Were you feeling unwell again?" Shanks inquired, as Benn came around with a rag and a bowl of water.

"No," she said, though her voice was distant as she spoke, "My foot must've lost its balance. I slipped and fell."

Shanks eyed her carefully as he dipped the rag into the water. She wasn't being truthful with him. Not completely.

"It's unlike you to be so uneasy on your feet," Shanks told her, as he ran the damp rag over her arm, cleaning off whatever dirt and grime had stayed with her following her spill. 

"I must have become less graceful at sea," Aurelia replied, trying to keep the tone light.

"Well, graceful or not, we'll get you cleaned up," Shanks said, "We’ll figure out a replacement for your dress. At least until we can get you a proper one in the next town.”

Ever the gentleman, Shanks lifted the cape draped on Aurelia’s lap just high enough to gain access to her scraped leg. He kept his eyes at a respectable level and worked quickly. Under a lesser man’s care, Aurelia would be concerned for her honor. Shanks was not a lesser man, nor did he seem the type to forget himself when it came to a woman. 

“You won’t scar,” Shanks offered, “Just a few scratches. They’ll be uncomfortable, but nothing life-ending. Though I’d suggest a rest.”

"I'm not the least bit sleepy," she challenged.

“Your eyes would say otherwise, sweetheart.”

Shanks dropped the rag into the bowl, motioning to her face before wiping damp fingers against the pant of his leg. When Aurelia tried to look away, Shanks lightly tapped her chin. It was tired eyes that met him when she looked back. Though she wouldn’t say it, Shanks knew whatever happened with her had stolen away some of that liveliness he had gotten used to seeing when it came to the woman who sat before him. 

"It's just an accident,” Aurelia told him, “I don’t need to be ushered to bed at the first inkling of danger. I’m not made of glass. Just flesh and bone. Both of which are tougher than you think. It’s not in my nature to shatter under pressure, Shanks."

Aurelia watched as Shanks’s expression seemed to soften. He looked at her differently, eyes viewing her in a different light. The hand that had touched her chin slowly moved to comb the hair in her face back, tucking it neatly behind her ear. The expression he wore had Aurelia looking back at him curiously. There was a devotion in his eyes. A different form of adoration. She hadn’t seen such a look before when it came to this pirate. Not in the usual way he would meet her gaze. 

“What?” she prodded with a laugh, lighty swatting his hand away as she spoke.

Her voice seemed to pull Shanks from his thoughts. He rose from where he squatted in front of her, held out his hand to help her up from her seat. She accepted his hand, even hooked her arm with his as he led her further into the campgrounds.

“Nothing," Shanks insisted, a shake of his head as they walked, “You just reminded me of someone.”

“Someone special to you,” Aurelia guessed. 

She assumed it was correct from the coy smile that was drawn out of the man beside her.

“Someone quite dear, yes,” Shanks nodded, voice full of fondness. 

Though he was set on leaving it at that, the impatient squeeze of Aurelia’s hand on his arm was enough to draw out a laugh from the pirate. 

“I see flashes of her in you, you see,” Shanks continued, “In certain lights and specific angles. The small divot in your cheek when you smile. It’s your spirit though. The unwillingness to back down, even in times when you probably should … That more than anything gives me those happy, most welcomed glimpses.”

A smile came to Aurelia’s lips as she looked up at Shanks. He seemed to take a beat to close his eyes. He was visualizing the woman in that second. She was sure of it. From the looks of him, Aurelia knew Shanks savored the image of this mysterious lady in his mind. When he opened his eyes, Shanks sighed. Pleased. Content. The breath of a man who was touched by peace, if only for a moment.

“You loved her.” 

A statement. No question lingering there.

“I did.” The words flowed from him. The easiest confirmation in the world. “I still do.”

“Well, where is she then?” Aurelia asked, as they slowed to a stop outside of her tent, “If I’ve a fraction of her spirit, I’d expect her whipping you all into shape by now.”

“Oh, she absolutely could’ve,” Shanks grinned, “And it would’ve been a sight to behold, sweetheart.”

Aurelia watched as Shanks’s joyful expression gave way to a faint sadness. His mind seemed to go back in time, replaying the flashes in his mind.

“Our paths crossed a time or ten. Perhaps, for a moment, our destinies even ran parallel to one another. However, I have only ever known the sea… and that was the one place she could not make her home.”

“I’m sorry.”

Shanks felt Aurelia’s hand lightly touch his. Her fingers wrapped around his, squeezed them in a way he could only describe as comforting. A touch. A reminder that he was in good company. Not alone. It was then that Shanks placed a smile on his lips. Still faint, but there in appreciation.

“As am I,” he confessed, giving her hand a soft squeeze as he spoke, “But I consider myself quite lucky. To possess someone’s heart completely and to be able to grant them entire access to one’s heart in return. To love someone that freely and to feel the weight of that love returned to you tenfold. It doesn’t matter what length of time you’re in possession of it. It’s more terrifying than any sea monster imaginable, more captivating than any treasure.”

A breath caught in Shanks’s throat at the thought. He ducked his head slightly so that he could meet Aurelia’s gaze directly. There was a fierceness there. A fire that burned brilliantly in Shanks’s eyes. Aurelia knew he meant the words he spoke. Shanks meant it with every fiber of his being.

“To know the risks and choose to love still… It’s the bravest thing a person could do in this world.”

He watched as Aurelia turned his words over and over in her mind, letting the sentiment sit with her. Then, as he had hoped, her eyes shifted from his. Her face turned. Looking around. Searching. For another’s face. For the face of the man who entered her mind and seemingly found a home there.

“He needed a moment,” Shanks softly told her, a knowing smile on his lips, “I’ll let him know you’re resting once he returns.”

Shanks watched as Aurelia’s eyes moved back to his.

“I told you I wasn’t tired,” she replied, calculated in the way she didn’t acknowledge half of his words to her.

Shanks released her hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek in fondness. The pad of his thumb brushed faintly against the divot in her cheek as she smiled at him. His eyes locked with hers, held her gaze steadily. There was a kindness in those eyes, but also a power there she couldn’t quite place. It drew her in, kept her captivated.

“Rest,” he commanded, voice no higher than a whisper.

Aurelia felt a heaviness touch her eyelids at the word. The side of her head pressed against Shanks’s palm, head growing heavy with exhaustion. Fatigue crept in slowly. It lingered around her. Maybe Shanks was right… His hand dropped from her face, reached around to rub at her back in comfort before he moved to open the front of her tent. She stepped in without another word, settled in slowly atop the makeshift bedding they had provided her. 

It was Shanks’s soft smile and warm eyes that she saw before her own eyes closed. 

It was not Shanks at all she saw when she dreamed.

She dreamt of yellow orbs. Of lips that were soft, though they rarely turned upward. She dreamt of a feathered hat and the dark curls that escaped from beneath it. The scent of leather touched her senses. The feel of it along her fingertips, against her body. She dreamed of him . Different than any other thought of him that crossed her mind. Her body eased, rested completely. 

It was Mihawk that she found in her dreams.

It was Mihawk that she found when she woke up.

He laid beside her atop the bedding, an arm tucked behind his head and his hat tipped over his eyes. Though he wore his coat and cross still, he had placed his massive sword at his other side, fingers of his free hand at the ready to grab hold of the hilt if needed. Head raising slightly, Aurelia looked at the man that laid beside her. It was as if she manifested him from her dreams. Not entirely convinced this was reality, she raised a hand, dragged her fingertips slowly along his bearded jaw. She smiled when he huffed in his sleep. Her fingers pulled back from his face as he reached up to absentmindedly brush at his cheek. Biting back a laugh, Aurelia was careful as she raised her hand to repeat the motion again. That threat of a laugh gave way to a gasp when Mihawk’s once sluggish hand shot out to take hold of her wrist.

“You’re risking a very small, very pretty hand waking me from a nap,” he murmured out his warning, “Most forfeit their existence when they do such a thing, little dove.”

He released her hand, pushing back the brim of his hat as tired eyes opened and blinked into focus. It was then that Aurelia spotted them. Those peculiar yellow eyes. Aurelia felt the tug of a smile at the corner of her lips at the sight. 

“I’m lucky then,” she replied, lightheartedly, “That you’re willing to consider taking only my hand.”

“I’ll have that hand in time,” he said, voice touched with lingering slumber, “You’ll continue to vex me until I’ve no choice but to take it.”

There was humor in his voice, as if the words carried a different meaning on his tongue.

“But tonight we’ll call a truce,” he concluded, “I prefer to battle against opponents when they’re at their best.”

Aurelia watched as Mihawk slowly sat up and shifted, a feat she imagined was quite difficult to do within the confines of the tent for a man of his stature. She followed suit, sitting across from him and watching as he reached for something just off from where they sat. He placed a bowl by her knee, something she was sure Roux cooked up and shoved into his hand before Mihawk came to visit her. She must have needed it greatly, as she didn’t seem to waste time picking it up and enjoying the meal. Aurelia watched as Mihawk’s eyes seemed to run over her, taking stock of her wellness. She ate her meal in silence, allowing him to reach out and lightly push away the hair from the side of her face, inspecting the small scrapes that were present there. They had a truce. That was the reason she let the back of his fingers graze her cheek the way it did before dropping from her face. 

She held out the empty bowl to him, which he took and replaced with another item without a word. Looking down at her hand, Aurelia felt the soft fabric that was placed there. This blouse was stark white, much cleaner than anything Shanks and his men wore. It was made of finer fabric, incredibly soft to the touch. Where had they been hiding this one? Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. She felt Mihawk’s hand touch her face once more, his thumb smoothing the crease in her brow until she eased.

“Whose shirt is this?” she asked.

“ Mine. ”

Mihawk watched as she turned her gaze upward, cautiously meeting his eyes. He wondered if her mind traveled to the night before. To the last conversation they had when it came to donning a man’s clothes. She must have. He was certain of it. He watched as those cautious eyes seemed to melt away, replaced with a glimmer of amusement and a hum of acknowledgement.

“I doubt you found the time to sail to the nearest town and back in such a short time,” she said, tone light as she set the blouse on her lap.

Mihawk watched as her fingers softly touched the fabric, wondering if he’d ever be so lucky.

“I’ve a few items stored on my boat,” he informed her, nodding towards her torn dress, “You’ll find much better use out of it than myself for now.”

“Afraid Shanks will offer me another article of clothing?”

Ah, yes. Teasing. Mihawk was certain she was feeling much better now.

“If not him, it would be Beckman,” Mihawk said, “If not Beckman, it would be another man.”

Aurelia watched as Mihawk leaned in, spoke to her in a hushed tone meant for just her.

“I’ve not the time nor the patience to deal with such an annoyance,” he added, “Not when I know it’s my shirt you’ll be most comfortable wrapped in.”

Aurelia felt her heart quicken at the words. She was unable to contain the pleased expression that spread across her face. It simply couldn’t be prevented. Not with those words. Not with this man. Her hands continued to hold the blouse even as she leaned forward and brought her lips to Mihawk’s. A soft graze. A brush between two lips. He made no move forward, though his heavy sigh indicated how much he wished to. Aurelia smiled against his lips before placing a proper kiss there, satisfying in its simplicity. It was then that she felt Mihawk move, felt his hand rest along the side of her neck before deepening the kiss. He was convinced he could do this forever, though she pulled back before he could put such a thought to the test.

“Thank you,” she said, head tilting slightly as she smiled at him.

“Do you make it a habit of kissing those who bring you aid?”

Her eyes danced with warmth as she looked at him. The amusement in her eyes gave way to mischief.

“Not typically,” she confessed, as though she put much thought into her next words, “But I can try to do so with Shanks and the others going forward.”

“Don’t you dare.”

His words came quickly, as if the speed of them would put a stop to such nonsense.

“Why not?”

A half-hearted challenge meant to peeve him more than anything else.

“You know damn well why not, little dove.”

Mihawk’s hand slipped from the side of her neck, taking the hair at the base of her neck with a light grip. Her laugh was breathy as he pulled her forward, crashed his lips into hers. He felt her sigh into his mouth, felt her lips part with ease as his free hand snaked around her hip. His tongue dipped in and out of her mouth, a simulation of what he could only hope was future activities. He sat back slightly as Aurelia crowded his space. Her hands gripped at the skirt of her dress, hiking it up until she was able to straddle his hips with ease. It was then that her arms came to rest along his shoulders, hand reaching up to tug the feathered hat from Mihawk’s head. She wanted to feel the softness of his hair, and wanted to tangle the wild curls around her fingers. 

Aurelia had felt so certain when she had told Mihawk things could not happen again.

Now all she wanted was the feeling of his hands upon her.

She felt those same hands run along her body, reach between them to take hold of the front of her dress. He was tolerant at first, skillful fingers attacking the buttons with ease. Impatience seemed to overcome him slowly. It was the buttons. Too many damn buttons. She felt his sharp breath as he dropped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling into the spot between her neck and shoulder in begrudging defeat. He had fought off eagerness valiantly, but hastiness inevitably won out in the end. She felt the quiet hiss of a curse against her neck before Mihawk’s hands gripped the front of her dress, tearing open the fabric the remainder of the way. 

He had given her his shirt. She had no further need for the dress. It was the only thought that kept him from apologizing for such a barbarous act. An act that seemed to elicit quite the positive reaction from the woman before him. Aurelia shivered beneath his hands, her head dropping down to his shoulder as she bit back a rather enticing sound. Hm… Mihawk couldn’t help but store that particular move in the back of his mind. For future reference, of course. He was a man of skill. Attentive in all manners of learning. Honing such skills would take practice. Continual practice. Perhaps practice twice a day, if she was up for it. Aurelia swore she could feel Mihawk smirk against her neck. 

His lips moved to place kisses against her neck, along her shoulder, across any inch of accessible skin not covered in fabric. It wasn’t until he felt her hands frame his face that he allowed her to drag his mouth back to hers. She wanted the feel of his tongue against her own, wanted the slow churning that grew low in her belly that came with it. Her hips moved against his, felt the growing firmness beneath her as she did. His hands slipped beneath her dress as he felt the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her chemise. He felt her sigh against him as his thumb moved along the curve of her breast. That sigh sounded like a choir of angels to Mihawk’s ears as his hands dropped down, fingers gripping greedily at the swell of her hips.

It was then that he heard it. 

The sharp intake of breath. 

Not in pleasure, but pain. 

She was still hurt from that afternoon. He cursed himself for forgetting so. Cursed himself for taking liberties with her wellbeing. She would let him continue. He knew that much. Could he do so? Could he allow himself to sink into the moment, into her, knowing her complete and utter satisfaction would be marred by discomfort? He knew the answer in his mind, even as his body screamed for him to ignore it all.

Mihawk kept a secure arm around her as he moved their bodies. Careful as he coaxed Aurelia onto her back, taking care not to put too much weight upon her. God, she was beautiful . The faint flutter of lashes as she blinked up at him, clearing the haze of lust from her eyes. She smiled gingerly up at him, settling comfortably beneath his body. The front of her dress lay open, forgotten as she reached up to comb fingers through his hair. It positively wrecked him. Mihawk had no clue such a small, delicate action could cause such devastation within him. He wanted her body. Desperately. He desired only to hear his name on her lips. He needed the feeling of her body as it gave in to his, surrendering to the ebb and flow before being overcome by the waves.

It was Aurelia’s voice that broke the silence, whispering softly to him.

“You prefer opponents when they’re at their best,” she repeated his words from earlier.

She watched him swallow down his disappointment, let her hand drop to rub at his arms as he did.

“That’ll teach me,” her lips curved in amusement, “Getting myself injured right before such an important battle.”

Aurelia bit down on her bottom lip, clearly attempting to keep her laughter from bubbling to the surface. She seemed more at ease in that moment than any other they had shared before. He couldn’t quite believe the sight. Bracing a forearm above her head, Mihawk used his other hand to caress her cheek. She hummed at the sensation, eyes closing peacefully as she did.

“You’re different than earlier,” he couldn’t stop himself from quietly wondering aloud.

Her eyes opened and met his. She tilted her head into his hand, nodding at his words. She was a far, far cry from the words she spoke to him earlier that afternoon. There had been a shift. A significant one. Aurelia turned her head to the side, pressing a soft kiss to his inner wrist. 

“It’ll be more than my hand at risk now,” she whispered to him, “I’m choosing to trust you, Warlord.”

Mihawk lightly touched her chin, turned her face as he moved to lower his kiss to her lips. The tenderness there would linger long after the kiss ended and haunt them in the waking hours. A secret reminder between the two of them.

Of what they shared just then.

Of what they’ll share more in the future.

“Get back to sleep, little dove,” he murmured against her lips.

“Back to bossing me around again,” she grinned, despite the loss of his weight atop her as Mihawk carefully untangled himself from her arms, “It seems our truce has reached its conclusion.”

“That means you’ll go back to being impossibly troublesome. What horror have I unleashed upon me now?”

Aurelia heard the humor in his voice and -- for the briefest moment -- she was certain she saw a ghost of a smile on his lips as he collected his sword and hat before he left the tent. She shifted onto her side, her hand lightly touching her lips as she hid her smile behind the length of her fingers. Eyes closing, lips widened into a silly grin. Reaching out, Aurelia took hold of the shirt Mihawk had gifted to her, dragging softness to her face as a breath of a laugh escaped her lips. She would fall asleep like that, face pressed to the fabric and a content smile on her face.

As Mihawk adjusted the large brimmed hat on his head, he surveyed the area as he left the tent. The others at the camp were scattered, sleeping beneath the stars under trees and hammocks. He had hoped everyone would have slipped into slumber, especially considering their preference towards ending their evenings downing cup after cup of whatever liquor they were able to obtain in their travels. It was the faint glow of the campfire that drew his attention. That and the lone man who sat by the fire.

Shanks.

The other man sat by the flames, back propped against a log and a nearly empty bottle leaning against his bent leg. Shanks’s thumb ran along the neck of the bottle as his eyes looked over the flames. A lopsided smile touched the pirate captain’s lips as they met Mihawk’s eyes. He beckoned the Warlord over, though he made no move to sit up from his comfortable position as Mihawk neared.

“You look positively aglow, friend,” Shanks said, all smiles and good nature as Mihawk took a seat beside him, “I take it things went then?”

Mihawk was silent, instead choosing to pick up the bottle from beside Shanks. He remained quiet as he took a slow swig from the bottle. It was a far cry from his nightly glass of wine. That’s for sure. Still, it was something and Mihawk was certain he’d need it if this conversation with Shanks were to continue. 

“It’s unbecoming to speak on such matters,” Mihawk finally replied, earning a bored groan from his friend.

“You’re no fun,” Shanks sighed, “It’s no matter. I’ll extract the truth from Aurelia in the morning. She’s much better company anyway.”

Mihawk watched as Shanks yawned, stretched out lazily without a care in the world. He envied the man in that regard. Yes, Mihawk lived quite the lavish lifestyle himself. That much was true. He could sail wherever he wanted and did whatever he wanted without the curse of ties to the world. He terrorized every and any pirate crew that dared to cross his shadow. His name held sheer power. His exploits crossed countless seas. He achieved the only thing he had desired in life. By all regards, Dracule Mihawk was a great man. Yet he couldn’t do what Shanks does. To simply exist in the world, surrounded by those around him, and think of nothing but whatever joy happened to come upon  him in that moment. That type of peacefulness escaped him completely.

The woman he left in her tent trusted him now. With her body. Perhaps even with her heart. The affection she bestowed upon him twisted at his insides. Made him happy, made him concerned. Shanks was not wrong. Between the two men, it was Mihawk who was tasked with the assignment from the Vice Admiral. It was Mihawk who had sent her running. It was Mihawk expected to bring her in. Would he be able to do it? To take her from where she stood and delivered her at the feet of whoever demanded her? He was unbending before he knew her. He was wavering even before his lips touched hers. He was certain he couldn’t go through with it after tonight. Furthermore, he felt the desire to tear into the flesh of anyone who dared try and take her from him. No. He could not do what he was tasked. That did not mean he was truly free of concern though.

The hand not holding the bottle found its way to the front of his coat, fingers lightly brushing over the spot he kept Aurelia’s book. The weight of it -- of the contents inside -- felt heavier with each passing moment. 

That he could not ignore.

“Hawk-Eye,” Shanks’s voice tore through his thoughts. 

Mihawk blinked, turned his head towards the man with the red hair. 

“What’s plaguing your mind, you remarkably somber son of a gun?”

Shanks didn’t just look at him. He seemed to be looking inside of him, studying the Warlord by the light of the campfire beside them. There would be no hiding from Shanks. The man was far too perceptive for a drunk.

“There’s something we must discuss.”

#dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk fanfic #dracule mihawk fanfiction #dracule mihawk x oc #dracule mihawk x ofc #fic: eyes like sinking ships #fic: dracule mihawk #fic: mine

[redbelles]

The first thing Chrissy Cunningham does after she comes back to life is break up with her boyfriend.

Or: Chrissy gets a second chance. She isn't going to waste it.

the second hand unwinds (time after time) ↳ a time travel au by @redbelles

#eddissy #hellcheer #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #chrissy x eddie #chrissy x eddie fic #hellcheer fic #munningham #stranger things #userninz #userfrench #fic: mine #succumbed to the lure of '''''instant''''' gratification and am posting as a multichap #instead of an obscenely long oneshot #:/

[polite-pandemonium]

I’d marry you with paper rings - part 1

Prompt: Taichi and Mimi run a seemingly harmless con where they pretend to get engaged in restaurants so they can get free dessert, only to be caught in the act when her parents witness one of the fake proposals and 100% believe it. Pairing: Taichi/Mimi, others will show up I think Rating: T Notes: This is for @piedrpiper, who gave me this killer prompt, which I then ran away with and now who knows what I’ve gotten myself into!!! Also this is unbeta’ed and I wrote it all in the span of an hour so who even knows if it’s good!! WHO EVEN KNOWS!!!!!

Chosen Chat Thursday - 2:01pm

Daisuke:  uMMMMM ╭( ๐_๐)╮ @taichi-san, @mimi-san, do you want to explain what the hell this is?  https://www.tiktok.com/@minakolovesyou/video/87362956028361822

Yamato:  …what the hell is this?

Sora:  …I feel like we are missing A FEW chapters?

Koushiro:  Um? Did I miss a memo?  Or a several years long relationship?

Daisuke: You mean again? ( º﹃º )

Koushiro:  No one asked you, @daisuke-san.

Miyako: WHAT IS THIS? HOW DID I NOT KNOW?

Takeru: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Miyako: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? ＼(｀0´)／

Hikari: Onii-chan, what is going on?

Miyako: Seriously, WHY? Why did no one tell ME?

Takeru: LOLLLLLLLLL

Miyako: STOP LAUGHING, TAKERU-SAN. 

Yamato: Takeru, stop. 

Hikari:  Takeru-kun, this isn’t funny!

Taichi: Oh my GOD, stop blowing up my phone, seriously.  It’s just this thing Mimi-chan and I have been doing. 

Sora: I’m sorry, what??? A ‘thing’ you’ve been doing with Mimi? You call *getting engaged* a thing??

Miyako: SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE HELL?? @mimi-san WHERE ARE YOU?  HOW COULD YOU STAND FOR THIS?

Taichi: NOT FOR REAL!  I found a list on Reddit of restaurants in Tokyo that will give you free dessert if you get engaged there.  So Mimi-chan and I have been going around to them. 

Yamato: …You’re getting fake engaged? So you can get a free dessert?

Takeru: LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Hikari: Oh my god, okaa-san is going to kill you.

Taichi: Stop, it’s all in good fun.  Plus she’s never going to find out? Don’t understand why someone filmed it, though.

Miyako:  This happens all of the time! This is TikTok!!  People film beautiful, random moments and share them! They thought this was a beautiful, random moment!  BUT IT’S NOT IT’S FAKE (ノ-_-)ノ ミ ┴┴

Koushiro: This is so unnecessarily deceptive.  You guys are both doing fine financially.  You don’t need to lie to get free dessert. 

Yamato:  Seriously, what the fuck? This isn’t cool. An engagement is an important moment.

Taichi:  Oh, calm down lover boy @yamato Not all of us have been envisioning our engagement since we were fourteen.

Sora: Taichi!

Mimi: LOL I see our game has been exposed. 

Taichi: It has, unfortunately.  The jig is up.

Mimi: On TikTok, too? Ugh, I wasn’t even wearing my cutest outfit that day.

Taichi: I think you looked great. 

Mimi: Aww, shucks, thanks hubby. 

Taichi: Of course, wifey. 

Daisuke: （●≧艸≦

Hikari: 乁༼☯‿☯✿༽ㄏ

Takeru:  LOL?

Yamato: You’re both ridiculous. 

Mimi: Oh, Yamato-kun, you don’t mean that!

Yamato:  Given that you’re both running around getting fake engaged?  For dessert? I do. 

Taichi: OK, look, it isn’t just the dessert that we do it for.

Yamato: ?

Hikari: ????

Taichi: Sometimes they give us free drinks, too.

Mimi: One time, we got a whole bottle of Veuve Cliquot! 

Taichi: The big one!

Mimi: The BIG one!!!!!

Koushiro: You guys, really?

Taichi: The big one, Kou!!!

Mimi: 100,000 views, huh?

Taichi: Is that a lot?

Mimi: I mean, it’s not not a lot But it’s not viral

Daisuke:  Well, it’s only been up for a few hours And it’s popular enough that I ended up seeing it

Miyako: That’s cause you’re chronically online, Daisuke. 

Daisuke:  Takes one to know one, Miyako.

Hikari: Well, you both better hope it doesn’t accumulate any more views  I doubt you want to explain this to people who aren’t us Like your employers

Taichi: Oh, GOD, no thank you

Mimi: Um do NOT put that out there But I don’t think we have to worry about it Even if it gets more views, the chances of someone who knows us seeing it are so slim You have to be addicted to TikTok Like Daisuke-kun

Daisuke: Look, this isn’t dump on Daisuke, hour I’m not the one going out getting fake engaged for dessert I go to Lawson like any other respectable adult 

Miyako: Konbini betrayal!! (ง •̀_•́)ง

Mimi: My point is!! That we don’t have to worry about it going more viral. Viral is subjective now a-days. Everything’s viral. No one will likely see it. 

7:23pm

Ken: Ah, man I miss everything 

Friday - 1:47am

Jyou: Same But I’m glad I wasn’t here for this Seconding Yamato, you’re both ridiculous

The next morning, Mimi stood in her kitchen, eating natto over rice and running a facial roller over her cheeks. She had been out a little late last night with Sora and Miyako, drinking wine and chattering about their weeks into the wee hours, and it was showing on her face. 

Where had she put her collagen powders? She thought to herself as she surveyed the small kitchen in her Aoyama apartment. There were only so many cupboards for her to tuck them away into and yet they were no where to be found. Maybe if she was able to blend them into her coffee, they could perk her up a bit. Or better yet, a green juice - they were special ones she had brought back from her last trip to America. Surely in green juice they would make her glow. 

But she didn’t know where they were and Mimi didn’t like green juice anyway. 

Sighing to herself, she unlocked her phone. Swiping away from the notifications in the Chosen group chat (Takeru and Hikari were asking the group to settle some sort of debate they had stayed up till 4 in the morning arguing about - the old marrieds), she opened up her calendar. She scanned her meetings for the day: 8 in total, 3 on-site, 5 remote. 

Too many, she groaned, and closed the app. 

Opening up TikTok, she swiped through a few videos. A couple of reviews of local cafes, three videos about the latest season of Stranger Things, and a handful of fashion videos. She paused on one, inspecting the blouse the girl was wearing, before favouriting it as a reminder for her to pick it up later.

Then, suddenly, Mimi was met with the sight of her own face, blushing and teary eyed as Taichi knelt down in front of her in the dining room at Narisawa. 

She sat up a little straighter. 

This had been restaurant number eight on their list and overall, it had been a pleasant experience. Mimi had worn a bright pink linen dress she picked up from Reformation in Toronto on a recent buying trip with simple gold hoops. Taichi wore a well tailored black suit and white dress shirt, no tie. He rested his hand on the small of her back when they walked in. 

For over an hour, they laughed and talked together, recounting their days and weeks. The best part about this whole ruse was that they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company; it was easy to pretend you absolutely adored the person across from you romantically when you did adore them platonically. Taichi hammed it up, taking Mimi’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles in between courses, and Mimi answered in kind by reaching over mid-conversation to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. 

The food was delicious and the wine even better and near the end of dinner, Taichi had cleared his throat before getting down on one knee and launching into his (well rehearsed) speech about how much he loved her and how much he couldn’t live without her and could she do the greatest honour of his life by agreeing to marry him?

Mimi’s eyes welled up with tears (she had pinched her thigh hard under the table) before she nodded enthusiastically and said a choked-up ‘yes’. Taichi slipped the ring on her finger, they both rose, and embraced to the sound of both enthusiastic and uncomfortable applause. They kissed each other on the cheek (they were in public, after all), before sitting back down and beaming at each other.

Their server congratulated them and then offered them a bottle of one of their finest wines, on the house. They gratefully accepted. 

From her kitchen counter, Mimi chuckled to herself. The whole thing had been so fun - it had been Taichi who had sent the list to her when bored at work one afternoon and jokingly said, ‘Want to pretend to agree to marry me for free dessert?’ But it had been MImi who answered, seriously, ‘Um, heck yes.’

Together they devised a plan to work their way through the entire crowd sourced list. They would go to one restaurant a month and they would make up a new backstory for how they met, how long they had been together, and other various details for each restaurant, just in case. They took a quick trip to Liquem in Hanakawado and selected a sparkly, slightly gaudy ring for under ¥3,000. 

From there on, it was showtime. 

Looking at the view count on the video, Mimi’s eyes widened. Since Daisuke had sent it the day before, the video had now amassed over 4 million views and over 10 thousand comments. 

“Oh my god,” Mimi mumbled, opening up the comments section and scanning them. 

“Holy shit the way he looks at her, I’m —”

“Her face!! She looks so in love!!”

“If my finance doesn’t look at me like that then I don’t want it!”

“Ew, people like this? It’s so public. No thanks.”

“Her dressssss? Mommy? Sorry. Mommy?”

“Crying in single over here.”

“Who gets engaged at NARISAWA are you SERIOUS? I would be mortified.”

“He’s so hot.”

Flustered, Mimi closed the comments and focused on the video. On screen, she watched as her hands flew to her face as Taichi looked up at her, nervously, beaming, a Harry Styles song playing over them. The Mimi on screen nodded excitedly and the face of the Taichi on screen split into a grin. Mimi suddenly felt like she had to look away. 

They really did look happy. 

Before she had a moment to think about it further, her phone began to buzz in her hand. A text from her parents. 

Family Chat Friday - 8:34am

Mama: Oh, Mimi!!!! We just saw it!!! https://www.tiktok.com/@minakolovesyou/video/87362956028361822 We’re SO SO EXCITED FOR YOU ( ´•̥̥̥o•̥̥̥`)♡(˘̩̩̩̩̩̩ ⌂ ˘̩̩̩̩̩̩)

Mama: Why didn’t you tell us you and Yagami-san were dating?  We would have been so happy!!

Papa:  Mimi, darling, you have some explaining to do.  But we are VERY VERY HAPPY!!!!! ( ‘́⌣’̀)/(˘̩̩ε˘̩ƪ) CALL US!!!!!!

Mama: CALL US VERY SOON!!! AS SOON AS YOU CAN!!!! CALL US!!! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Papa: ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

#digimon #fanfic #taichi x mimi #michi #taichi/mimi #otp: flew to japan for a soccer game #fic: mine #fic: I'd marry you with paper rings #part two coming this week or someday idk!!!!

[khaothanawat]

dangerous romance fic this is our beginning, coming to an end

(ep 4 tag, 1k, teen+)

There’s a certain poetic nastiness to how things have worked out, Kanghan thinks as he stares blankly at his Chemistry book.

ao3

#dangerous romance #dangerous romance the series #dangerous romance fic #kanghansailom #show: dangerous romance #fic: mine #fic: dr #ship: dr: kanghan x sailom #i wrote this right after ep 4 aired and then it took me a whole week to post lol