#when she’s profiling him in the dark place and is like wait what!? and then I’d like I can worry about that later I gotta get outta here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 9 months

Text

tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he knows that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

#also if this is too niche and it flops lets just forget it happened #okay? okay.#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes filth #gif not mine #credit to owner

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prythianpages · 4 months

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Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first tendrils of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice, a velvet symphony, wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart.

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a subtle fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low.

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses.

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe.

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness.

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion.

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone. It’s Rhysand. The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back the dark tendrils of his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced grace, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your powers to continue surging through your bones and veins. Charged with vitality, they embody a tender current, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening with the weight of the fond memory and in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a subtle shift occurs.

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon gracefully surrendered its space to the emerging sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips as you recall the moment.

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the gentle embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You observe a subtle relaxation manifesting in the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful serenity settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed atmosphere, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you."

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well. You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was.

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by a soft, ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and gentle light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse.

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the soft hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You. A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

A subtle flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves with swift determination. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

a/n: this part came out a lot softer than I thought it would. The quote I used about the sun loving the moon so much came from something I saw on pinterest. I am a sucker for the sun and moon and stars lol

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #acotar rhysand #rhysand imagine #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar fanfiction #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff

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straykeedz · 7 months

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day 14: felix + thigh riding

©straykeedz

tw: fwb!felix; protected piv sex; felix slaps your ass twice; dirty talk; begging, kinda???; female orgasm; ♡

wc: 1,4k (finally something short yay!);

fun fact: i actually wrote this while listening to “i’ll make a man out of you” from the mulan soundtrack for motivation since i was in a rush to post this lol - not proud of today’s kinktober ngl

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

☀︎

After he cums, spilling his white release into the thin latex of the condom, he pulls out of you and mutters a series of apologies as he ties a knot in the rubber and throws it in the trash can next to your bed. His reaction makes you smile.

“I’m sorry.”, he repeats for the tenth time, still panting. “You didn’t cum.”, he sounds incredibly guilty.

It’s been a while since you and Felix last met up to have sex, so it’s perfectly normal that he didn’t last super long. Still, Felix feels like a fucking loser because what kind of a fuck buddy is he? Cumming after what felt like a couple of thrusts? Actually, you’d been going at it for about ten minutes when his orgasm washed all over him suddenly, and you started to feel the familiar sensation building up in your stomach, so it’s not as bad as Felix thinks.

Still - he feels terrible about it.

“Felix, relax.”, you giggle, running one hand through his dark hair. “It’s not the end of the world.”, you reassure him. “Plus, it kinda flatters me, in a way. It means you like having sex with me.”

Felix’s head is still spinning from the intensity of his orgasm. “I love having sex with you.”, he can’t believe you’re doubting that when actually - he’d been hard since this morning, when you texted him saying you had a day off, finally, asking him if he could come over. He practically teleported to your place. “You’re the best sex I ever had.”

And Lee Felix has had a lot of sex.

He wasn’t even sure he could actually do this friends-with-benefits thing, because he just loved having sex, and being exclusive was not something he thought he could be interested in. You made him change his mind without even trying, honestly.

“Wait until I’m ready to go again and I’ll show you how much I love having sex with you.”, he says, biting his lip seductively. His body still feels kinda jelly - otherwise he’d offer to eat you out or at least finger you, but he literally can’t feel his limbs right now. He hates that stupid refractory period.

“Or…”, you start, licking your lips, looking at him like he’s your next prey. He loves it when you give him that look - it means you have something in mind, and that he’s in for something good, hopefully. “You know, you have thighs…”, you say vaguely, running the pad of your index up and down his left thigh - all the way to his knee and then back to his hip.

“Baby, you’re asking if you can ride my thigh?”

“Mh-hm.”, you blush a little.

You haven’t done it before - neither with Felix nor with any of your other partners, but your friend told you she’d tried it with her girlfriend and that it felt amazing. Needless to say, you’re curious to try it out and see if it’s as mind-blowing as she said.

“If I ever answer negatively to that question - you’re allowed to kick me in the crotch.” Felix chuckles. “Hop on.”, he instructs. “Have you done this before?”, he asks, noticing you seem a little taken aback.

You shake your head as a no and lower your gaze, embarrassed. Now, it’s as if all he confidence you had in your body had suddenly vanished.

“It’s okay, I’ll tell you what to do.”, he smiles - a smiles that makes you relax instantly, because you trust Felix entirely.

He sits on the mattress, figuring it’d be more comfortable for you, resting his back against the headboard and spreads his legs wide enough. Then, he pats his thigh, motioning for you to come and sit on it. Before you could actually place your naked crotch on top of him, tho, he asks -

“Wait, baby, are you wet enough?”

Without waiting for an answer, he brings two fingers to your slit to check if you’re lubricated sufficiently, knowing it’ll be unpleasant if you aren’t. You’re wet, that much he’s sure of, but he reckons it may not be enough, so he brings his fingers to his mouth to coat the pads in his spit before rubbing them all over your pussy - on your clit in particular, until you’re fully drenched in a delicious mixture of your own arousal and his saliva.

“Now sit on my thigh, baby.”, he instructs, looking you in the eye.

You nod, and then place your bare pussy on top of his thigh. The contact makes you wince due to the sensitivity of your clit, but it’s not unpleasant - the opposite, actually. It feels foreign - it’s nothing like Felix’s fingers or yours, but it feels good.

Felix’s hands end up gripping your waist not too tightly, just to help you with your balance and your movements, you guess. Or maybe, he just loves having his hands on you. It’s both. “Tell me when you’re ready.”, he whispers, piercing black eyes staring into yours.

You give him a small nod. “Ready.”

You let out a whimper as soon as Felix’s hand help you move your body against his thigh, grinding your clit back and forth on his toned quadriceps - he has his muscles flexed, and it feels amazing. You soon find out that riding a thigh is entirely different than riding a cock, and you do feel empty, but you can’t bring yourself to care, especially not with the way Felix’s helping you grind your clit back and forth against his skin, getting you all worked up to the point you can feel your orgasm starting to build up.

“You look so sexy, fucking yourself on my thigh.” Felix mutters, biting his lip, still looking you in the eye. Then, he lands a slap on your asscheek, making you moan and grind harder on his thigh, clit already beginning to twitch due to the sensitivity.

You pick up the pace of your movements - Felix’s hands still guiding your movements on his body. “How does it feel, baby? Better than my cock?” Felix asks, knowing damn well the answer to his question is no.

“Nothing feels better than your cock.”, you moan, blushing a little.

“My fingers, then?”

You shake your head as a no, not even thinking about stopping your movements, not when you’re so close to your release - your long yearned orgasm right around the corner, you can almost feel it. Felix slaps your ass once again, squeezing the soft flesh.

“Mhh, great.”, he lets out a deep chuckle that vibrates in his chest. “Maybe I should use this as a punishment, then. For when you misbehave.”

The thought of Felix punishing you is enough to make your pussy practically drool - vivid memories of what happened between his bedsheets the last time running back and forth in your mind. It’s all so intense your legs begin to tremble. You’re close, so close.

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you cum.” Felix threatens, eyes thin as his grip on your hip and ass tightens.

No. He wouldn’t dare… would he?

“Pease, please let me cum.”, you beg, and he chuckles, satisfied. Then, he helps you moving faster and faster on his thigh. “I’ve been so good to you. I always am, please.”

It’s true, you’re always good to him. And Felix wouldn’t ever deny you an orgasm - ever. But he’ll let you believe that.

“Then cum.” Felix whispers, staring in your eyes, biting his lip - honestly, you could cum just from the sight of him sitting in front of you, completely naked, a few locks of hair falling on his delicate features. “Cum for me, cum on my thigh, baby.”

It’s enough to make your orgasm wash over you. You release on his thigh, wrapping your fingers around his forearm and kicking your head back - losing yourself in the intense feeling, familiar yet entirely new at the same time as whimpers and swear words fall from your lips. Your legs start to shake and you halt your movements, not wanting to overstimulate yourself - you have something else in mind.

You let your body fall on Felix’s - resting your head on his naked chest as you try to regain your breath. Felix wraps his arms around you, drawing imaginary shapes on your lower back with his fingers. “Felt good?”, he mutters, resting his chin on top of your head.

You nod. “More than good.”, you pull away from his body, sitting on the mattress as well, and you can’t help but notice a wet patch on Felix’s thigh. For some reason, it makes you blush and you look away - your gaze ending on Felix’s face, looking him in the eyes.

“Good.” Felix smirks, looking down between his legs, and your gaze follows his. His cock is impossibly hard, resting on his abdomen, looking absolutely impressive. “Now it’s time to make you cum on my cock.”

☀︎

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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zablife · 2 months

Text

A Night Like Tonight

Summary: Tommy is spiraling out of control after Polly's death and dragging his gf with him.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @runnning-outof-time with the song "On a Night Like Tonight" as inspo. I apologize this came out much darker and angstier than you prob intended.

Warnings: nightmares, mention of drinking, drug use, codependent relationship, blood, suicidal ideation, suicide

The heavy gray clouds sank further in the sky over the fields like a vice tightening their ghostly grip. His boots mired in thick black mud, Tommy found himself trapped just beyond reach of Polly’s outstretched hands. Close enough to stare into her kohl rimmed eyes, he was closer than ever to crossing over to where she stood. Without sign of tremors, his hand raised the pistol to his temple, eyes closing to greet the waiting darkness. The screams reached his ears before the gunshots, a guttural echo which pulsed through his veins like a second heart beat.

Jerking awake to a blacked out room, Tommy found himself twisted in bed covers. His eyes adjusted slowly, but his brain raced to reconcile his whereabouts as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. On a shaky breath, he attempted to pull himself up, trembling fingertips reaching for the cigarette case on his bedside table.

His uncoordinated efforts resulted in a smashed lamp causing him to flinch involuntarily. "Fuck!" he exclaimed sharply, the disturbance irritating his overtired brain. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the curses on his lips with a cigarette, fumbling with his lighter until it flickered to life.

A warm, orange glow illuminated her profile beside him, the concern etched on her face unmistakable. Sinking back into his pillow, he rubbed a thumb across his forehead, the smoke from his cigarette wafting between them like a curtain. "Why were you shouting?" he muttered. She didn’t have to see his eyes to know the turmoil and confusion they held.

"It was you, Tommy,” she noted in a hushed whisper. "You cried out," she explained, drawing her hand to her lips before she mentioned he was calling for his beloved aunt.

The slow, sizzling burn of the cigarette paper was the only sound in the room as she waited and observed. With each exhalation of smoke, Tommy's chest seemed to still a bit more. The vein at his neck too ceased to thrum wildly, the way she'd seen it so often in recent weeks as he wrestled with the visions that brought unimaginable guilt.

“There was nothing you could have done,” she offered in a soft voice, draping her slender hand across his chest protectively.

The silence persisted in the inky blackness and she realized he hadn’t heard a word of her reassurance, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. Tossing the duvet aside, she swung a leg over his bare torso and leaned in to carefully pluck the cigarette from his lips. She extinguished it on the bedside table before returning to drape herself across his body. Hair falling over him like a blanket, she enveloped him in her warmth, allowing the scent of her perfume to comfort him. Running a hand down his cheek, she confessed “You’re scaring me these days, my love.”

She ducked her head into the safety of his neck, wanting to feel his arm caress her back and tell her everything was going to be fine. It wasn't a surprise when no such promises were made. He hadn't been himself for some time. "Come back," she mumbled against his rough stubble, placing a kiss in hopes he would feel her love reviving him. But his jaw remained clenched, her supple lips meeting bone that felt like cold steel beneath her touch.

——————————

Three weeks later...

It was late in the day when the phone trilled harshly in the parlor, disrupting her reading. When she answered Ada was on the line and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Ada, thank God. Do you have the name of the doctor I asked about for Tommy?"

"How dare you ask after what he's done?" Ada seethed, taking her by surprise.

"What's happened? Is it Arthur again or-"

"How can you be so blind? He's kept you captive in that house too long," she professed. She'd begun to weep, bitter tears seeping through the wires and causing static on the line.

"Ada, I don't know what this is all about, but I'm sure if you knew how bad it's got, you'd help. He's losing days at a time now."

"Make all the excuses you like, but I'll never forgive him," Ada vowed, the chill in her voice unmistakable.

"Please, what is this about?"

A shaky sigh echoed down her ear as Ada revealed, "An innocent boy was killed today," she paused for breath before she composed herself enough to continue, "along with with my fiancé."

The phone fell from her ear as she let out a strangled gasp, barely hearing the rest, "because Tommy couldn't keep to his own business. He had to interfere in something big enough to kill us all."

Retrieving the phone she implored, "Then you see how he needs you. He'll listen to you."

Ada hadn't visited Arrow House in months, but it was clear nothing had changed, in fact her brother sounded worse. "No," she stated firmly. "My brother can rot in Hell."

"Ada, please..." she protested, but the line had gone dead and a loud crash had her running to the office moments later.

An incoherent Tommy was surrounded by broken glass, his hands bleeding from the shards lodged in his palms. "Oh, Tommy," she cried, weaving a path to him amongst the pieces to avoid injuring herself.

She cradled his head to her chest as he lost consciousness, sweeping the fringe from his feverish forehead. She wept as she curled in around him, whispering softly, "What am I going to do now?"

----------------------------------

The next morning she cleared the breakfast dishes without waiting for Frances and brought the full plates back to the kitchen.

"Is something wrong with the food?" the new chef asked apologetically.

She only shrugged by way of explanation.

"I can make something else," he offered, rushing to gather the delicate china from her arms.

"Don't bother. It's only black coffee and cigarettes for Mr. Shelby in the morning," she explained wearily.

"And for you?" he persisted. "If you don't care for eggs, I'll prepare-"

"M not hungry," she cut him off, before turning to Frances and asking for her to phone the doctor for another vial of morphine.

Frances took a step closer to the young woman, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper as she asked. "Are you sure Mr. Shelby requires this, ma'am? Isaiah brought a bottle yesterday."

"It's not for Mr. Shelby," she replied curtly.

Brow etched with concern, Frances began, "I don't think he would want-"

"You of all people should know that he doesn't notice or care," she shot back, emotion rising in her throat the more she attempted to choke it down. "Let me have a little peace, won't you?" she persisted, searching Frances' face with watery eyes. As silence hung between them she finally swiped at her cheeks angrily as she ordered, "Call the fucking doctor or I'll have you dismissed."

Frances stood mouth agape as she stormed off. Hearing a huff behind her back, she turned to see the kitchen maid, throwing the plates into the sink. "He's killing that girl," the maid spat.

Frances flinched at the sound of china shattering against the porcelain, but she couldn't deny the outrage they all felt. She was right about Tommy's influence over the young woman. A healthy, spirited girl of twenty had arrived two years ago. Now she was barely recognizable.

"We're not paid to pass judgment," Frances reminded the staff as she straightened her uniform.

--------------------------------

Tommy gulped the last of his whisky harshly and opened the drawer to his right, rummaging through the contents until he found the small packet he'd stashed in the back. With a deep sigh, he opened it and stared at the contents. He wasn't sure why he'd saved it all this time, other than the promise it held. As he rolled it in his palm he thought of the speech he'd given Barney about a way free of pain and misery. Shoulders slouched forward, he closed his eyes to the odd sense of calm that washed over him now.

The large, glowing moon outside filtered through the thin curtains of Tommy's office, illuminating his slumped body. He'd hardly noticed the presence of another person, especially so late in the evening until she placed her small hand on his shoulder.

"You're awake," Tommy noted with surprise.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she replied, settling herself into his lap in an attempt to have a better view of what he held tightly in his palm.

Raking her fingernails against his scalp she asked, "What've you got?" A casual tone to her query in hopes he would confide in her.

However, the opposite happened when Tommy's paranoia took root. Pushing her from his knee with a harsh shove, he muttered, "This has nothing to do with you, alright?"

Tears welled along her lash line as she muttered, "Fuck off, Tommy. I never ask questions, do I?"

Tommy's body stiffened at her acerbic tone, a wounded look crossing his face as he attempted to explain. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What does that mean anymore?," she shrugged futilely.

Tommy held her shoulders firmly in his grasp, the intensity of his blue eyes ceasing her impatient movements. "It means I love you and I don't want you involved."

"You mean you don't want to let me in," she cried, beating on his chest with desperation.

At a loss for words, Tommy dropped his chin to his chest and she took the opportunity to grasp his hand. His nimble fingers momentarily betrayed him and the capsules fell into her palm.

"What are these?" she gasped.

Tommy's face flushed with the discovery, afraid to admit the truth. A harsh gulp followed as he ran a hand down his face, feeling the throb of his pulse within the recesses of his eye sockets. Finally the weak reply tumbled from his lips, "They're cyanide capsules." He grasped her wrist as he thought of words to reassure her.

She turned her head away from him as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "My love isn't working anymore is it?" she whispered, voice breaking in desperation as she rejected his empty reassurance.

Frozen from the drugs, alcohol and indecision Tommy allowed her to capture his face in her hands. Searching his glazed eyes for something to grab hold to, she found herself floundering. The overwhelming need for him and her love crashing against her sternum in the form of a tenacious heart raging against rejection.

Finally he spoke breaking the unbearable silence, saying, "I never meant to hurt you. I'd understand on a night like tonight if you want to go..."

Her hand clenched involuntarily by her side, the capsules pressing into her skin. Gazing up at him she protested, “Tell me anything you like, except for goodbye. That's the only thing I couldn't bear." The dampness of her tears coated his cheek as she pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a brief moment to savor the salty sweetness clinging to his lips.

Pulling back to gaze at him, a sad smile crossed her lips as she asked, "What do you reckon it's like high up there in heaven?" She brushed the hair from his forehead as she mused, "We might never know, but it was good way down here, wasn't it? At least for awhile...." Eyes glossy and searching for a morsel of hope, she waited for a response Tommy never offered.

Then in one swift movement she shoved the pills into her mouth, crushing the shell of the capsules with her teeth. Tommy's face registered a moment of horrified shock before he pulled her into him, pressing her to his body in a passionate kiss that took the poison from her to share it between them.

--------------------------

In the morning when Frances came to open the drapes, she found their bodies intwined in a lover's embrace. "Peace at last," she noted sorrowfully before withdrawing from the room.

--------------------

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy

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vvenus-child · 6 months

Text

❀ an: hi! this is my first fic published on tumblr! fluffly all the way. My AO3 where you can leave kudos. I write from multi fandoms such as ACOTAR, Dramione and Original works ❀ Tags: Carmen Berzatto; Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

She had ladybugs earrings. It wasn't the first thing Carmen noticed about her, no. But it was something he came to associate with her.

At a random Thursday, Sugar and Syd had ripped him a new one about not updating the restaurant's Instagram from all things. So when he had a moment of quiet where he couldn't sleep because his head was so full, he thought it would be a nice idea to use social media for work. He opened the app, unfamiliar with all the options and the immense number of notifications. The latest one was a tagged picture from a dish they had served for some customer. She had tagged the account with a simple caption "best meal I had in this city. My compliments to the chef - however they are!" with a string of emojis he sure did not even fathom to understand.

So Carmen did what he thought was the greatest management of social media ever: he commented "tks :)" under it.

A few hours later a still insomniac Carmen heard a ping from his cellphone. A direct message from Instagram made him frown and scowl a bit. It said "hi!!!! I love your place! do you guys work with delivery or take out?". Minutes passed and he did not answer. He was tired and confused to why someone would be asking this at 03am via a social media profile.

Another ping rang.

"Sorry, it's just I work late nights and your place is my fav in the city. I'm new here, don't know many places yet. Thank you xx"

He fumbled a bit in his bed before answering. A touch of nostalgia for Mike's old way of dealing with The Beef tried to take a hold of his heart. He made sure to snuff it out before typing it quickly.

"No we don't work like that anymore"

And he swore in a low voice.

"Look for Richie tmw say Carmen told u so"

The next day Carmen wanted nothing more than to hide in the fridge and die freezing. The night was so exhausting, someone had burned their food, plates were dropped, Syd had a bad case of allergies, Tina was in a fucking bad mood. The texts were the last thing on his mind when Richie came screaming from the front.

"Yo, cous, some chick looking for you. Said you were the social media manager. Didn't know we were using instagram to hook up now", he laughed and slapped Carm in the back.

"Fuck off, Richie"

Carm walked to see a round face looking back at him. She had dark, long curls around her face. Although her skin was darker than his, he still could manage to see the dark circles under her eyes. She had an apologetic smile and a few Tupperware containers that were not that hidden on her tote bag.

"Sorry! Hey! We spoke on Instagram last night? You said I could look for you? Sorry I'm late, had to extend my shift a bit and some more" she babbled for a few seconds, hands flying off while she talked. He could see the dark pink stain on her cheeks. "It's okay if you guys are closed! I didn't even look at the time when I got out of home,I’m so sorry."

Carm wanted to laugh at how much this girl apologized - he didn't of course, because then he would be the one blushing. She managed to look even more embarrassed than he was in social situations. He decided to take her out of her misery and told her that it was okay. He was the chef and no, it was okay, truly. It was not a problem to help her with a take out. Yes, he understood late nights very well.

Carmen didn't actually know what made him make this one exception to this customer. They still didn't do take outs, but something like kinship rouse in him when she said that it was her favorite place and she worked crazy hours. Maybe he felt he could build a place with as much heart and tradition as Mike, on his own way. So everyday she would come by, sometimes a bit after they had closed, sometimes on the rush hours - then she would wait on one of the tables or eat there. Richie started to yell at the back "Cous, your girl is here" one day, much to Carm dismay.

"She is not my girl, fucker"

"Then why does she ask for you everyday, huh?" he would say with his comically raised eyebrows, "can I ask for her number then?"

For some reason Carmen wanted to punch him in the throat. It did need a lot of reason most days.

"No, you can't. She is a customer and you don't ask customers for their numbers".

Richie left him with a knowing smile.

They never chatted much about deep subjects, if it was a slow day here, if she was dying of a heartburn because of work related stress there. She was also not an adventurous eater. The same order most days. Carm noticed that day she would wear the same ladybug earrings everyday too. They also shared cigarettes breaks on the regular. I'm a reluctant chainsmoker since 16, she told him once with a shy smile. Only watermelon one's thought, Marlboro's light too.

He had laughed at her for that. Flavored shit, really? What's next? Smoking the stupid pens?

Then they bonded over their disgust over electronic cigarettes that day.

Once he caught her helping out customers choose their meal when the staff was too busy with a problem. One day when she bought a group of friends someone had to call Carm from the kitchen. He was smelling of grease, hair dirty and his apron had stains of food in it. He didn't know it was her, it was lunchtime and one of the cooks had not shown up. His cheeks grew hot when he saw her, lips red and eyes lined with dark colors, a brown coat over the chair. She didn't have her earrings this time. A golden chain with a cross dangled from her neck to her cleavage. He was caught staring by one of her friends, who asked "so you are the chef friend?". Her make up did little to hide her blushing.

The time she did not pick up her dinner, Carm got anxious. He asked Richie for her number, because of course he had it. He debated if he should text.

"u ok?", he did.

When he didn't receive an answer, he showed up at her door with dinner in his hands. It was only a few blocks away, right? He got her address from the receipt, it wasn't creepy, right?

"You didn't show up, I brought you dinner", he said breathlessly.

It was definitely creepy, Richie laughed when he told him.

After that he would sometimes bring her dinner. She would bake him something, make him taste it - and everyone else too, no, he truly wasn't special, Carm tried to tell himself.

One day she asked him if he wanted to come in. He didn't, at least not a first. No, he had to get back to the restaurant, really. No, it wasn't because of her. Sorry, no- yeah- I- Uh, I-I got to go.

They would text each other. He was terrible at it, as always, but he initiated after feeling bad for not tasting the cake she had made him.

The first time Carm kissed her it had been over a year from the instagram message. They were in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor and she was cleaning some dishes. He had said something under his breath that made her laugh so loud the sound had echoed the whole room. He felt his heart squeeze inside his chest like a vise. Mike's words played over and over in his head "let it rip".

Carmen had not planned to kiss her that night. When she asked him to help close, so Tina could leave early, he accepted. Having her around wasn't a bother. When cleaning a particularly sharp knife she had cut her finger. His first instinct was to help and not curse her for the carelessness. Still, he didn't kiss her at that moment.

When they had finished, almost out the door, he pulled her by the neck pushing her back against the counter.

Her mouth felt like water after a long trip to the desert.

She was using her ladybug earrings.

She tasted like vanilla and chocolate.

#text post #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you

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igotanidea · 5 months

Text

Cold weather: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Christmas bingo day 14 : cold weather

~Oh, the weather outside is frightful…~

“Turn it down.”

“Well, it’s not like the song has nothing to do with reality-“ Y/N retorted not really listening to Hotch’s command “it is particularly cold weather today.”

The words she used were quite an understatement. When the BAU team (strengthen by the fellow DA in the person of Y/N) left for yet another field action, there was no premonition of the upcoming blizzard and the temperature drop. Currently, it was hard to drive due to the heavy snowfall, but neither Y/N nor Derek seemed to be bothered by it. Maybe it was because they were both the passengers, but seemingly nothing could destroy their Christmas spirit, not even an unhinged killer on the loose. Obviously they were professional, as always, but their humour and attitude were something the chief of the unit were struggling to put up with, leaving him wondering why did he even choose those two to come with in the first place.

“Turn it down.” This time it was far more stern, even for Aaron.

“Are you a Grinch now, Hotch?” Morgan grinned from the back seat, earning nothing more than a single grunt from his boss and turning the radio off. “Come on!”

“We’re at work.”

“So what?” Derek whined “working as the profiler does not come along with being gloomy during Christmas time-“

“Morgan!” Y/N felt the need to intervene upon noticing slight, almost untraceable frown on Hotch’s face “enough.”

“Oh, so you’re siding with the boss now, Y/N?” the fellow agent leaned forward from behind the seat “Just so you know, sunshine, that’s treason.”

“He’s not my boss. I’m independent of FBI And what you just said is a slander. Pretty sure is punishable.”

“don’t give me the DA talk, Y/N. Besides-” her friend’s smile only grew wider as he moved to whisper in her ear “are you sure you are not biased because of someone’s presence?”

“Enough. Both of you.” Hotch silenced them way more effectively by pulling off the car, showing his discomfort with the subject of the conversation. Of course he knew, he was a profiler for god’s sake. “We’re here.”

Three other cars were already parked nearby and the rest of the team were waiting Obviously, the crime scene was the open area and they were going to investigate and look for clues during a snowstorm, in the cold, and almost in the dark.

“Tell me again, whose idea was it to come here right away? There is no chance we are going to find anything.” Morgan almost rolled his eyes at the nonsense of the action.

“Not with that attitude, Morgan.” Hotch muttered growlingly, turning up the collar of his coat “You could have stayed at the precinct if you’re just going to complain.”

“Can I still get back there?”

“Guys! Come and see this!” the only excited person present, Spencer, called from the side of the trees, already invested in the searching, standing knee-deep in the snow inspecting something that might have been a trace as well as some irrelevant dust brought by the wind.

“What you got there, kiddo?” Morgan almost instantly moved toward the direction from with Spencer’s voice was coming. He was surprisingly protective of the young doctor. Added value, that he finally left Y/N and the BAU boss alone.

“Cold?” Hotch asked

“What? Cold? Me? No. Not really. Not at all.” She shivered from an icy gust of wind.

“You’re shaking.”

“Am I? Really? Didn’t notice.” sticking hands in her pockets did not bring the intended effect at all.

“Maybe you should be the one heading back instead of Morgan?”

“No way! It’s my job to-“

“You’re the DA. There’s no body here. You’re useless here.”

Oh. Oh damn, that hurt.

“Useless?” she frowned feeling her cheeks flustering from the sudden rush of emotions, unable to hide it “Well I;m pretty sure if you keep dragging your team through the frozen lake in search for clues we will have a corpse in no time.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow.

“Wonder who will be useless then.” She scoffed and walked past him to join the rest of the BAU. However, she didn’t get far when a sudden grip on her hand made her stop in her tracks.

“You’re wasting time.” Hotch pointed out roughly, pulling her along, sticking her gloveless hand in the pocket of his coat, entwining their fingers, effectively hiding the fact from the view.

***

“What got into your head?” he was fuming an hour later, his fiery gaze focused on her shaking silhouette covered by the thickest blanket they could find at the provincial precinct, sitting next to the radiator with the steaming cup of chamomile tea in her hands. “If you were my subordinate-“

“Good thing I am not then, agent Hotchner.” She cut him off with a mocking, teasing look.“Proved my point. Both of them, actually.” Yes, jumping to save Spencer, who turned out to be an unfortunate person under whom the ice broke, may not have been rational, but it was certainly heroic. “we almost had another body. And hey, guess I am not useless after all.”

“We’ll see. But I might see some potential to keep you around.” Maybe it was an optic illusion but it seemed like the left corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“For work?” she smirked

“Yes.”

That piercing gaze were getting a little bit uncomfortable so just to cover for the additional shaking of her hands (not from the cold) she took a sip of her drink.

“L/N?”

“Hm?”

“You should use more hand cream. Your skin is scabrous.”

What the hell was he hinting at?!

@somest1

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #christmas bingo

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masturbucky · 2 years

Text

Being shared between Joe and Love would include...

[!!!]it's mostly a dark and smutty profile, keep that in mind

Joe. HATES. it.

He hates how Love looks at you- He knows what a MONSTER his wife is, he CAN'T let her get to you, he can't let her know that he wants you even if she does too-

Wait. She... What?

When he picks up on the way Love looks at you — when he sees her stalking you, too, because he does the same-

They both shocked when they see each other's cars near your house.

Love tried to hide you from him, afraid that he would be mad, and he did the same because he was afraid that she will kill you-

But after a small family talk they came to an agreement.

Sharing is caring.

So when they finally have you — not without your and their fight with each other of course, not without some blood here and there, screams, kidnapping, you know, tipical Goldberg-Quinn family stuff-

When they have you the way they want you, without any fight to their love, there's finally appears the question.

How should we have sex?

Joe and Love of course didn't thought about that before, when they, you know, were busy keeping you in their cage and getting you to the point of Stockholm Syndrome-

But it does matter now, when you love them both and want them both.

So they have one more family talk, you're not included yet — they don't want to embarrass you in any way, you have such a good progress accepting them(Love says), they just need to figure it out before acting up

So they talk. Like, seriously talk about how they want you and what would be included, and how. I mean, everything should be consensual, they will take care of it.

Joe was reluctant at first when Love offered to try threesome instead of making a fucking schedule for who can take you and when, but... It's not really that bad, he can imagine that. He can feel himself getting harder on the thought of you being all sweet and messy between him and Love.

So when the time goes to action, they start it slowly. Baby steps, yeah? Love cooks a dinner with you while Joe makes sure that Henry's asleep. A simple, sweet evening of their unusual family, as it should be, as they love it to be and hope that you love it now, too.

You already expected something to happen when Love was practically buzzing with excitement, constantly hugging you and kissing your cheeks while you help her on the kitchen.

So when after dinner Joe and Love somehow lead you to their bedroom instead of yours — well, yes, both of them stayed in your room more often than in their, but still — you just know what's happening.

"Sweetheart, we..." Love starts, sitting on the bed with you, stroking your thigh with her hand softly. She's nervous, you can tell, Joe is nervously stands near the bed too.

"We want to try something new. Y/N, would you let us...?" Joe continues instead of his wife, as he kneels down in front of you, placing a small kiss on your knee while looking up at you.

You cant really say no to them. I mean, of course you can say that you're not ready, they will understand, they want you to want them and they wont force you in their bed, of course- They can always wait for you.

But you don't. You let them take your clothes off slowly, with multiple kisses and praises, with all their attention on you — mostly Love talks, Joe does — a perfect team work

And now, you're completely naked for them. They, meanwhile, stayed clothed, but oh god — you dont really care, as long as Love kisses you the way she does, and Joe eats you out like he haven't eaten in years-

You notice that you're so close to cumming only when Joe puts a thrid finger in you, and Love takes her clothes off too, so you can touch her as much as she touches you.

And yes, that's it. You're cumming on Joe's fingers and tongue, you even feel him moan, maybe he even strokes his cock on that image of you all overwhelmed by him and Love. Love, meanwhile, oh Love, she holds you close, grabbing wherever she can grab on you, and holding your hands on her chest.

It's going to be a long, great night. They waited for too long to stop so early. And from now on, you sleep only in their bed.

You don't really mind, do you, sweetheart?

#dark fic #x reader #love quinn #joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg x you #joe goldberg x love quinn #love quinn x reader #love quinn x you #joe goldberg x reader x love quinn #i dont fucking know #alright im done #thanks for your attention #you series #you season 3

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harleehazbinfics · 2 months

Text

Home is where my Heart is.

Chapter 7: Stayed Gone Table of Contents | Profile

Word Count: 1014 A/N: yeah we're going to the singing bits yaaaay. just imagine her voice trying to meld into his and creating this like light airy but enchanting sound on top of his deep and dark tone. cuz yes we love blending and harmonizing in this family. also also alastor will be in bold and miledy in italics and both will be like this for the song. enjoyyyyy (thank you sm transcribers of the wiki id actually die if encoded all of that gshdajsdg)

“This is such a nice day,” I hummed enjoying my tea while Alastor sat opposite of me reading the paper with his coffee and enjoyed the mundane moment together.

Until it wasn’t, as a rocket launches below us. “Come show yourself, Alastor! Come face—oh, there you are. Face my wrath!”

“Who are you?” he jeers enjoying getting on his nerves while I smiled at the two. Al clearly doesn’t dislike him but instead enjoys toying with him, he doesn’t completely shut him down unlike an unpleasant certain someone. I actually find Sir Pentious quite cute how he tries to size Alastor up despite failing several times but he’s got guts I give him that.

“Who am I? Who am I? I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor! Architect of Destruction! Villain extraodinare!” He announces while the both of us slide within Al’s shadow and appear in front of Charlie and the others.

“Ooh! He’s a bad boy!” Nifty calls as she appears on top of Al’s shoulder.

He takes Nifty and places her in my arms and replies, “Ha, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you.”

“I attacked you literally last week,” Sir Pentious replies, only for Alastor to cock his head, “We've done battle, like... 20 times.”

“Well, you must have been really bad at this,” he teases putting his cane down.

“Silence! Now cower! For when I've ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal.”

“Ooh! Wait, who are the Vees?” Nifty asks while in my arms.

“Oh, nobody important,” both Al and I respond giving each other a knowing look.

While Al kept beating up the poor lad, I turn my eyes on the drone in the sky noticing the familiar logo on it. A devious smile creeps on my face as I place Nifty on the ground and shot it down with a lance made of water. It falls with a crash conveniently landing on my feet. I crushed it under my heel before turning back to the group.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience,” Al says pleased with himself while he leans on his cane looking down at Sir Pentious.

“Thank you...” he pauses before tearing off a piece of his tailcoat, “for letting your guard down!

“Oh, deer,” I mutter, wide eyed as I watched Al transform into his demon form and makes an explosion that causes the snake to fly off to the distance.

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor! Best of luck, chums,” he announces, taking me with him.

“Wait, you're LEAVING?! Alastor! We need your help! We need you to do your job,” Vaggie yells gesturing to the hotel.

“We need a wall,” Angel deadpans pointing at the broken wall.

“Of course! Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?!” he exclaims.

With a snap of his fingers his shadows appear with building equipment. He turns away from the group and takes us to the pentagram. We enjoy a little stroll before getting inside the boutique, he got his suit redone while I looked at the new dress they had on display. I bought a couple dresses that caught my eye and exited the building together, only to be greeted by Vox’s unpleasant face singing on the television. We shared a look and went back to Al’s studio with a smile.

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air,” We greeted in sync blending our voices ever so often creating a seductive distortion.

“Yes, I know it's been a while since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast.” Al starts off while I finish, “Sinners rejoice!”

“What a dated voice!” Vox yells.

I drape my arms around Al’s neck as he sat back on his seat in an easy going way while keeping the microphone to his face and replies, “Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast.”

“Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that. Is nothing working? Ha ha!” we tease him enjoying the annoyance in his voice.

“IGNORE THEIR CHIRPING!”

“Every day he's got a new format!”

“YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE FUTURE! He's the shit that comes before that!”

“Is Vox as strong as he purports? Or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vees!”

“Oh, PLEASE.”

“And here's the sugar on the cream. He asked ME to join this team!”

“Hold on!”

“I said no, and now he's pissy! That's the tea.”

“You old timey PRICK! I'll show you suffering!”

“Uh oh, the TV is buffering!”

“I'LL DESTROY YOOOOU YOU LITTLE—"

His little temper tantrum leads him to short circuit causing the electricity in the entire pentagram to disappear.

“I'm afraid you've lost your signal.”

“Let's begin.” He sings menacingly slowly transforming to his demon form. “Let's begin.” I sang hauntingly on top of his voice, my eyes turn black leaving my glowing blue irises hypnotically.

“I'm gonna make you wish that I stayed gone!” “Tune on in.”

"When I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run!

Oh, this will be fun!"

I laughed in delight, celebrating our wonderful comeback to our radio show. Al gives me smile and stands there quietly enjoying my reaction.

“That was wonderful! We haven’t done that in so long!” I gushed holding onto his hands. “I thought I’d have to wait 200 hundred years to sing with you again.”

He laughs petting my head, “No need for drastic measures, my dear. I’m here to stay.”

I beamed a smile and gave him a brief hug. “I’m guessing you’ll be greeting our new guest,” I asked while fixing his bow.

“But of course! I need to welcome their little toy they reeled in for us,” he smirks, “Have a good rest. I’ll see you later.”

I wave him off before I went back to our room, relaxing in our bed drifting to sleep.

‘Mom! Dad! I found some flowers over here!’

Tears fall down my face as I recall much happier times.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin lucifer #alastor x reader #hazbin vaggie #HISWMHI #alastor x oc #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor

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ddejavvu · 10 months

Note

I haven’t seen anyone write ghost!reader helping the BAU solve her own case…like knocking things over to get their attention or play eerie songs to give hints😭

THIS IS SUCH A COOL IDEA??

For FBI specialists, these guys suck. They've spent 20 minutes looking through your bedroom, and not once have they gone through the shoes in your closet, where one is tucked carefully away with a blood-stained heel. You'd driven it into your killer's eye just before he'd stuck his own weapon into your stomach, and you'd watched him put it neatly away in its place as you bled out.

"Y'know, I think we are looking at victims of opportunity," A tall, lanky one muses, hair in messy waves down to his shoulders as his slender hands hold your journal that you're not too happy he's reading. "There's nothing in here that indicates any sort of high-risk lifestyle, or anything that connects Y/N to the other victims. I think she just had her window open, and that was enough."

"I think you're right, Reid. This doesn't exactly look 'high-risk' to me." Another speaks, the dark tone of his skin a stark contrast against the white button-up he's holding out from your closet.

"But there's still something missing," Reid hums, peering confusedly around the room, "I mean, the other victims lived miles away. So if these really are opportunity kills, this guy's driving across the country and perusing neighborhoods to kill? That's not very probable."

"No. There's something else," The bigger one agrees, kneeling by the stain of your blood against the carpet. You watch on from the corner of the room, waiting for him to tuck his fingers just beneath the edge of the bed and withdraw the token that had fallen there when your killer had flailed about in the loss of his eye.

He doesn't.

You groan with frustration, but neither of them hear it. You're tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of hoping they crack the case. You lunge for the bed, sending a breeze against the bottom of the comforter and rippling it so that the coin is visible for a split second.

The bulky agent's eyes widen slightly at the unexplainable draft, his thick brows dipping in concern. But he's seen the shiny coin, and he lets out a tsk as he examines it.

"Morgan? What's wrong?" Reid glances over at him, "Is that-?"

"A train token," Morgan drawls, "'Guess we know how this guy's getting around."

"Where did you find that?"

"It was under the bed." Morgan recalls, "It was... weird. There was this little breeze, like- like someone moved the comforter. That's the only reason I saw it. Would've missed it otherwise."

Reid's eyebrows arch curiously, then a smirk slides over his lips, "Maybe it was a ghost."

"There's no such thing as ghosts, pretty boy." Morgan scoffs, standing up straight with the token in hand, "Let's go, we've gotta deliver the profile- ah!"

Before they can walk out the door, you grab the shoe from your closet, flinging it at Morgan's ankle in retaliation for his rather rude comment. He jumps nearly a foot in the air, looking down at your bloody heel in terror.

"That just- that just hit me! It flew out of the closet, and- no, man, I'm not doing this. Fuck- fuck this, I'm going back to the car."

"It's bloody," Reid crouches to examine the shoe, warily glancing at the closet it had flown from, "Go ahead, Morgan, I'll just be a second."

"That is why white people die in horror movies," Morgan spits, already beelining for the front door, "I don't fuck with ghosts!"

When he's gone, Reid is silent. He snaps pictures of the heel, only touching the mess after it's been sufficiently recorded. There's some obscene mush that rubs off onto his finger and he grimaces, inspecting the remains.

"It's an eye," He murmurs to himself, but you hear it from where you're crouched right beside him. He has a pretty face, Morgan wasn't lying. He peers curiously once more at the closet, and you slide yourself into his line of vision as if he can see you. It's refreshing to have someone look at you again, even if they don't know they are.

Reid stands, taking your heel with him. He digs a plastic bag out of his pocket and slides the heel inside, gloves stained the same unsettling color. He starts for the door, finished with his investigation, but he lingers just before he can exit your bedroom. You're standing just behind him, intent on walking the man out and watching him drive away.

He turns back, gaze aimed towards the closet that's no longer occupied by your supernatural throwing arm.

"Thank you," He speaks, "I believe you're real. And I hope this- uh, finishes your business here. I hope you get to rest soon."

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transfemarmin · 11 months

Text

“ compare me to gwen one more time and ima whoop you into next week in front of all of new york ..” you had threatened.. just days prior to this event; it wasn’t even miles saying it to your face, you would find journal entries, tweets, instagram story posts of just the dumbest shit you could ever muster.. miles always finding some sort of way to compare you to gwen. you thought you had made yourself clear; yes, the threat was unnecessary but sometimes it’s the only way to tell these thick skulled guys not to do something.

a sigh escaped your lips as you were scrolling on twitter; mindlessly until you saw it.

‘ sometimes I’m surprised how quick my girl can solve math problems..but gwen could do it quicker’

your jaw dropped; and you looked at the comments; seeing ganke telling miles to take this down because of your threat, multiple comments from who you knew was miles’ best friend.. advising him that if he didn’t want to be so purple people thought he was barney..to take that tweet down; you sucked your teeth as you tapped on his profile; and scrolled down; seeing the tweet was now deleted and replaced with a picture of you with

‘ I love my girlfriend!’ you liked the tweet; and commented under it; ‘ I love my boyfriend! :3’ just to throw him off; as you slammed your phone down on the bed; grumbling curse words to yourself as you pulled on a hoodie; and some jeans with a belt around your waist ; you slid your feet into some slides and made your way to miles’ home. while you never wanted to hurt the boy you loved; this had to be borderline cheating.. right? comparing you to a girl he used to love.. were you gonna take that disrespect? hell no.

his mother had made you a key.. seeing how serious the relationship between you two was; while you weren’t gonna use it.. because you were gonna wait for him to come outside or see you.. if it took too long you sure were gonna use it.. but you found there stood another spider person.. standing right below miles’ room; talking to him? you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion; as you called out to him;

“ miles?” now.. you had seen gwen before, but the two of them kept you in the dark enough for you not to know that she was spider-woman and he was spider-man. his head turned to you and he gasped; “ [name]! oh..uh what are you doing here?” his words were full of panic and his face looked the same way his words felt; you nodded you head; as you shrugged; “ here to see my boyfriend.” your tone was deadpan as you stared up at him.

that’s when the spiderwoman that was standing right below miles’ room window began to freak; “ w-what? miles you have a girlfriend? you didn’t say that! why were you drawing me if you had a girlfriend!” “ gwen-“ once miles let the name slip he knew he messed up; he bit his lip and shut his eyes as he knew you heard him; but when he opened his eyes you weren’t down on the ground like you were moments previously; “ where did she..?” his eyes searched for you around where his eyes could see;

“ did you see where she went?” he yelled down to gwen; who looked around as well; and even swung around nearby buildings; when she swung herself back into miles’ room; she shook her head; taking her mask off. “ no..” gwen couldn’t even look at miles. “ why…why do you have a girlfriend if you aren’t-“ she started before you kicked the door open; belt in hand.

“ i warned you! you better act like you got some damn sense next fucking time!” that’s when the belt first made contact with his skin; and he let out a yelp; and the burning pain kept coming; anger in your eyes; yells of pain and pleas for you to stop coming out his mouth; you did; only having hit him with the belt a smooth five or six times; gwen stood there in shock; she couldn’t believe you had just did that; her first instinct was to go to his side to ask if he was okay; but she stayed in the place she was; an awkward look on her face

“ bet you won’t say gwen can solve a math problem quicker than me now.. bet you won’t say I could never pull off gwen’s hairstyle now.. bet you will never.. say some slick shit out your mouth again!” you kept yelling at him; as you threw the belt to the ground; as it was his in the first place; that you had stolen in order to wear his jeans when you had spelled soda on your own at a barbecue months prior.. the words you threw at him were only the most minor things he had said to you over the months.

and then you kneeled down next to him; as he was groaning, he was bruised a bit here and there but nothing he couldn’t walk off; “ you good?” you asked as you helped him to his feet after that; miles gave a weak nod as he winced; a hand on his lower back, and an embarrassed look on his face as he knew gwen had witnessed that; “ yes..yes..” he mumbled out; you nodded and looked him up and down; “ next time I see something about you comparing me to gwen.. you not only getting your ass whooped worse than what I did today.. but you gon be single too.” you warned; honestly..gwen was surprised you didn’t break up with him then; but the girl felt out of place.

“ uhm…miles.. im.. gonna..” she gestured towards the window; “ yeah..” and then she left; you raised an eyebrow as you watched her leave; and rolled your eyes, “ hope I didn’t..hurt you too bad.. you know I still love you.” you spoke softly; turning your attention back to miles.

he gave a soft nod; “ yeah.. I know..” the beating wasn’t anything he hadn’t already endured; but it was just a shock coming from his girlfriend; “ …im really sorry for doing that [name]… comparing you to gwen and all..” his guilt was there in his voice and you nodded; “ okay.” was all you said as you forced him to sit down on his bed. “..okay?” he repeated back to you, confusion in his tone. “ yeah..okay..you don’t expect me to forgive you do you? im gonna make sure you good.. and then I’m dipping.. the fuck..? you still my man and all.. but we not gon be on cool terms for a minute because of what you did. I need space.” you spoke; checking over miles once more, before you honored your words.. and left.

#miles morales x reader #miles x black reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales angst #miles x you #miles morales #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miles morales atsv #gwen stacy #love miles #x fem!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader

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thewulf · 1 year

Text

Unexpectedly Part 2 || Aaron Hotchner

Request: The reader is a member of BAU, but nobody knows her dark past. She's running from her abusive ex. Once he hurt her so bad (fractured skull, several severe injuries) he left her to die in their apartment. Nowadays she keeps that past hidden, as good as she can... See rest here

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 7.1k

TW: Abuse. Both physical and mental. General Criminal Minds TW – talk of blood/gore/death/stabbing etc. AGE GAP between reader and Hotchner, reader is implied to be younger 25-35.

*Two Months Later*

‘I’m in Virginia. Just like you. How peculiar?’

Hands slightly shaking you gently placed your phone down on the conference room table. It never was going to stop. The slight form of torture this cruel man imposed on you. Knowing that just when you seemed to forget about him, he’d come crawling right back into your field of view. Remind you that he was always going to win. He’d been messing with your head sending these vague texts from new numbers after you blocked the old. It wasn’t enough that you’d changed your number three fucking times now, he always seemed to find a way.

You’d contemplated asking Garcia for some help. She would make you disappear in an instant. But, then you’d have to deal with the repercussions of telling the office gossip the juiciest tea that they’d had in a while. They’d all know, and you weren’t sure you could deal with that just yet. You were finally feeling steady and confident in your abilities again. Feeling like you were doing great at work again. You couldn’t mess this up.

Truth be told you hadn’t a clue what came next after this. JJ was still planning to be off for another few months. Perks of having a decent government job, as they say. But what came after that? Were you really just planning on running away time and time again only to be chased by this guy? That wasn’t a life you wanted to live. It wasn’t a life you were willing to live if you were honest with yourself.

An opaque sheen glazed over your eyes as you looked outside ignoring the text that loomed over you so harshly. It’d been five days since he bothered you. You’d almost forgotten. Almost.

A featherlight touch brushed over your shoulder breaking you out of the trance you were deeply in. Jumping your eyes widened when you spotted Aaron looking down at you.

Things were… complicated with him. You liked him. He liked you. But it couldn’t happen. No matter how much either of you wanted it to. They just couldn’t. Not while he was your boss. He had made that adamantly clear in the two months you’d been working for him. The two of you seemingly having the conversation almost every week now.

“Sorry.” His usual stoic face didn’t break as he sat down next to you, “I was calling for you. Everything okay?”

You hummed while nodding your head, “Yup. Just thinking.” Absentmindedly you grabbed your phone holding it in your hand on the opposite side from him. He noticed. He noticed all the small things about you and what you did. The things you probably didn’t even know that you were doing. How sometimes you got spacey when your phone went off. How you were clearly hiding something from him. But he wouldn’t push. It wasn’t his place as your boss. Not until it affected your work did, he have a right. No matter how much he desired too.

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. He knew how much you hated that. Hated being questioned like a toddler. Being the only not profiler on the team had you on the defensive all too often now.

“I’m good Hotch.” You nodded briefly before getting up. Being around him was downright suffocating. It was hard to be alone with him when you wanted so much more. It was selfish to run. Childish even but you couldn’t stand it. Not when the two of you danced around the subject so awkwardly.

“Wait… Y/N. Before you go.” He coughed spinning around in the chair.

You paused. He hardly used your first name at work. He knew exactly what to do to get you to stop. Pause for him, “Yes, Hotch?”

He stood, towering over you as he stopped in front of you. Hotch just made you feel small. Not that it was a bad thing per say. Just intimidating. And right now, Aaron Hotchner was terribly fucking intimidating without even trying to be. Whatever he asked you were sure you’d answer, all too honestly.

He decided to confront you. He hadn’t a clue what came over him as he started stating facts. The profiler coming out, “You’ve hidden your phone away the last four times I’ve run into you lost in your thoughts.” He paused collecting his thoughts, “You get all spacey and people have a hard time getting your attention. Is everything alright?”

Your heart rate picked up. How’d he notice? He was the best of the best but damn. You thought you did so much better, “You sound like Spencer.” You remarked, clearly deflecting.

“Y/N.”

You sighed, “Please don’t tell the rest of them?” You knew there wasn’t a chance you could come up with an excuse good enough to please Hotch. It was the truth that had to be told.

He nodded offering your seat back to you. Slowly walking back to the chair, you sat there staring back out the window before starting the long story of how you fell in love, fell into a trap, got engaged to a monster, and somehow got away before he fully killed you. Or so you thought.

He never interrupted you. Sitting there patiently as you divulged your biggest secret to your boss. The man you had a disgustingly big crush on. He only continued when you paused for a while. He knew it was the end of your story and it had taken a toll on you telling him all of that. He needed to come at you gently now. It explained so much about you.

“Y/N… that’s a lot.” He sighed knowing his words weren’t great. He was a good boss but never good with words. He showed his love for his teams through his actions. He always seemed to fumble his words, “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, “It’s fine. It’s not the worst part.”

His head snapped right back to you, “What’s the worst?”

“He found me again. He’s been texting me. A new phone number every few days. Usually something threatening.” You opened you phone showing him the latest text message.

He snatched it from your grasp reading over it carefully. Well, this officially sucked for you. Maybe you should’ve told him sooner judging by the expression on his face, “You know I have to go to Garcia. She’s going to have to trace this…”

You interrupted him, “No! Please Aaron no. They can’t know. You promised.”

“This is serious!” He snapped, never taking safety lightly.

You took an involuntary scoot backward in the chair. Fight or flight mode beginning to kick in hearing his stern voice that he rarely used with the team.

Seeing your distressed face, he shook his head internally cursing himself for the outburst. You’d literally just spilled your deepest fears to him, and he was already seemingly betraying that trust already. Putting his hands up he took a small step forward, testing your boundaries, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice it’s just that this is very serious Y/N. We both know what he’s capable of. This isn’t something you hide. Not when you work here.”

You nodded looking away in guilt, “I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle it alone Y/N. You’ve got some of the smartest people in the field right here. All the resources you need at the tip of your fingers. You know the team would never judge you for something you can’t control. Please tell me you know that much.” Aaron’s face softened seeing you so upset.

“Yeah, it’s just… I don’t know.” You sighed while you rested your head in the palm of your hands refusing to look at him. This felt awkward and uncomfortable. Your absolute nightmare.

He waited a moment, realizing you weren’t talking anymore, “Go on. Say what you want to.”

“It’s embarrassing. How could I not have caught that he was lying the whole time? It’s shameful.”

He shook his head scooting closer to you, “And I got played by a serial killer who literally murdered my ex-wife and almost took me too. It’s not embarrassing. It happens. The best of the best get beaten. Believe it. You’re a victim and you’re being retraumatized right now. Please. I need you to understand that. I’ve grown to…” He took a second to find the right words, “care for you. I can’t see you beaten down and scared around every corner. Alright?”

You shook your head. You heard him. You weren’t sure if you believed him, but you sure did hear him, “Sure.”

He waited another moment before continuing, “That being said. I don’t have to go to Penelope if you have somebody stay with you. A friend? Just in case.”

You frowned. Not having anybody was really coming to bite you in the ass. It’s not like Hotch was going to drop this, you knew that was a given, “I don’t have anybody around here. I haven’t really had time to make many friends. Busy job and all.” You admitted still trying to find a footing outside of work. Although the hours made it damn near impossible.

He thought for approximately one second before springing into action, “Let me call Jess. She could probably watch Jack tonight…”

You shook your head back and forth, violently, “No!”

“Why not?” He looked genuinely confused.

“That’s weird Hotch. You’re just my boss.” You might’ve thrown a little more attitude in there than you really needed to, but you wanted him to know how unhappy you were with that. How much you yearned to at least be considered friends. But he shut it down the second you crossed the line.

“It’s not weird.” He would’ve scoffed if he knew it wouldn’t have upset you. He was getting good at making you upset. That was about the most opposite thing of what he wanted, “I’ll sleep on your couch. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

You sighed knowing the two of you would just be going back and forth but you needed him to hear how crazy he sounds, “Aaron. I’m not letting you abandon your son for the night to sleep on my couch. I’ve been fine for the last two and half months. I’ll be fine tonight.” You smiled hoping it’d appease him.

He shook his head, “Yeah, that’s just not going to happen. Not now that I know about it.”

“Hotch…”

“No, that’s final. Jess is good with watching him for the night anyway.” He held up his phone showing you the text as proof.

“You’re being insane.” You leaned back in your chair annoyed with his stubbornness.

“And you’re being irrational.” He countered annoyed with your inability to see how serious this really was, “Y/N. He probably knows exactly where you live. If he found you that quickly he’s probably been watching you.”

You shook your head, “I’ve been paying attention Hotch.” Eyes closed you didn’t want to admit you were almost afraid to open them. You knew you were pissing him off. It wasn’t often that anyone, besides Rossi, argued back to the boss. It was his way or the highway, as they say.

“I’m not saying you haven’t Y/N. But these people… people like that will never stop. That text is very threatening. Please. Please just let stay over. To make sure you’re okay.” He was saying the words he couldn’t say but he needed to. Your unwillingness just to see how scary this really was drove him to his breaking point.

Huffing you gave him a small nod, “Fine. But going forward…”

He cut you off, “We’ll figure out going forward tomorrow. Don’t worry about it tonight.”

“But Hotch…”

Cutting you off again you groaned in annoyance, loudly, “Just, try to relax. I’ll think of something. I know you don’t want me to tell the team and I’m going to try and respect that. But you have to know if it’s between your safety or them knowing… keeping you safe is all that matters.”

Your leg bounced up and down and your stomach feeling uneasy you looked up to him, “Yeah, sure.” Simply too tired to argue with the ever-confusing man you shut your laptop before getting up to go pack up. It was already half past eight, the team was long gone.

The sun was beginning its descent for the night, casting an orange hue on your boss. It dawned on you as you admired, he man you’ve been crushing on way too hard, being teased and all about it, that he was staying in your apartment that night. Under any other scenario it was entirely desirable but now? Not so much. Not under these circumstances.

“Where are you going?” He asked, slightly surprised you’d been so bold as to walk away in the middle of the conversation.

“Packing up then going home.” You paused in the doorway sneaking a quick peek back at the man you was watching you intently.

He frowned after hearing your words, “Give me three minutes then I can drive.”

“Oh, I can drive myself home. I’ll text you the address.” You gave him a half-hearted smile. Truth be told you were far too excited to have him spend the night. Even if it was in another room. He insisted on it. But then again, he’d already set a clear line in the sand with you. You could only be his employee when you worked for him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He smiled trying to ease your obvious nerves, “You’re being weird about it.”

“I’m being weird? Hotch, it’s fucking weird.” You spun back around preparing to walk away before he caught your attention again.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird.” His smile turned into a smirk. He knew how you felt for him. You were pretty sure you knew how he felt for you. This back and forth was driving you mad. Like he wanted to play the game but knew it couldn’t be won.

You wanted to smack the usually so intelligent man, it felt like he was just playing you like a fiddle now, “Yeah, sure.” This time you walked away making sure to pack up quickly. Your speedy exit was stopped suddenly as he got into the elevator with you. Somehow with his go-bag and all.

“What’s wrong?” He asked setting his bag down turning his body completely to you. He knew what he was doing to you. He knew it was mean. He couldn’t deny it. But he loved flirting with you, getting you a little wound up. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he adored you just as much as you liked him, if not more. But he couldn’t risk it. For his career. For your blooming one.

You leaned your shoulders and head back on the metal wall, “You’re kidding?” You sighed while lazily flipping your head in his general direction.

“I’m not.”

Rolling your eyes, you knew he’d make you say it out loud. It was easier to spit it out than skirt around the subject, “This is torture. Working so close to you all the time. You flirting like that then turning me down the next fucking second.”

“You know why nothing can happen.”

“I’m very well aware. We’ve had this conversation before Hotch. A million times.” The two of you had delicately danced around the conversation, never full on admitting any feelings. Hotch had to squash that before it came to fruition.

He visibly frowned knowing he was upsetting you, “You can call me Aaron.”

“But I can’t! None of your other employees do. So why should I? What makes me special Hotch?” You challenged him. He couldn’t have both at once. He couldn’t just be your boss then talk to you like this. It was driving you mad.

He sighed knowing you were right, “Rossi doesn’t.”

“Rossi’s different and you know that.” You were frustrated. As much as you loved the job you couldn’t keep going down the path of yes one moment and no the next. Hotch just couldn’t comprehend just how crazy he was driving you. Either that or you were hiding it insanely well.

He cleared his throat knowing he really only had this chance to not fuck it up between the two of you. He’d been trying to come up with different ways always to be struck down in his own mind. He’d continue thinking though, for both of your sakes.

“Y/N. I like you. More than a boss should like their employee.” He paused letting out the breath he was holding in, “I can’t risk anything right now though. I can’t risk it and you can’t risk it. Not with this guy out to hurt you, with Strauss up my ass about the team…” He trailed off knowing this was just turning into an excuse now.

The elevator chirped as Hotch paused, signaling you were at the bottom. You walked out quickly hoping he wouldn’t follow. When he met your stride, you continued on, “It’s fine Hotch. I get it. Please just stop playing with me when the team isn’t around. It’s diving me crazy. If it can’t happen, it can’t happen, and I can accept that. I just need you to back off.” It hurt you to push him away. Even if he was staying at your place your quietness and unwillingness to even open up to him let him know you were shutting him away.

Turning away from him before you could see his reaction you walked to your car briskly hoping he’d just take his. It’d be far too awkward to share a vehicle now. Not after you just said that to him.

But you were sorely mistaken. You heard him following along. Not so close as to freak you out but close enough to where you knew he was there, “Keys.”

“I can drive myself.” You retorted irritated with him. He wasn’t listening and it was making you irrationally angry. Acting as if what you just said didn’t faze him.

“No, you really can’t. You’re upset and you really shouldn’t drive when you’re angry.”

Biting your cheek, you knew he was right. You placed your car keys into his outstretched hand. Refusing to look at him you walked to the passenger’s side contemplating sitting in the backseat knowing it’d cause more problems than it was worth. Sliding into the passenger’s side front seat you crossed your hands over your chest in disdain. Could he not say a single fucking thing? This was how you knew you were in deep. You cared way too much about this little pickle you’d gotten yourself into.

This time the ride was awkwardly silent as you looked out the window. Putting your address into the GPS without saying a word. Keeping your eyes locked on the world outside you let your thoughts take control.

The silence was broken when he finally said something. Almost as if he could hear your thoughts screaming at him, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He sighed bringing your eyes over to his. You couldn’t help but to look at him. You wanted him to say something but had no idea how to respond to this.

He continued before you could say anything, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m selfish with you. I know I can’t pursue you like I want to. Trust me, I want to.” He whispered the last part out. Almost afraid to admit it out loud. As soon as he does it becomes real.

He sighed again. Frustrated the words weren’t coming easy for him. Your soft eyes broke him down even further. He knew his next words would put a final nail in the coffin, for now at least, “If you weren’t on my team, we’d be having a very different conversation Y/N. Please believe that. I’m so sorry that I’ve been selfish… done and said things I shouldn’t have. I won’t do that anymore.”

You looked away biting your cheek as hard as you needed to stop the tears from flooding out of your eyes. Why was this so difficult? Why did you have to have feelings for the one fucking man you could never have?

He frowned knowing he had hurt you yet again. It was his own fault he had to keep hurting you and it stung knowing the tears in your eyes were a result of his actions. He kept bring you right back to him and he knew it. He wanted to stop. He needed to stop knowing just how fucked up what he was doing was. Especially now that he actively realized it after you so bluntly pointed out.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I’ll figure something out.” He whispered out not knowing if you really heard him. He knew saying those last words were dangerous, likely to draw you right back into him.

It dawned on him that he simply couldn’t push you away anymore. It was beginning to hurt him. It had been hurting him already, he just hadn’t realized. That’s why he was always so flirtatious and open with you, he wanted it. His stupid head just didn’t let him know it yet. Not until he knew he was the reason for your tears. For your unsureness with him. He did this to you. He had to fix it.

He needed to be around you. He had to figure this out. He knew the only option was to find you another placement, but he’d come up short. There was plenty out there but nothing good enough for your abilities. So, he had to pass, for your sake. Time was running up. JJ was due back in the next few months too.

He had no other option than to go to Strauss. He hated it knowing he’d be obligated to her, but she’d find you a good place to land. Somewhere close at his request. That was absolutely necessary. Especially now since he knew your position, the imposition.

You heard him though. Loud and clear. Giving you whiplash yet again. You weren’t sure how clearer you could be to the man yet here he was saying all the right things. The words were slowly becoming meaningless to you. He got a little nervous not hearing you reply to him. At the next red light, he looked over seeing you looking out the window with all your attention, clearly ignoring him. He’d done it now. His own indecisiveness driving you right away. He knew if he didn’t do something soon, you’d move on from him.

“Y/N.” He touched your shoulder gently.

Turning to look at him you attempted to give him an expressionless face. A frown crossed over your features instead, “Yeah?” Your usual confident voice came out as weak, squeakier than normal. You hated that he affected you so easily. So deeply.

“Did you hear me?”

You sighed, “I did.”

He had to look forward after a car honked at him. Sitting a second too long as the green light, “Please say something, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Okay.” You let out. You knew it would frustrate him, but you didn’t have any thoughts just yet. Your brain wanted to shut down instead of talking it out. You were tired of the same conversation with him. Only to be disappointed.

“Okay?” This time he let out a small, short sigh. Not in frustration at you but at himself. For being so blasé with you. Thinking he had it figured out with you but now knowing he had it so terribly wrong.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say Hotch.” You couldn’t use his first name. Not if you wanted to stop feeling this way. It’s like the two of you were so close, so damn close to figuring it out. But yet it felt nearly impossible. You were at a loss for words. Truly, had no idea what to say to the man that always seemed to be on your mind.

“I don’t want you to say anything you wouldn’t want to say Y/N. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

If he really wanted to know? Fine, “You’re so fucking confusing Hotch.” You blurted out placing your hands over your face while looking down at your feet. The car felt so small now, suffocatingly small as he pulled into your apartment complex, eyes now fully focused on you.

Nodding his head he loosened his tie, “I’m selfish and I’m sorry. I will figure this out. I promise you that.”

“Figure what out though? What is this? What are we? I can wait but I can’t wait forever.” Your eyes began welling up again. You hated that your response to any emotion seemed to be tears. Never in your life would you have imagined yourself in this situation. Crying over a

“Hey,” Gently, he placed a hand along your back hoping it’d bring you some peace, anything he could offer, “I like you beyond words Y/N. I’m sorry I’ve been too stupid to realize it. I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you. You don’t know how bad I want to just say fuck it and kiss you right now but that’s not fair to you. Me saying that isn’t fair to you.”

You could hear your heart rate pick up as blood rushed throughout your entire body. He was actually torturing you now. For too long you’d had little daydreams fantasizing about the older man. What it’d be like at home, away from work, just the two of you and Jack. You’d met the little firecracker of a kid a few times over the last few months, he quickly took to you Aaron noticed. Just another reason why he liked you so much. You are a natural energy, drawing everybody in. It worked so easily on him he wasn’t surprised Jack liked you so much.

Giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze, he continued, “I like you. I want to pursue you. I can’t until I know you have a job elsewhere.”

“A job elsewhere?” You too knew it was one of the only options, the only option. It just felt so foreign coming from his mouth. Not wanting to admit how fond you’ve grown of the team in your short tenure you dreaded having to prove yourself again to the next batch of colleagues.

He nodded, “Somewhere close. Where I’m not your boss.” His eyes searched for your as you dropped your hands. You hated to admit it but here you were, right back in his grasp, literally. The man had a strangle hold on you.

Head turning to his you leaned into his touch, “Are you sure?”

A small smile graced his face, “I should be asking you that Y/N. I don’t know what you see in me.”

Rolling your eyes, you knew the difficult part of the conversation was over. The awkward and uncomfortable air started to lift, “Shut up. You’re the whole package, Aaron.”

“I’m over fifteen years older than you.” Now it seemed Aaron was letting his insecurities out

You shrugged still so grateful he was still holding onto you, as if you’d vanish out of thin air if he let his hand go from your shoulder, “And?”

“Guys your age…”

“Guys my age suck. Remember? I’m running from one. Not so successfully.”

His smile faded quickly as he remembered exactly why he was here, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” On high alert he hopped out of the car quickly walking to your side. Before you could be too disappointed with the loss of touch on your shoulder, he quickly wrapped you into his side. Slowing his pace down to keep up with you he kept checking his positions. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least not to you.

“Yeah, sure.” You replied knowing it’d drive him mad. Short answers like that pissed him off usually. But now you were using the same words you used earlier to dismiss him.

“Okay well now you’re just being difficult.” He smiled knowing you we’re playing with him. Another reason he had fallen so quickly for you. You weren’t afraid to throw it right back at him.

You bit your lip trying to stop the automatic smile that came to your face. You were being difficult, and you knew it. Catching a glimpse of you with his peripherals Hotch smiled too knowing he’d smoothed it over, at least for now.

Your phone vibrated as he locked the door behind himself. Your heart sunk as you read over

“Y/N?” You vaguely heard before handing the phone to him. He was watching you.

‘A new boyfriend, really?’

“I’m calling Garcia and that’s final. We’re done talking about it.” He didn’t yell but he definitely spoke with that Hotchner authority that scared the living hell out of nearly everybody.

The two of you had argued it out into the night and well into the morning before falling asleep on the couch, together. You’d fallen asleep first nuzzling your way right into his side. Not having the heart to move you, even after arguing back and forth for the previous four hours.

“It’s for your safety, Y/N. Please just understand that. It’s not just some silly little text anymore. This is serious.”

Letting out a sigh you nodded, “Fine.” You weren’t going to win this one. The man was seriously stubborn, even more so than you.

“Thank you.” He popped his phone out calling Garcia almost immediately. He excused himself to the other room. Finishing the oatmeal you’d made you quickly changed. He’d given the team the weekend off knowing that you’d all been on the road for the last few and needed a break.

Before too long he came back into the kitchen where you were cleaning up, “She’s looking into it, discreetly.”

You nodded, “Okay, can we got get some coffee or something? I don’t imagine you’ll let me spend this weekend alone?”

He shook his head, “No. Sorry, I know it wasn’t in your plans. My parents already picked up Jack. He’ll be there until they drop him off at school on Monday.”

“Plans change I suppose. I’m sorry you aren’t spending time with him. I know these weekends are precious.” A small pang of guilt ran through you. He was giving up his time with his boy for you. Willingly. You felt awful poor Jack. You’d taken his dad away for the weekend.

“Like you said, plans change.” He didn’t want to admit the little bit of excitement that came with the thought of spending a weekend with you even at the disappointment at his little guy.

“So, coffee?” You changed the subject back not wanting to dwell on the young boy.

He nodded, “Coffee sounds good. I’ll drive.” He went to grab your keys off the rack beating you to them.

“Don’t you need your car? And clothes?” You asked when you realized he was quite literally stranded here. It’s not like you had anything to give him to wear other than a few oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants.

“We’ll stop by my place on the way back.”

“Are we close?”

He nodded, “Relatively.”

Placing your order online the ride to the shop was uneventful. Both of you were scanning the surrounding cars for any sign of the man. It’s like he was in stealth mode.

His phone rang as he pulled in. It wasn’t like he could ignore it. He was SSA Aaron Hotchner after all. Walking inside you let him take the call from the car knowing it’d take you less than a minute to walk in and grab the order.

It should have been that quick. That was until you were cornered feeling a metallic blade press up against your hip bone. How in the fuck had he slipped past Hotch? How in the hell was he here? You smelled him instantly in that dreaded cologne.

“Y/N.” That voice you’d prayed you’d never have to hear again spoke out to you.

Trembling you knew you had to keep him distracted, “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Nice to see you, alive and well.” He chuckled knowing that’d bring you right back to the night he left you to die.

He was ignoring you. Nothing you could say or do would impact the situation at all. Looking around you cursed when the last customer left, and the barista sat on her phone. You could try and reach for your phone, but the man wasn’t stupid. He’d know exactly what you were up too. All you could do was stall now in hopes he would hurry up the call he was on.

“Can’t say the same.”

He gripped down on your arm. Oh, how you wanted to cry out in pain but you knew that’s exactly what he was looking for so you simply gave him the most blank expression you could muster. You had to psychologically beat the motherfucker. He had the physical advantage on you.

Lucky for you Hotch did wrap his call up quickly. You heard his gun click into place before you saw him out of the corner of your eye, “I’d suggest you let her go, now.”

“New boyfriends got a gun huh?”

This was your chance. If you had one, “I thought you did your research? You slipping up?” That’s all it took for him to throw you backwards into the table behind you. This got the attention of the barista whose eyes went wide seeing the confrontation and weapons out so openly. Your head knocked against the side of the table opening a new cut along the back of your skull. Sending you unconscious for a moment before your brain reset.

Aaron wanted to shoot, oh did he. But he knew his surroundings. Middle of the morning in suburbia wasn’t exactly the best place to unload a clip. So, he opted for the next best thing and tackled the inferior police officer before him knocking him down quickly sending the blade out of his grasp.

It was over before it started. You jumped to your feet not realizing your head was bleeding yet again from the man. Your head felt fuzzy as you spotted Aaron overtop your ex-fiancé handcuffing him easily enough. Aaron’s gun tucked back into his belt loop. You were so thankful that Aaron was okay.

Sirens rung out in the distance as you found a seat, head feeling heavy all over again.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked placing his hands on your head forcing your head to look at him gently.

“I’m fine. Did you get him?” You asked

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I didn’t even see him. It was Garcia. She was who I was on the phone with. Calling to warn. Fifteen seconds. Christ, are you okay?” He rambled ripping the jacket he had on placing it on the open wound.

“I’m fine Aaron. Just a little lightheaded. It’s okay. I’m okay.” You looked up at his panic-stricken face. He was obviously blaming himself for the entire predicament.

He pulled you up seeing the ambulance pull in. He wasn’t taking any chances as he found the EMT quickly, “Head wound. Loss of a lot of blood. She said she’s lightheaded.” The EMT nodded as he sat you down in the back of the rig.

“Let’s have a look. How bad does it hurt? Out of ten?”

“Like a three.” You smiled to the man as he checked you over. Pushing Aaron’s hand away as he was ready. Head wounds always looked a whole lot more traumatic than they actually were… at least that’s what you’d always been told.

“It’s okay if it hurts.” Aaron crouched down so he was level with you. Eyes scanning over your face for any discomfort.

“I’m a little offended you don’t believe me. This is only a three compared to what he’s put me through. Trust me.”

Aaron shuddered realizing just how horrifically you’d been abused by the man, “Alright, if you say so.” He knew you probably weren’t up to talking about it so he knew he likely needed to drop it.

“I say so.”

The EMT had managed to stop the bleeding enough to get a good look, “You’ll just need a butterfly bandage. No stitches. You did lose a lot of blood though. Are you able to stand?”

You smiled knowing it was almost over. Sure, he wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t likely going to be free at the end of this all. You felt at peace knowing you could fully focus on yourself going forward and not be afraid around every turn, waiting for him to show back up.

You did manage to stand albeit a little woozy. Aaron wanted you to go to the hospital, but you knew you were fine. Maybe just needed that coffee and a nap now.

After giving statements and assuring Garcia you were both fine Aaron drove you back to your place. Assuring you that he’d be fine in your oversized clothing. He didn’t want to stop home. He just wanted you to be comfortable. He felt sick knowing what had went down could have been stopped. But he failed you.

He helped you all the way back up to your bedroom. You might’ve leaned on him a little harder than you really needed too but it was your chance and you sure as hell weren’t going to miss your opportunity. If he was going to be selfish then so were you.

“Aaron?” You asked before he walked away.

He turned looking down at you softly. So sweetly, “Yeah?”

“Can you stay? At least until I fall asleep. Then I’ll be fine.”

Smiling, he knew how much that took for you to ask, how uncomfortable it made you, “Of course. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Yeah?” You asked smiling as he slid in next to you.

“Yeah.” He waited for you to scootch up to him before he pulled you into him completely. You wanted to hate how good it felt but you couldn’t. It felt so right. So comfortable, “Sleep well.”

“Thank you, Aaron, for everything.” You yawned into his chest as you drifted off letting yourself get swallowed in his warmth.

He kept true to his word. When you opened your eyes after a few hours he was sitting there watching you.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?” He turned his body towards you, scooting down so his face was level with yours.

“Good. Really good.” You smiled over at him.

He returned your smile, feeling a little bit better at your state, “Good. I’ve been thinking. I have an idea.”

Eyes flicking over to the man you’d become so quickly infatuated with you gave him a curious look, “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“So, in a few months when JJ is ready to come back. What if a communications position in ViCAP were to open up? Could even be a promotion if you know the right people.” A small smirk danced over his lips as he studied your expression softly. He knew how harsh his gaze came off if he wasn’t too careful. He didn’t want to scare you off now that you were free for the first time in years.

Eyebrows raising in shock you studied his face. He was all business though, no jokes, “Really? The Violent Criminal Apprehension Program? Isn’t that like super exclusive?”

He shrugged pulling you closer. Taking that as an invitation you softly laid your head on his chest. Almost afraid that’d he’d change his mind on you. Want nothing to do with you. Your fears were null and void as Aaron brushed the stray strand of hair out of your face, “It might be. I’m partial to you staying with the team but that would make this terribly unprofessional.” He snaked his arm around your waist bringing your body as close to his as it could be.

A stupid little blush graced your cheeks feeling the desire of being wanted from such an incredible guy, “Aaron Hotchner. Did you pull some strings for me?”

A hesitant nod confirmed your suspicions, “Maybe a little. We couldn’t lose you at the BAU. You just wouldn’t be my employee anymore.”

“Sure.” You giggled laying your head back down, “Hypothetically I would say hell yes if that were offered to me. Hypothetically though.”

He nodded, that big beautiful Hotchner smile came out, just for you, “Hypothetically, noted.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence. Aaron absentmindedly began to brush through your hair. You hadn’t a clue how touchy the man really was, but you certainly weren’t complaining. You hummed feeling lulled by the steady motion of his hand, “Keep that up and I’m going to fall right back asleep.”

You felt the gentle chuckle that came from his chest, “That’s alright. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You smiled feeling all the love emitting from the man you liked far too much, far too quickly, “Wait, he’s in jail. I don’t really need to be staying here anymore.” You opened your eyes fearfully. A little pissed at yourself for bringing that up.

An immediate frown formed as he processed what you said, “I’ll stay as long as you need me. As long as you want me.”

“Thank you Aaron.” Watching him he nodded as he watched you. The two of you simply studying the other. One profiler and one wannabe profiler studying the situation.

“I’d do it again for you.”

You were at a loss for words. This was the Aaron you adored. The one who wasn’t afraid to tell the truth. To get uncomfortable with you as you learned the other. It was the beginning of something wonderful and he was diving headfirst into it. But he was making sure you were ready before pulling you in with him. He didn’t want you to drown.

“I like you so much Aaron.” You admitted, “Far too much. These last few months have been some of my favorite yet. And you were only my boss. My friend.” You let out the breath that you’d been holding in. His softness, the closeness, his smell all overwhelmed you into admitting it.

A soft hand pulled your face to look back at his, “I like you far more than I should as well. We’ve got to keep this quiet for a few months. Then I’m taking you on the best date you’ve ever been on.”

You smiled brightly relieved that he was feeling the exact same way, “Yeah?”

“If you want, that is.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s great!” You grinned laying your head right backdown on his chest.

He nodded smiling just as widely as you, “It’s a date then.”

“It’s a date.”

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