✦Read on A03! - Timeline for the Homies✦
✦Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦
✦Stuff By You Guys Masterlist (art, memes, and more!)✦
✦Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, severe mental health issues, self-harm and suicidal ideation, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.✦
✦Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.✦
Series Summary
There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.
There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.
It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.
And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't.
Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.
But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.
And you find your way back, again and again.
Author's Note
This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.
What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.
If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!
Chapter List
Season 0/1
Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood
Chapter 2 - Under My Skin
Chapter 3 - I Get A Little Dizzy
Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me
Chapter 5 - If You Let Me
Chapter 6 - All The Noise
Chapter 7 - Something I Can See
Chapter 8 - Keep Us Far Apart
Season 2/3
Chapter 9 - Does The Feeling Haunt You
Chapter 10 - Look and See
Chapter 11 - You Might Drown
Chapter 12 - Watch You Work The Room
Chapter 13 - You'll Have to Believe It
Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever
Chapter 15 - Before It Falls Apart
Season 4
Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It
Chapter 17 - You Come Back
Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better
Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New
Chapter 20 - Wait for Me
Season 5
Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive
Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue
Chapter 23 - You've Been Waiting to Break
Chapter 24 - Just Hold On
Chapter 25 - And It Was Written
Chapter 26 - Worth the Fight
Chapter 27 - When You Go
Season 6
Chapter 28 - All of This is Temporary
Chapter 29 - I'll Be Lonely
Chapter 30 - Hold on Tight
Chapter 31 - It All Comes Around
Chapter 32 - All Out Of Breath
Chapter 33 - See The Lightning
Chapter 34 - You Need Someone
Chapter 35 - Straight to the Heart
Chapter 36 - I Can't Jump Out
Chapter 37 - Though Sick Lullabies
Chapter 38 - Let You Break My Brain
Chapter 39 - What's It Coming To
Chapter 40 - Gotta Get to Rock Bottom
Chapter 41 - Don't Act So Surprised
Chapter 42 - Each Time I Fall
Chapter 43 - Keep Me On Your Side
Chapter 44 - Knowing How It Ends
Chapter 45 - Bleeding on the Stage
Chapter 46 - Dream Sweet Of Me
Chapter 47 - This World Will Tear You to Shreds
Season 7
Chapter 48 - You Can't Take It Back
Chapter 49 - For A Little While
Chapter 50 - Stay In Love
Chapter 51 - Tried to See You
Chapter 52 - A Good Thing
Chapter 53 - A Soft Place to Fall
Chapter 54 - Giving Way To Warm
Chapter 55 - Keep Them All Safe
Chapter 56 - Watch It Glow
Chapter 57 - Careful With The Thing Inside My Chest
Chapter 58 - Keep Your Head Down
Chapter 59 - Blink Back To Let Me Know
Chapter 60 - If We Try
Chapter 61 - Take My Love Away
Chapter 62 - Give Me Something I Can Crush
Chapter 63 - Soaked in Bleach
Chapter 64 - I've Been Holding On
Chapter 65 - Try To Wake Up
Chapter 66 - If It Don't Work Now (5/14)
Psalms (In-Series Bonus Chapters)
Can You Hear Me - You sit on the roof of your car. Takes place a month after Chapter 15.
I'll Keep On Waiting - Dean watches you, and Jo shares some thoughts. Takes place after Chapter 19.
So Go On - Sam Chapter! Takes place after Chapter 20.
Spinning Around - You, Dean, and allegedly Sam go to the movies. Takes place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20.
Just Pretend - You and Dean have some dreams. Takes place almost any time after Chapter 20.
On My Way - Dean looks at some fruits. Takes place around Chapter 23.
Stay This Simple - You and Jo have a girls night. Takes place around Chapter 19.
Just Too Soft - Request! You get your period. Takes place a bit before Chapter 27.
Never Wanted to Leave - Deleted Scenes from Chapter 27.
You'll Always Know Me - You and Sam have an adventure. Takes place a little before Chapter 27.
What If We Don't Touch - Dean has some fantasies. Takes place right after Chapter 33.
I Might Start Trying - Bobby takes you to get books. Takes place 20 years before Chapter 39.
Can You Tell? - Everyone celebrates Halloween. Takes place in a secret October, some time in the future after Chapter 43.
You'll Never Know - Dean tries to be a feminist about virginity. Dean pov in Chapter 36.
What's In Front of Me - You get sick. Takes place some time after Chapter 50.
Leave You Alone - Your brief stint in public school. Takes place four or five years before the series.
And With My Roots Above - Bobby finds a girl in the rain. Takes place ten years before the series.
Hymns (Alternate Universes)
Build An Alter - You and Dean survive in the Endverse
Waiting For You (All My Life) - The first time you meet him, you know that this is different. The first time he sees you, he knows the same. And it's a great, simple love that only grows. A life to be built that's just waiting for you and Dean to take it. So you do. (Normal!AU)
Extras From Me
Listen to the Playlist!
Memes!
More Memes!
Even more memes!
Help I can't stop making memes.
MORE! MEMES!
summary: Dean is not in the habit of accepting help - especially not from rich, pretty college girls - but this time it really can't be helped. Badly injured and without his Baby, he is forced to take a lift from you for one long road trip to try to save Sam. He finds there are worse things than playing passenger princess.
pairing: dean winchester x f! reader
warnings: smut, canon-typical violence, angst, semi slow-burn, canon-typical dean self-loathing, very brief references to suicide, sam haunts the narrative like crazy, reader referenced as having hair and has a set backstory / unnamed family
a/n: i have learned from past mistakes and pre-written all parts of the series in advance, so we have a posting schedule below *everybody stands up and applauds*. this was a very special project for me and i can't wait to share it with you 🤍 drop a comment to join the series taglist or join my overall taglist here!
Contents:
1 The Road ✧ 6.4k words ⤷ 14/04
2 Burnout ✧ 6.6k words ⤷ 21/04
3 Under the Hood ✧ 5.3k words ⤷ 28/04
4 Insult and Injury ✧ 7.1k words ⤷ 05/05
5 In Bad Faith ✧ 7.4k words ⤷ 12/05
6 Courage Equal to Desire ✧ 8.9k words ⤷ 19/05
a/a/n: all 6 parts are set in s2 ep14 'born under a bad sign', with changed details and prolonged timelines. it is not necessary to have seen the episode to read this as the events of the episode itself are only a small fraction of the first and last part!
all credit goes entirely to the writers, i did not write any of these. if you enjoyed a fic, show the author some love with by a comment, reblog, or both ! please read all author warnings before reading & proceed at your own discretion.
When a love letter written purely for therapeutic purposes - because she had to be temporarily insane to love Sebastian Sallow - goes missing somewhere in the castle, it takes a whole team to try and find it before the wrong person does.
⟡ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀 🔍📰
⟡ 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 🔍
MC who just has lovely, soft hands despite always dueling
⟡ 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓 🔍
Seb is convinced they are in love and MC thinks he's just the bees knees best friend she's ever had
⟡ 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 🕷️ | @anto-pops
Sebastian doesn’t always wear his glasses, but when he does, you make sure you’re there for the occasion. Today was one of those rare days.
⟡ 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐒 🕷️
Since Sebastian can’t hold himself accountable and show up to Quidditch practice, Imelda takes matters into her own hands and bans him from being around you until the upcoming game is finished. It’s something easier said than done.
⟡ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 🕷️
Following the summer leading up to your seventh year, you return to Hogwarts to discover that Sebastian has undergone changes that greatly appeal to the eye. Your eye, to be specific. There’s no easy way to tell the man you’ve been dating for two years that your attention has been fixed on a part of him otherwise deemed normal, but after a while, you’re forced to face the truth of the matter
⟡ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 🕷️
Sebastian had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and he rarely gave up before accomplishing whatever it was he set his mind to. His goal of impregnating you was one he was hell-bent on succeeding at, and who were you to deny him?
⟡ 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 🔍 | @arthenaa
The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year.
You wonder why?
⟡ 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 🔍
Sebastian, more often than not, annoys the fuck out of you to get your attention. Your friends think it's disgustingly adorable.
⟡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🕷️ | @authorellasallow
Sebastian Sallow sneaks into your dormitory and finds a list hidden in your bed, one filled with names of girls who want him. All except yours.
⟡ 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐀 🔍 | @awkwardauthorwrites
Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?
⟡ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐈𝐈 🔍
Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.
⟡ 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 🔍
Y/N comes to a startling revelation when brewing Amortentia in potions class
⟡ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 🔍🥽 | @barnabyjr
sebastian muses on his relationship with mc, ultimately believing that they are just too good for someone like him
⟡ 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐉𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 🔍
when mc's feelings become too much to handle, and curiosity gets the better of her, she resorts to polyjuice potion to find out what her best friend thinks about her
⟡ 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐓 🔍
sebastian, unlike his usual jealous self, is strangely calm despite the numerous love letters being delivered to mc...
⟡ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 🔍 | @blu-blubs
⟡ 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 🕷️ | @cuffmeinblack
Sebastian watches her when she sleeps, safe in his arms as she seeks comfort from her nightmares. Beautiful, perfect, and utterly irresistible; who could blame him for indulging?
⟡ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄 🕷️
Whilst attempting to find Sebastian, instead you stumble upon his memories. Events take an unexpected turn when he finds you
⟡ 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 🕷️ | @euphorisun
Sebastian goes home to you after a late night shift as an Auror in the Ministry of Magic. After a busy week, he truly missed you... And he just can't wait until you wake up.
Sebastian brewed Amortentia to study the difference between obsession and love but the real thing was the one thing even he couldn't control.
⟡ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 🔍
⟡ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 🕷️ | @heavenlybodies333
You should have known better by now. Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow. Because he never promised you anything, did he?
⟡ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 🕷️
⟡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 🕷️
There was an art to it, you know. The first time Sebastian Sallow killed, it had been for revenge. Blood soaked the floorboards of a dusty old crypt, pooling at his feet, and something in him had changed. He hadn’t meant to savor it, but he did.
⟡ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 🔍🕷️ | @jackalope-patronus
very very soft smut of virgin Sebastian and MC reader. With plot! With feelings!
⟡ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐈 🔍🕷️ | @legacygirlingreen
What happens when MC's friends drag her into a packed night club to see a band she hates purely on principle? She meets a cute guy and in the midst of a miscommunication Sebastian goes far to get the attention of the girl who caught his eye
⟡ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 🔍
what happens when MC and Sebastian are running for their lives and he can’t stop flirting even for a second? Even worse what happens when a major mess leads to them needing to clean up in a small pool in the moonlight?
⟡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 🔍
What happens when a mixup involving amortentia leads to MC accidentally revealing her crush?
⟡ 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 🕷️ | @matchavellichor
Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.
⟡ 𝐅𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 🕷️ | @morelikeravenbore
⟡ 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐒𝐘 🔍🕷️ | @myokk
sebastian is clumsy
⟡ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄-𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 🔍
mc loves flustering sebastian with her notes during class
⟡ 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 🔍 | @pasukiyo
much to sebastian's dismay, you agree to watch the krindle children while their mother is away. while telling the old muggle fairytale of sleeping beauty, you get an idea to hopefully lift sebastian’s spirits…
When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.
⟡ 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 🔍
Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.
⟡ 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 🕷️ | @rambling-tam
Separated by duty but bound by magic, you and Sebastian use an enchanted mirror to close the distance between you - baring bodies, secrets, and the ache of wanting too much, too far away.
⟡ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 🔍 | @ravenelyx
Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him
⟡ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 🕷️ | @resarayne
⟡ 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 🔍 | @sage-pages
⟡ 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 🕷️ | @sallowskeeper
⟡ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 🔍 | @scriptumsempra
She counted steps to the stars. Until one day, she started counting freckles instead. A quiet night, a library glance, and a realisation that not all constellations live in the sky.
⟡ 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐈𝐈 🔍
Ignorance was the first draft. He only needed one. He used six. An insult, a silence, and the beginning of everything he didn’t know how to say. One chocolate bribe. Two mental breakdowns. Five owls. A guide to losing a witch, one step at a time — and maybe winning her back on the sixth.
⟡ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 🔍
He was Hogwarts’ best duellist. Until she arrived—with borrowed magic, steady hands, and silence sharper than spells. She stole his title, his attention, and maybe—without meaning to—his heart.
⟡ 𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 🔍 | @shadowtriovibes
Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back.
⟡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 🔍
⟡ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑? 🔍
⟡ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐈 | 🔍📰
Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian...
sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)
⟡ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 🔍 | @shallowsallow
In your sixth year at Hogwarts, you have a secret valentine - and everyone is in on it.
⟡ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 🕷️ | @slytherizz
Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.
⟡ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐕! 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐈 🕷️
⟡ 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 🔍🥽📰 | spaceyaceface *epub link
Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only.
⟡ 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐘 🔍 | @theealbatross
After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.
⟡ 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 🔍📰
Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.
⟡ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘, 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒, 𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄? 𝐩𝐭 𝐈 𝐩𝐭 𝐈𝐈 🔍 [2/3]
It's just a game, but really.
⟡ 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄? 🔍
Sebastian is being bullied (false), you can't possibly be falling in love with him (false), and he might have already, possibly, maybe, fallen in love with you too (true).
⟡ 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 🔍📰
Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him
⟡ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍: 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 🔍
⟡ 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐘? 🕷️ | @thewrldx
⟡ 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐃 🔍 | @underscroft
⟡ 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 🕷️ | @whizzing-fizzbee
You and your husband, Sebastian Sallow, are both Aurors for the Ministry of Magic. When the new hire fails to realize you're married, he shows interest in you, drawing jealousy from your husband
⟡ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 🕷️
You're going absolutely, utterly mental. Your boyfriend, Andrew Larson, hasn't touched you in weeks and you're growing desperate. When he's unwilling to help relieve your sexual tension, your best friend, Sebastian Sallow, always has your back.
sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.
Summary: Following the summer leading up to your seventh year, you return to Hogwarts to discover that Sebastian has undergone changes that greatly appeal to the eye. Your eye, to be specific. There’s no easy way to tell the man you’ve been dating for two years that your attention has been fixed on a part of him otherwise deemed normal, but after a while, you’re forced to face the truth of the matter.
Alternatively summarized as you have a hand kink and Sebastian Sallow has extremely nice hands.
Word Count: 10.7k
Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, hand kink, size difference
Full fic can be found here on Ao3 (with more diverse tags)
You had to be losing your mind. That was the only plausible explanation for the wild, unrestrained thoughts that had been plaguing your brain for the last week every time you so much as glanced at Sebastian. Yes, he was attractive. He was charming and confident, and quite frankly he was the epitome of male perfection as far as you were concerned. Not a day went by where you didn’t consider yourself lucky to be able to call him yours, and you knew he was just as enamored with you.
But your newfound infatuation with his hands had started relatively recently, and you had no clue what to make of it.
Sebastian was touchy to begin with, and he always had been. From casually brushing shoulders with you in the Great Hall during mealtimes, to tucking your hair behind your ears at night– the man was constantly finding ways to be closer to you, and your appreciation for his efforts knew no bounds. It made you feel treasured, wanted, revered, and a slew of other things that made your heart swell with affection. Maybe you could attribute your blatant ogling of his appendages to that, or maybe you had just finally started to notice after your Divination class last week.
Professor Onai, for all her outlandish preachings on clairvoyance, had taken a more mundane approach in teaching her students ‘fortune telling’ a few days ago. “Palm reading,” she had said, “is a delicate and fixed art. It can be as vague as it can be accurate, and it takes an expertly trained eye to decipher the true meaning behind the grooves in one’s hand.”
You were far from an expert in anything relating to Divination, but you did have an eye for nice things, and Merlin– were Sebastian’s hands exquisite. They were nearly twice the size of yours and covered in calluses, a lingering sign of the grueling physical labor he’d done over the summer in Feldcroft. His fingers weren’t as dainty as Ominis’, but they were long, thick, and lined with pulsing veins that stretched across the backs of his hands and coiled around his toned forearms. As you’d traced the lines on his palm with your fingers, he’d shivered at the featherlight feeling and chuckled at the deferential way you seemed to commit every part of the appendage to memory.
You didn’t even want to begin to recount the way your heart had hammered in your chest when it had been his turn to read your palm. Maintaining your composure had taken every ounce of willpower in your body.
Since then, your mind had wandered an unhealthy amount.
By some miracle, Sebastian hadn’t noticed your unwavering eye contact with his hands yet. The two of you had been kept preoccupied with the mountains of classwork that came with the start of the new school year, and as a result, your only opportunities to spend time with him had been during mealtimes. Today was different, however, because Lucan had finally set up the first Crossed Wands match of the season. You and Sebastian were both participating, and your boyfriend was all too eager to jump back into dueling after the summer months spent away.
Your eyes scanned him dutifully from across the room, watching with rapt interest as he chatted with Brattleby about the upcoming fight. Sebastian had grown considerably since your fifth-year, virtually towering over Lucan as he looked down at the curly haired Gryffindor. The latter had gone through a growth spurt of his own, but it was easy to overlook him when he was standing next to your boyfriend. Sebastian was big; broad shouldered with long, powerful legs and thick wrists that complimented his massive, mouthwatering hands.
Said hands were fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he rolled them up, nodding down at Lucan as he replied to something the younger boy had said. You didn’t know what they were discussing, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. His deft fingers adjusted his uniform as he prepared for your duo’s duel, and instead of following suit, you were unabashedly studying his every move. That is, until a voice from your left drew your attention.
“Did something happen over summer?”
You startled easily, warranting an eye roll from Imelda as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. It was a rarity to find her in the Crossed Wands courtyard, but you knew she had been hounding members of the Quidditch team to prepare for trial runs and scrimmages, and Sebastian factored into that assortment of people. Schooling your nerves the best you could, you started to shed your robe in an effort to simultaneously get ready for the duel and distract from the metaphorical eye candy across the room.
“What do you mean,” you asked vaguely, keeping your eyes pointed at the floor as you moved.
Imelda was having none of it– clearly smarter than you deigned to give her credit for. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re always checking Sallow out, but since we’ve been back it’s ten times worse. Did he sprout a second cock or something?”
You damn near choked on your own tongue as you whipped around to glare at her. “Do you have to be so crass all the time?”
She waved you off, “Yes, I do. Who else would rile you up this way if not myself? Now answer the question.”
Heaving a deep sigh, you draped your robe over a stack of crates and began to gather your hair back into a loose braid as you muttered, “No, nothing happened over summer.”
“But something is going on. Come on,” she implored with a taunting tone, her brown eyes glimmering with amusement. “At least tell me if it’s something bad.”
“It’s not bad,” you relented. “It’s– I’m not sure what it is, to be honest. We haven’t even done anything since we’ve been back, we’ve been too busy. But…”
You trailed off, staring at the wall behind Imelda as you brought your hair over your shoulder to finish off the plait. She waited patiently, however, all too eager to get the inside scoop on your love life. “But?”
“I don’t know– have you ever found yourself focused on other body parts? Like, really random parts of another person?”
The Quidditch captain’s face shifted into a confused expression as she chanced a look at Sebastian, evidently trying to figure out what on Godric’s green Earth you were referring to. “Uh, no? If you’re talking about his feet though then I’m going to ask that you forget I even brought this up–”
“No!” You blurted loudly, drawing the attention of a handful of students in the courtyard, Sebastian included. He cocked a brow at you from across the room, and you flashed him a bashful smile in silent reply before mouthing a timid ‘sorry’. Imelda snickered under her breath when you turned back to her, a deep scowl settling on your face. “Dammit, not his fucking feet. I’m talking about his hands. He has really nice hands– I never noticed before.”
“You’re telling me you’ve had your knickers in a twist for the last week and a half because of Sallow’s hands?”
To say Imelda looked dumbstruck would be an understatement, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid for having said anything at all. You kept your eyes downcast as you tossed your braided hair over your shoulder and slid your wand free from its holster, doing your best to ignore the woman’s burning stare. “Nevermind– forget I mentioned it.”
“I doubt I could even if I wanted to, but for the sake of your dignity I’ll go grab a seat and let you get your head in the game.” You felt your cheeks heat up instantly in response to her snide comment, and you lifted your eyes in time to watch Imelda turn towards the far corner of the room with a smile on her face. She paused before taking off, murmuring over her shoulder, “Make sure you’re paying attention to your opponents and not Sallow’s hands.”
Sweet Merlin… you should have kept your big mouth shut.
***
As it turned out, your head was so far out of the game that it became collateral in the midst of your duo’s duel.
It was your own fault, really. Despite doing your best to focus on the task at hand, your eyes had continually wandered over to Sebastian, tracking his movements as he fired spell after spell in retaliation against your opponents. He had always been exceptionally graceful while fighting– be it in Crossed Wands or in the Highlands at your side– and his sudden growth spurt over summer had only added to his preexisting agility. It was all too easy for you to get absorbed in his fluid movements as he ducked and rolled, then blocked and countered every attack with astonishing finesse.
Unfortunately, that meant you were left wholly unprepared for the Depulso charm that sent you careening across the room into a stack of crates. Your head had been positively spinning as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, but your vision cleared in time to watch as Sebastian abandoned the duel entirely to hurry over to where you lay prone against the broken wood. Lucan had shouted something about the match being called off, but you could hardly pay any attention to his words with Sebastian fretting over you, mere inches from your face.
“Merlin’s bloody balls, what the hell happened?” The brunet hadn’t even given you ample time to reply before he had hoisted you up in his strong, capable arms to carry you to the Hospital Wing.
That was how you’d ended up where you were now; laid out in an uncomfortable hospital bed with Nurse Blainey hovering too close for comfort while your boyfriend sat beside you with his arms crossed stiffly over his chest. His expression was virtually unreadable, but you weren’t able to focus on him for long without your head pounding in silent protest.
“Drink this,” Nurse Blainey dutifully instructed, thrusting a vial of Wiggenweld in front of you as she scanned your bandaged temple. “It will help with the swelling and the gods-awful headache I’m sure you’re sporting. My diagnostic spells came back negative for any internal injuries, but that doesn’t mean you can rush back to your foolhardy dueling club. A concussion is a concussion, no matter how small.”
Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth so you nodded in response instead of speaking– only to instantly regret the movement. Sharp, concentrated pain shot through your head, and you took it as a sign to carefully knock back the contents of the potion she’d given you. A soothing warmth overtook you in a split second, and the throbbing in your skull lessened considerably, prompting you to relax against the pillows situated behind you as your eyelids fluttered. Evidently pleased with your subdued demeanor, Nurse Blainey jotted something down on the clipboard that had been tucked under her arm before turning to Sebastian.
“I trust that you’ll ensure she actually takes it easy for the next few days, Mr. Sallow?”
Your eyes cracked open in time to watch Sebastian’s gaze flicker to yours, and the muscle in his jaw ticked as his attention zero’d in on the thick bandage that now adorned your head. “Of course. She’ll be a model patient for as long as needed.”
Satisfied with his agreement, Nurse Blainey pivoted on her heel and strode to the back end of the room, leaving you and Sebastian alone in a tense silence.
Heaving a heavy sigh, you gathered your hands in your lap and let your head tip back against the bed frame, wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. All of this because you couldn’t stop ogling your boyfriend for a measly twenty minutes when it mattered most… it was an embarrassing and stupid mistake to acknowledge. Moreover, you’d basically ruined the first Crossed Wands duel of the season– something you knew had to be bothering Sebastian, given his competitive nature.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled half-heartedly. “I should have been paying closer attention.”
Sebastian scoffed to your left, and when you peered at him through the corner of your eye, his head looked like it was on the verge of imploding. “Are you seriously apologizing for getting a concussion right now?”
There was no stopping the frown that spread across your face, and you nervously started picking at your cuticles as your mouth opened, shut, then opened again. “Yes– I mean– no. I’m sorry that the match got canceled because of me. You were probably excited to get back into Crossed Wands and I just… messed it up. I wasn’t thinking clearly out there.”
“Obviously,” Sebastian countered easily, the amused glimmer in his eyes vanishing before you could take proper note of it. “You’re never one to let your mind wander when you fight, but you have to know I’m not mad about the duel. I was worried about you– I don’t think you realize how terrifying it is to see you of all people bleeding.”
You gaze fell to your lap as you pursed your lips and lifted your hand to the bandage taped to your temple, trying and failing to recall if you’d actually bled at all. It was all something of a blur if you were being honest. When you looked up at Sebastian once more, he had sat forward in his seat and was reaching towards you, wearing an expression that was equal parts concerned and curious. With your brain still muddled, all you could really do was stare wide-eyed at the nearing culprit of your misfortune; his Merlin-be-damned hands. Those long, flexing digits came to gently stroke the side of your cheek, turning your head to the side briefly to allow him a good look at your patched up face, and as Sebastian tsk’d disapprovingly, you were fighting back a slew of unholy thoughts that had no business arising in the midst of such a tender moment.
The side of his mouth quirked up as he thought back to your debacle in the clock tower courtyard. “Did your inability to ‘think clearly’ have anything to do with whatever you and Imelda were talking about earlier?”
Being reminded of your discussion with the Slytherin woman at such an inopportune time caused your face to flush a deep red, and you nervously clasped your boyfriend’s larger hand in your notably smaller one and drew it into your lap. You gently thumbed over the veins on the back of his hand, taking note of the constellation of freckles that ran up his wrist and forearm, and you saw Sebastian tilt his head to the side as he let you fondle the limb.
“Maybe…” you drawled lazily. Perhaps you would chalk it up to your concussion later on, or perhaps you just wanted to get your insane obsession off your chest. Regardless of the why, you steeled your nerves and swallowed thickly before muttering, “You have really nice hands.”
Silence. Sebastian said nothing– and that was considerably worse than him saying something– anything. Your brows slammed down just as you lifted your head to gauge his reaction, only to discover a bewildered smile plastered on his smarmy face.
“…I think you hit your head harder than I thought. Should I call Nurse Blainey back over here?”
Ah. He thought you were delusional. Brilliant.
Letting go of him as though his skin were heated metal, you sighed and sat forward to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, shivering slightly when Sebastian placed his hand on your hip to steady you. His face conveyed genuine apprehension as he asked, “Are you sure you should be trying to move right now?”
Part of you was thankful he hadn’t taken your confession seriously, but another stronger part of you was annoyed that you had said anything to begin with. Here was Sebastian, acting chivalrous and doting on you in the wake of you flying face first into a crate, and all you cared to think about was having his hands on you. On your bare skin, between your legs, around your neck…
Something was definitely wrong with you.
“I’m alright– stop worrying. I promise I won’t overdo it. At this point I just want to eat and go to sleep.” Thankfully he made no move to stop you when you stood yourself up on shaky legs, instead placing that damnable hand on the small of your back to help you keep your balance. You closed your eyes momentarily to will away the vile, uncouth thoughts that seemed to run rampant in your concussed skull, but if the way his fingers tensed against you was any indication, Sebastian clearly thought your brief pause was due to your injury.
“Fine,” he bit out, sounding all too displeased with your stubbornness. “Food, then straight to your dorm. But if I think for even a second you can’t manage, I’m carrying you to bed myself.”
It hurt to do it, but your eye roll was heavily warranted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dad.”
As the two of you walked from the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall, you realized just how serious Sebastian was about his promise to Nurse Blainey. His hands were constantly hovering at your side, ready to catch you at a moment's notice in the event you required the help, which you fortunately weren’t in need of. You didn’t think you could take any more coddling– or any more… hands-on-torment, so to speak.
Ominis joined the two of you for lunch shortly after you’d arrived, and you were unsurprised to discover that he was very much aware of your blunder in Crossed Wands earlier. He made sure you were in good spirits and feeling alright before he began nagging you in typical Ominis fashion.
“Honestly, a Depulso charm?” He chastised you further, resting his chin on his palm as his other hand came to tap absentmindedly against the surface of the table. “I would have expected something like Bombarda to finally end your win-streak, not a paltry Force spell.”
“That’s what happens when you get complacent,” Sebastian added helpfully, skewering yet another sausage from the platter in front of you. He had to have inhaled four of the blasted things already. Those deep brown eyes of his darkened as they shifted to the injury on your temple, and if he deposited his food on his plate a little more aggressively than normal, you certainly didn’t say anything about it. “She’s just lucky things didn’t end up worse.”
Ominis hummed in agreement and looked in your direction. “Yes, do make sure you’re not breaking your fall with your face anymore. I would like to think the three of us will graduate in one piece together, but between the two of you and your extracurriculars, my hopes are lessening by the day.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” came your monotonous reply. “Thanks for the words of encouragement, guys. You really know how to make a girl feel better about getting launched into a bunch of boxes.”
“Well it was quite the spectacle. I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the school for at least a few days, so get used to it.”
You didn’t even need to turn around to know Imelda stood directly behind you, presumably with her hands on her hips and a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear. She was exactly who you didn’t want to deal with right about now– especially considering she was the only living soul privy to your innermost thoughts regarding Sebastian– but she had no qualms about sidling up beside you and making herself comfortable at the table. Her face swam into your peripheral vision as she inquisitively scanned the side of your head now decked out in thick gauze and tape. “So, what’s the verdict? Brain hemorrhage? Cracked skull? Memory loss?”
“Concussion,” Sebastian answered around a mouthful of food. He fixed you with a stern look as though to remind you, “She’s been instructed to take it easy for a few days which means no broom trials, Reyes. Don’t even think about dragging her off the castle grounds.”
The Quidditch captain’s hands shot up in mock surrender, her expression the picture of innocence as she shifted back a little in her seat. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I take it that means you’ll be out of class for the foreseeable future?”
You answered swiftly this time around, lest your boyfriend deign to speak on your behalf once again. You’d hurt your head, not your mouth. “For today at least, yeah. I doubt I’d be much good in Transfiguration with a splitting headache.”
If you were only allowed one word to describe the look that overtook Imelda’s face, that word would be trouble. Her tawny eyes crinkled at their corners as a mischievous glint twinkled within them, and you could practically see her gearing up to say something you knew would piss you off. She folded her hands neatly over one another atop the table and leaned sideways on her elbow to shoot you a conniving look, and you couldn’t help but stiffen as a wave of apprehension crept up your spine.
“Well let me know if you need a hand getting notes for the day. Though I’m sure Sallow would be more than happy to assist. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?”
The emphasis she placed on the word didn’t escape you, and judging by the confused expressions on both Ominis’ and Sebastian’s faces, they didn’t miss it either. It took unwavering focus to maintain your composure and not react, and you prayed to whatever higher power existed that your cheeks weren’t as rouge as they felt. You sighed softly and glanced at the brunet through your lashes, all too aware of the puzzled look he now bore. “How about it?” You opted to simply play along for the time being in a bid to hide the true meaning behind Imelda’s telling comment. “Can you bring me the notes later?”
Sebastian nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between you and Imelda for a long moment before he set his fork down and ran his long, dexterous fingers through his hair. Your eyes tracked the movement against your will, which only seemed to intensify the curious glimmer in his dark eyes, and when he flashed you that sinful Sallow smirk you were all too familiar with, you swallowed nervously.
Surely Imelda hadn’t just helped him put two and two together, right?
“Am I missing something here?” Ominis chimed in from across the table, a scowl tugging at the corners of his lips.
“No, no,” Imelda said, the words dripping with false dismissal. The urge to throttle her was intense. “I was just implying that our dear friend here is bound to be a handful for the next few days, so she’ll need help. Let me know if I can do anything, although I’m sure you’d much rather have Sebastian be the one to–”
She was cut off by the booming slap of your hands against the tabletop as you clambered to your feet, desperate to escape her pointed comments and Sebastian’s prying stare. “Will do!” you exclaimed with too much bite. You lowered your voice and did your best to keep your tone even, “I’m sure I’ll manage, but I can’t be bothered to figure it all out right now. I’ll just– I’ll see you guys later.”
You didn’t dare look back as you swung your legs over the bench and took off towards the massive double doors. At this point, you were wishing that your collision with the crates had put you in a coma. Maybe then you could have avoided Imelda’s inevitable pestering, but even then you were positive your nuisance of a friend would have found a way to taunt you in your dreams. This was something you were going to have to acknowledge with Sebastian sooner or later, but until that day came you would do everything in your power to avoid any more awkward run-ins with Imelda. At least when Sebastian was with you, you reasoned. For now, you needed to get away from the general public and sleep on your deranged thoughts before anything else embarrassing could happen.
Apparently the universe had other plans for you, however. You recognized Sebastian’s heavy footsteps running up behind you without even checking to be certain, and even though you wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep the remainder of the day away, when his large hand came to coil around your bicep to halt you in your tracks, you let him.
“Hey, are you alright?” His eyes softened as they took in your miserable appearance, but all you could pay attention to was the feeling of his thumb caressing the back of your arm as he held you in place. “I’m sorry if I upset you– I didn’t realize Imelda was trying to poke bruises, otherwise I would have told her to leave as soon as she came over.”
Shaking your head absently, you stared over Sebastian’s shoulder and directed your next words towards the wall, because that was infinitely easier than eye contact at the present moment. “I’m not upset, you don’t have to apologize. She’s just… a lot to handle right now.”
“I’ll say,” he concurred easily, moving his head so it was in your line of sight– only to furrow his brow when you ducked your chin to avoid looking at him. His jaw clenched and his hand around your arm tightened, if only briefly, and then he was tugging you along after him. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm.”
***
He knew.
He had to know.
It was the only plausible explanation you could come up with to give reason to Sebastian’s over-exaggerated use of his hands for the last three days. At first you hadn’t thought much of it; you still had a staring problem and Sebastian still had really nice hands, but the difference in the last seventy-two hours was apparent. It was as though your boyfriend was modeling his hands for you, constantly finding ways to dangle the appendages right under your nose and simultaneously letting his touch linger against your skin for far longer than normal. It was driving you insane, and you were positive he was doing it intentionally.
Realistically it had started the day after your botched Crossed Wands duel. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had been sitting in the Library to study and work on assignments, your motley trio focused intently on your individual work for the bulk of the afternoon. Ominis was using his dictation quill to take notes, his foggy blue eyes narrowed in concentration while he muttered softly under his breath. Sebastian skimmed his own Herbology textbook with hooded eyes, the book propped against the knee he had crossed over his other leg, and his laid back posture coupled with the way his fingers idly played with the hair around his temples was enough to leave you entranced. Once he had taken notice of your staring, however, he’d smirked to himself and made a show of licking his finger to turn the page over, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time.
You didn’t need a mirror to know you’d flushed beet red at the suggestive act.
The day after that, the two of you had been in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Sebastian had been asked to demonstrate the proper wand movement for Confringo by Professor Hecat, and shortly thereafter she had asked another student, Hector Jenkins, to take point across from your boyfriend for a friendly duel. Naturally you were prohibited from participating without Nurse Blainey’s go-ahead, so you’d stood at the back of the crowd and looked on ahead with rapt interest, eager to watch Sebastian make short work of his opponent, because of course he would. Chocolate brown eyes had met yours from across the room, and the movement that followed was subtle but obvious– at least, to you it was.
As Professor Hecat droned on and reminded her students of the rules that went hand-in-hand with dueling in class, Sebastian fondled his wand. Quite literally. His nimble fingers had run along the wood, stroking the handle with such a light touch that his pinky had remained elevated the entire time. His thumb and index finger came to pinch at the tip softly before skimming down towards the checkered handle, and he made a dramatic show of wrapping each one of his fingers around the base before deftly angling the thin wood at you.
Your breath had caught in your throat at the brazen motion, and Sebastian shamelessly winked at you before settling into the usual, confident persona he embodied while fighting.
To say you’d become a ball of nerves afterwards would be a monumental understatement. You wound up leaning back against the wall with your ankles crossed to ease the rampant ache that had settled between your legs, doing your best to not look like you were going into an animalistic heat, which was easier said than done.
Later on during dinner in the Great Hall, you found yourself seated next to Sebastian and across from Ominis, as per usual. The evening had started out much the same as always; with the three of you discussing the events of the day and planning for the upcoming weekend. The only difference was your boyfriend had seemingly taken it upon himself to distract you from the conversation entirely, covertly placing his hand on your thigh beneath the table to run the damn thing up and down your leg. Every time he reached your knee, he would steadily drag his palm higher up, teasing you with an occasional squeeze the closer he got to your center. Since you didn’t want to clue Ominis in on his best friend’s antics you were forced to keep your lips firmly sealed– left with no choice but to silently endure your boyfriend’s unique form of torture.
As Ominis idly discussed wanting to escape to The Three Broomsticks on Saturday, Sebastian’s grip on your leg tightened while he sat forward to spoon a serving of the night’s dessert onto his plate; a colorful fruit tart with a healthy dollop of whipped cream slapped on top. You swallowed thickly as he delicately skewered a strawberry with his fork and brought it to his lips, pausing to reply to Ominis before popping it in his mouth.
“I’m game, better to go now before Quidditch practice starts again. Merlin only knows how many trials Imelda intends on cramming into my weekends before long.”
Ominis snorted and set his cutlery down on his plate, “You say that as though she’s doing it to spite you and you alone. In case you’ve forgotten, there’s six other people to account for on the team, and not all of them were blessed with the free time to practice over summer like you.”
Sebastian side-eyed you briefly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a condescending grin. “That has a whole lot of nothing to do with me and everything to do with them being lazy. But my point still stands– that woman lives to invade my free time, so butterbeers this weekend sounds like a solid plan. What do you say, darling?”
The brunet chose that exact moment to sensually take the strawberry between his teeth and pull it free from the fork prongs, smiling wickedly at you all the while. A tiny bit of the whipped cream had stayed behind on his bottom lip, but before you could point it out to him or wipe it away yourself, Sebastian did exactly that, drawing his finger into his mouth to suck deviously at the remnants. Your eyes were wider than saucers as you watched his tongue lave over the pad of his thumb and forefinger, and the telling squeeze he bestowed upon your thigh immediately afterwards all but confirmed your fears.
He absolutely fucking knew.
***
“I think there’s something on your mind,” Sebastian said from beside you. “Something that’s been on your mind for a while now. Care to share?”
The two of you were on your way to the Room of Requirement, having just left the Hospital Wing after Nurse Blainey had summoned you there to evaluate your recovery progress following your mentally arduous week. She’d been all too pleased when Sebastian told her you had adhered to her guidelines to the letter– minimizing your physical activity and resting at every opportune moment, much to your boyfriend’s credit. After a few diagnostic scans, mobility trials, and a never ending list of questions designed to test your memory, she had deemed you fit to return to your usual activities– though not before making you swear to stay out of her sight for the rest of the year.
Affectionately, of course.
Sebastian’s comment reeled you back to the present moment, however, and you shot him a stern look out of the corner of your eye as you ascended the spiral staircase within the Astronomy Tower. “Unless you’re referring to how stunned I’ve been thanks to your obscene behavior this week, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He skipped ahead of you until he reached the top landing, spinning on his heel to face you as you breezed past him without so much as a second glance. “Oh, but I think you do. Surely you know why I’ve been behaving so ‘obscenely’. You’re the one who gave me the idea after all.”
Keeping your expression schooled was difficult, but you managed. As the wall concealing the door to the Room of Requirement began to shift and change, you were all too aware of Sebastian sidling up next to you so he could run the tips of his fingers up your arm and over your shoulder, sending shiver-inducing chills down your spine. The gesture was intimate and suggestive, and you sighed softly as you stepped out of his reach to make for the fully formed entryway in front of you– not particularly keen on putting on a show for any students that potentially milled about the tower.
You made it three steps inside the room before Sebastian grabbed you by your shoulder and spun you sideways, swiftly and effortlessly guiding you backwards until your back collided with the wall, and the startled gasp that ripped from your chest seemed to ignite a spark of interest in your boyfriend’s eyes. The hand he had on you traveled up along the smooth skin of your neck until he had a loose grip on your chin, and the sinful way his thumb trailed over your bottom lip spoke volumes about his intentions.
“Do I need to coax the truth out of you, or can you be a good girl and say what it is you want?” His other hand slipped beneath the fabric of your blouse, his touch blazing and leaving you hot with want the higher up your torso it traveled. The tantalizing feeling of his blunt nails scraping along the plane of your stomach had your muscles clenching and your breath hitching, and Sebastian dipped his head lower so he was directly in your line of sight. You knew he saw your rampant need for him reflected in your eyes when his pupils dilated, and he moved his thumb away from your lip to caress your cheekbone as you stared wide-eyed up at him. He cocked his head to the side as he goaded you further, “Come on, darling. You’ve never had a problem with saying what’s on your mind before, why switch up on me now?”
“Because it–” you started to say, cutting off mid-explanation when Sebastian curled his long fingers around your waist to press against your ribs in a way that nullified all coherent thought. His domineering presence over you left you nearly breathless.
He smirked, all too aware of the effect he currently had on you. “It what?”
Merlin, he was doing you in with barely any effort. Reducing you to nothing at the hands of his… well, hands. You were pathetic. He waited for your response though, his fingers dancing up your side promisingly while you worked to formulate a sentence. “I-It’s ridiculous,” you stammered out. “It’s embarrassing…”
The hand he’d tenderly ghosted across your cheek slipped behind your head, and his fingers tangled in your hair at the back of your skull to tug gently. The motion forced you to crane your chin up to follow Sebastian’s unwavering gaze, and his lips were close enough to yours that you felt his airy chuckle fan across your nose. “I already know what it is and I can tell you this much; you and I have very different definitions of what qualifies as ‘embarrassing’, darling.” His head dipped into the crook of your neck so he could better bestow wet, open mouthed kisses against your thundering pulse, and your stomach flipped at the sordid sounds he made as he went. “Come on, say it,” he implored you, his voice like velvet. “It’s only us here– tell me what you want.”
“I…” you began, shuddering immediately after when Sebastian nipped at the spit-slick skin of your throat. Finding the words was only going to get increasingly difficult from here on out, you wagered. “I want your hands on me. I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my mind since school started.”
As though to punctuate his retort, Sebastian’s hold on your hair and your waist intensified, and a barely there squeak weaseled its way past your lips as he pulled away from your throat to fix you with a heated look. “My hands are already on you, sweetheart. Tell me why, use your big girl voice.”
Bastard. Your eyes sharpened in response to his quip, and your palms came to rest flat against the larger man’s chest before you dug your nails into the fabric of his shirt. “Because you really do have very nice hands. Because the mere idea of having them on me does things to me that I can’t begin to describe. And because I’m asking you nicely,” you purred the last bit to the best of your ability, relishing in the insatiable, hungry look that crossed Sebastian’s face at your tone. “Touch me, Sebastian. I want you– all of you. Please?”
As soon as Sebastian’s lips captured yours, your inhibitions ceased to exist. All you could taste, smell, feel, and hear was him, and judging by the demanding way he pulled you flush against him by your waist, that was exactly what he was going for. You keened needily as his nails dug into your sensitive skin and the fingers buried in your hair wound tight around the strands, and your boyfriend eagerly bit at your lips before backing away just enough to stare at you through his hooded, lust-dark eyes.
“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll do anything you want,” he groaned, utterly captivated by the sight of you so wound up. You caved to his ministrations completely then, your stomach flipping over on itself when his chest pressed against yours and sealed you more firmly to the wall. His groin followed soon after– the long, hard length of him tangible through his trousers as he leaned into your spread legs further– and your own hands finally came to grasp at his shoulders when he rolled his hips against yours fervently.
“Touch me,” you implored him, the request practically a whisper as it fell from your lips. “Your hands– please, Sebastian.”
A pleased sound snaked its way through Sebastian’s clenched teeth as he obliged you instantly, releasing your waist and hair to run his hands down your torso before delving beneath your shirt. The rough, chill-inducing feeling of his calloused palms trailing against the bare skin of your stomach had you moaning in earnest, and your head tipped back against the wall with a thunk as he cupped your breasts in those heavenly hands you’d grown to adore so much. Sebastian took full advantage of your submissive position and buried his head in the exposed crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he murmured, “You sound incredible when you beg, darling. So fucking perfect– gods.”
No words came to you to formulate a reply, especially when your boyfriend’s tongue darted out of his mouth to lave down the slender column of your throat, the biting sting of his teeth on your shoulder following soon after. Your next breath caught in your chest when Sebastian ground his stiffening cock against you once more, and his airy chuckle against you was seductive and ripe with promise. Those nimble fingers of his clawed gently over the rounded tops of your breasts before pinching your hardened nipples, and that was what finally pulled coherent English from your lips.
“Fuck,” you groaned, unaware of just how much the brunet adored the needy timbre to your voice.
Sebastian’s hands left your body for the briefest of moments to push himself off the wall, then took you by the hand to guide you towards the small bedroom tucked away in the back of the Room of Requirement. Between the two of you, your combined excitement was palpable– thick enough to cut with a knife– and as soon as you made it through the threshold of the door, he was back on you in a heartbeat. It was all a flurry of lips, teeth, and tongue as he steered you backwards towards the spacious bed, those magnificent hands of his holding your hips steady with firm reassurance.
Once the backs of your calves connected with the mattress, Sebastian pulled away from your mouth with a wicked smirk, giving you a playful shove that sent you sprawling back on the bed with a startled yelp. It hardly mattered, though. Not when the man before you began undoing the buttons on his own shirt, exposing the tanned, freckled expanse of his toned chest. Not when he shrugged the attire off his sculpted shoulders and lowered himself to his knees so he could peer at you over your bent knees. Nothing else mattered aside from him.
“You know,” he started to say as his hands reappeared on your hips, tugging at the waistline of your trousers so they started to slide over your hip bones. “You’ve inadvertently given me lots of new ideas.”
A shiver coursed its way down your spine at the suggestive tone he spoke the words with, amplified tenfold by the unrepentant fantasies that flickered through your mind. “Oh really?”
“Really,” he agreed simply. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he gestured wordlessly for you to lift your hips so he could slide your pants down your outstretched legs. You obeyed, if only to get a move on with things so you could see the new ‘ideas’ Sebastian had apparently come up with. Dark, eager eyes met yours as he dropped your clothing to the floor, and then Sebastian asked, “Do you trust me?”
Without missing a beat, you murmured, “Always.”
Not another word was uttered, and you watched through hooded eyes as Sebastian prowled up the edge of the mattress to crawl over your prone form. Amusement seemingly glimmered in his lust-laden gaze as he set to expertly unbuttoning your shirt with his adroit digits, revealing inch after inch of your flushed torso, and goosebumps broke out over your stomach in the wake of Sebastian’s knuckles brushing against your heated flesh.
He didn’t bother removing your blouse fully, opting to instead flick the sides of the undone top outward to let them hang disheveled against your sides. The shallow, anticipatory breaths you let loose was the only sound you made as the freckled man above you gathered your wrists in one of his larger hands to pin them above your head, and the entire time he worked to restrain your arms, his eye contact with you remained unwavering. Warriness and excitement alike pooled in the lower pit of your gut, mixing with the telltale ache between your legs that fueled the heat that slithered through your veins.
Sebastian’s free hand came to touch you then, starting at the swell of your breasts before he gently thumbed over the peak of one of your nipples. The sensation had you sucking in a breath loud enough to make your boyfriend pause– only for him to repeat the motion a second time. “You’re rather pent up, aren’t you?”
Despite yourself, you narrowed your eyes in response to his taunting and rolled your head to the side in an attempt to hide the blush you knew spread across your cheeks. “Shut up…”
The hand on your breast flew to your face, gripping your chin and turning your head back so you were forced to meet his penetrating stare. “Come on, be honest,” he goaded you further. “You missed me. Say it.”
“Of course I missed you,” you relented quickly. “I didn’t see you for two months.”
That damnable smirk of his made its grand reappearance, and you hated how much you loved the sight of it. “You managed well enough last summer. Or were you lying through your teeth about handling the distance ‘easily’ on your travels?”
Your fingers twitched in his unrelenting hold, the urge to crane your neck away again taking over, but you were forced to keep your eyes trained on his. “I wasn’t lying then, but I still missed you.”
The way his head tilted to the side curiously reminded you of an animal attempting to get a better look at their prey. “So why the sudden change?”
Chewing your lip thoughtfully for a moment, you decided to voice your inner thoughts regardless of how bashful the idea made you feel. “Because you changed. You’re… bigger.”
Your drab attempt at an explanation didn’t escape Sebastian, but that amusement still glinted in his eyes as he released your chin and trailed his hand down your torso towards your aching center. “Bigger, huh? Care to elaborate?”
Skillful fingers slipped under the cotton of your undergarments, already damp with arousal, and you mewled softly when one of his digits slid through your wet folds before pressing down on your clit with delectable pressure. It nearly derailed your train of thought entirely, but Sebastian helpfully pulled away and snickered when your disappointed sigh slipped through your clenched teeth. “Dammit–”
“You talk,” he fucking purred down at you, looking far too smug for your liking, “and I work. Sound like a fair trade?”
His offer was emphasized by one of his fingers probing at your slick entrance, further enticing you to oblige his request. When you angled your hips to meet the feeling, he pulled back swiftly, quirking a brow at you with a knowing look.
Bastard, you thought.
Fine.
“Y-You’re bigger,” you started to say. “More muscular than before, and I think you grew a couple inches.”
Sebastian’s hand resumed its teasing exploration of your center once more, gingerly inserting his middle finger inside of you as his thumb took to rubbing titillating circles against your clit. The flutter of your eyelids brought a coy smile to the brunet’s face, and his hold on your wrists tightened a fraction as he increased the intensity of his movements. He mockingly said, “You like having a big, strong boyfriend or something? The scandal.”
You barely registered the gibe– not with his thumb slowly working over your clit in time with his finger. It damn near voided all of your brain’s function. All you cared to focus on was the bliss that came with finally having his hands on you. “Yes,” you groaned with blatant need. “I love it– I love it so much– you’re perfect, Sebastian.”
Spurred on by your praise, Sebastian leaned down to mouth wetly at your throat, biting and sucking at whatever smooth skin he found as he pumped his finger in and out of your wet heat steadily. Your head rolled to the side to allow him easier access as he presumably worked a bruise into your flesh, and you relished in the knowledge that he was rebranding you as his after the summer months spent apart. A guttural moan spilled from your mouth as he laved his tongue over the mark and covertly slipped a second finger inside your cunt, crooking the digits up to reach a depth you could never hope to when you were pleasuring yourself.
He took it slow, half for your sake and half for his own, but as Sebastian scissored his fingers and upped his tempo, he could see how you fell apart for him. You struggled to breathe, your every exhale colored with a panted, needy little sound while your thighs twitched and tensed on either side of his arm. When he shifted his fingers up just slightly, your entire body shuddered as your back arched off the bed and you choked on a breathy whine. You were so sensitive, so incredibly vocal, and it was driving him crazy.
Sebastian’s size allowed him to stretch over the majority of your upper body easily, his hold on your arms still firm as he dipped his head lower to lick his way down to your breasts. Ever so gently, he took one of your nipples between his teeth and clamped down with a cautious amount of pressure, increasing the pace of his fingers when he heard your breath hitch in your throat. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your chest as your heart rate sped up and your hips involuntarily bucked up into his hand in search of more friction– more of him.
“Merlin–” you writhed atop the sheets as that familiar ache took root in your gut, your finish approaching dangerously fast as Sebastian pressed the palm of his hand against your clit and somehow managed to pump his digits deeper inside of you. “Fuck, fuck!”
He pulled away from your torso to watch you with rapt interest, a flicker of something primal flashing in his brown eyes as he observed your features pinching together with obvious focus as you chased the euphoria he bestowed upon you. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it… I never thought just my hands could do it for you like this, sweetheart. Consider me pleasantly surprised.”
His words meant nothing to you– not right now. Your climax was so close, so painfully close that all you cared to focus on was the steady rhythm of Sebastian’s fingers and his strength holding your wrists down to the bed. Brainlessly, you rolled your head to the side as Sebastian worked you towards the edge, only to blink blearily up at him when he released your wrists to grab the underside of your jaw and force your eyes back on him.
“Look at me while you come on my fingers. I want to see every second of it.”
Who were you to say no?
Your release was akin to a tidal wave– crashing over you violently and stealing your breath as you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open and glued to Sebastian. Mouth falling open around an airy moan, your boyfriend continued to finger-fuck you through your orgasm as he captured your lips in a desperate, lethal kiss. “That’s it,” he groaned into your parted lips. “Good girl.”
The brunet had the good grace to slide his fingers out slowly while he pulled away, laughing softly at the slight jolt your body gave when his palm grazed over your bundle of nerves once more. Dazed and twitching beneath him, you didn’t notice he’d brought his hand to his mouth until it was inches from your face, and the stars clouding your vision cleared just in time to watch him take the two fingers that had previously been inside of you between his lips.
“I– what are you doing?” Your incredulous tone didn’t deter Sebastian in the slightest, and he smirked around his fingers before pulling them out of his mouth with an audible wet sound.
“Tasting you,” he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Then with a wink he added, “You’re very sweet.” Nearly all the blood in your body rushed to your cheeks in that instant, warming your face as your mouth fell open in silent shock. It was balmy– completely and utterly bewildering. Yet you couldn’t help but find the brazen move equally… arousing.
You’d officially lost your mind.
In a flash, he lowered his hand closer to your own open mouth, shoving the fingers past your lips and grinning when you squealed with indignant surprise. There was nowhere for you to go– nowhere for you to turn your head to escape the taste of yourself on his digits– and so you were left with no choice but to allow Sebastian to run his fingers along your tongue. The added knowledge that you found his hands so alluring only made the whole spectacle more intimate, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself sucking shamelessly at his skin, working your tongue over his knuckles as you stared up at him with unrestrained desire.
“Gods,” he muttered, swallowing thickly before pulling his fingers free from your mouth. His voice was shaky, and you dimly registered that your eager submission had gotten to him.
You licked the remnants of yourself from your lips as Sebastian shuffled back to the edge of the bed, standing straight to hastily undo his trousers and shove the material down his long, toned legs. Numbly, you followed suit, sitting up shakily to shrug off your now wrinkled blouse and toss it aside to join the growing pile of clothing at your boyfriend’s feet.
Nude as the day he was born, Sebastian confidently stared down at you and took in the full picture of you before him with an animalistic hunger shining in his eyes. His chestnut hair was unruly and curled wildly in every direction, the breaths he hurriedly sucked down causing his shapely chest to rise and fall in a way that dragged your attention to his strong, capable body. You drank in the sight of his tan, freckled skin, your wide eyes roving lower and lower until they landed on his hard cock arching proudly against his taut stomach.
Maybe you were imagining things, but you could have sworn that was bigger too.
When your eyes jumped back to Sebastian’s, you were positive he knew exactly what you’d been thinking, if his wolfish grin was anything to go by. “See something you like?”
“Please fuck me,” you groaned, too turned on by the sight of him alone to be embarassed about how desperate you sounded.
Sebastian effortlessly crawled back onto the bed and settled over you, pulling you into another intoxicating kiss as he slipped between your spread thighs and rolled his hips, grinding his achingly hard cock against your slit with a dizzying sort of precision. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, your eyes squeezing closed before you tilted your head back and arched up against him. “F-Fuck, you’re so hard,” you gasped, loosely hooking your legs around Sebastian’s hips.
Groaning his agreement, Sebastian nipped at the side of your jaw and murmured, “You have no idea… want you bad.” He nuzzled your ear for a moment, humming at the way you shivered under him, then mouthed his way down your throat with hot, wet kisses that pulled a slew of tiny noises out of you as he rocked his hips again.
Before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders like you’d planned, Sebastian was sitting back on his heels to manhandle you exactly where he wanted you. Those big hands of his grabbed you by your waist, hauling you down the bed like you weighed nothing so your rear was balanced over the tops of his knees and he was perfectly aligned with your slick entrance. The way he easily moved you around spoke volumes of the physical labor he’d done over the summer, slaving away the muggle way to restore his Uncle’s former home for the two of you to use after graduation. Every stone moved, every log chopped, and every wheelbarrow trundled was cataloged within the corded muscles that lined his body.
If you weren’t already head over heels for the man, you were certain you would be deemed grossly smitten.
Sebastian’s hands slid from your waist to your thighs to better hold you in place as he bumped the tip of his cock against you, and your breath stuttered in your chest at the first steady roll of his hips, the head sliding home easily into your slick, tight, and warm heat. Your name fell from your lover’s lips in the form of a ragged moan, fingers digging into your legs as he rocked his hips slowly, feeling for any tension or resistance. Everything he’d done to soothe you, however, had paid off, and he found that once he pressed in more firmly, you took him perfectly, letting him slide deeper with every short thrust.
He really had gotten bigger.
“I could tell you thought so,” Sebastian said around a laugh. Had you said that out loud? “Your eyes just about bugged out of your head when you looked earlier.”
Embarrassed for the nth time in the last week, you looked away from him and quietly grumbled under your breath, “Whatever… don’t let it get to your head. Your ego is big enough as it is.”
“It’s not the only thing that’s big apparently,” he countered easily. As though to punctuate the statement, Sebastian pulled his hips back once more before spearing into you with brutal efficiency, and the gasp that ripped from your throat then was followed by a breathless sound that bordered on a wail.
It was so thick– Sebastian’s cock– and it filled you up and spread you open so incredibly, but it was the angle that was really rendering you incapable of thought. With your hips elevated, the blunt head brushed past your sweet spot with every dragging thrust, re-lighting that fire in your blood that threatened to set you ablaze. You wanted more, but you were almost afraid of how good it would feel, how high it would take you. Sebastian was all around you, with his hands gripping your thighs, deep inside you, stirring you up and coaxing brainless whimpers out of you, not bothering to hold back for your sake– and thank the gods for that.
A meek keening sound arose from your throat as you gasped Sebastian’s name, and the brunet responded with a rough growl, stroking your thighs tenderly before abandoning one of them to place his hand on the lower part of your stomach. He pressed down with his fingers splayed against your skin, thrusting into you deeper so you could really feel every long, delectable inch of him within you, and the added pressure made your head spin and your walls clamp down on him.
“Oh, fuck–” you moaned wantonly, arching your spine as much as you were able in a bid to feel as much as possible. Sebastian responded by moving his grip on your thigh to your waist, fucking into you harder until all you were capable of doing was whining for more with your eyes unfocused. Rational thought was gone– you were losing your mind with the way Sebastian was pounding into you now, that fire spreading through you– but you had quickly stopped being afraid of the feeling. The hotter you got, the more Sebastian’s perfect aim drove you higher until you were arching and pleading, noisy and half-coherent as overwhelmed tears filled your eyes.
When you finally caught hold of words beyond brainless, wavering cries, you threw your head back with a gasping whine to loudly beg, “Sebastian, please, please–”
“F-Fuck,” he stuttered out, moaning desperately into the empty air before he rasped, “You like it that much, darling? Want more?”
“Yes!” You clawed mindlessly at the hand he had clamped against your waist, urging him to use the damn thing in the way you had dreamt of every night since returning to school. Ever the fast learner, Sebastian obliged you mercifully and let go of your waist, leaving you to hook your legs around his hips as he brought his hands to your throat to pull you onto his cock harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and muddling your brain further.
“You look so perfect with my hands around your neck, darling.” Sebastian growled out in-between bestial grunts. “So pretty, so eager. Is it good?”
He wasn’t choking the life out of you by any means, but the pressure he applied on either side of your neck added a sort of high that left your tongue useless in your mouth. You could hardly formulate words, much less a full sentence, but you still managed to stammer out a raspy, “Y-Yes, fuck–”
You were fairly certain you were drooling all over yourself, but you couldn’t find the willpower to care. There were too many sensations to keep track of, and through the haze of it all, your climax came into sight. Your hand came to grasp at one of the ones Sebastian had secured around your throat while the other fisted in the sheets, squeezing as hard as you could as you rutted back against his hips the best you could. It wasn’t doing much as far as you were concerned, but Sebastian evidently appreciated your attempt as he groaned roughly, letting his head hang between his shoulders as he began pumping his hips faster.
“Shit– I’m close, I’m so close–”
Beyond your moans of encouragement, there wasn’t much else you could say. Sebastian took your motivating sounds in stride though, keeping one hand clamped around your neck securely as the other flew down to your clit, instantaneously rubbing urgent little circles around the nub in a bid to take you with him over the edge. Your voice was already raspy but so much louder and needier than Sebastian’s short moans of your name, and his half-baked praises and pleas intermingled with the distant banging of the headboard against the stone wall. Even through all that– through the spiking volume of your pleasure and the blinding need devouring you both– all Sebastian saw was you, and all you saw was ecstasy.
When you finally came you wailed, long and loud as your hands clung to the sheets beneath you and Sebastian’s thick wrist alike, the latter of which knew better than to stop now. Your muscles tensed dangerously tight, your toes curling hard and your nails scraping fresh tracks down Sebastian’s forearm hard enough to leave welts, and your boyfriend was already holding on by a thread by the time your cunt clamped down tight around him. It was almost too hard to move, but there was just enough give that your climax peaked impossibly further and Sebastian fell right after you, crying your name over and over with the rough, faltering tempo of his hips.
The two of you were hardly aware of anything as you both slowed down and came off of that high, but you eventually blinked the fog from your mind and came to realize Sebastian had long since abandoned his hold on your throat in favor of laying across your prone form, lightly peppering kisses against your collarbone as he sucked down breaths to catch his breath. The stinging twitch of uncoiling muscles and the swelling bites and scratches only served to bring you both back to reality in slow, leisurely time with one another, and at the end of it all it was Sebastian who found his voice first, murmuring yet another snide comment into the crook of your shoulder.
“Should I start wearing gloves now?”
Still breathless and spent from the last hour– hell, the entirety of the last week– your delirious laughter was uncontrollable as you realized and quickly accepted that the truth was now out there, and your boyfriend was more than ready to take full advantage of that. “I don’t think gloves will help, honestly.”
The remainder of the school year would end up being a testament to just how true that claim actually was, you guessed. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, would most certainly enjoy every second of it.
summary: A concerned Spencer Reid shows up at your doorstep when you miss two days of classes, bearing take out and gentle reassurance. Somehow he ends up in your bed.
contents: 5.2k words, hurt/comfort + fluff! (Don't let that bed thing fool you it's clickbait) prof!reader monumental crash out/breakdown (SO much crying, forgetting to eat, cancels her classes), fake relationship (OR IS IT), no use of y/n, reader wears glasses, and is described to be kind of broke, insecurities, possibly inaccurate depiction of post grad education, reader doesn't like talking about her dissertation (mecore), domestic fluff.
a/n: Sorry it took so long lol real life was actually kicking my ass and I'm convinced I forgot how to write like idk how I feel about majority of the writing on this EUGH pls let me know what you think bc I had half a mind to delete the whole thing. It's so disgustingly self-indulgent, but very soft and sweet, I wish he was real 💔gif by the GOAT @reidgif
You can count on your two hands the amount of times you've cancelled your classes.
Often, the reason is you'd caught something so contagious it would be downright irresponsible to subject other people to your presence. Once, because you'd gotten into an accident (not your fault, though it totaled your car and you didn't have the money for a replacement. You are still using public transport to this day.)
But you do not cancel classes if you could help it. Fevers? Paracetamol. Too much on your plate? Sleep isn't that important.
Teaching higher education does have a tendency to be slightly more lenient on these things. You know professors who do it. Higher than you in the hierarchy. Figures of authority, respected people, not just the slacker newbies or the lazy hotshots.
But you love being in class. You love physically standing in a room and coaxing ideas and participation from your students. You wouldn't be in this field, barely making money doing this if you didn't.
And most days, that love and passion is enough to push you forward, even when you're swamped. Even when it's socially acceptable to take the time off to catch up on research or grading, the same way some students will skip one class to prepare for another.
Today is not one of those days.
Last night, you'd received two emails back to back, both of which contain bad news. You'd lost several minutes just staring before gathering enough courage to read, and even then, you're convinced the universe is conspiring against your academic career.
Rejected for a scholarship grant from a few months ago—the one you had been hoping would allow you to teach a lower course load for the next semester.
As if that isn't enough, your PhD. advisor returned your initial data findings with a very succinct note on top of the document: Insufficient. Stop skipping over steps and go back to close reading the material before applying theory. And then, beneath it, a long list of suggested books to add for your related literature.
You thought you'd gotten over it last night—already spent an embarrassing two hours just sobbing over the amount of work you'd have to do. Woken up to disgusting, puffy eyelids in the morning, the color of an angry rash.
But no, this morning, somewhere between your coffee and brushing your hair, the tears inevitably started to fall again. Creasing the impeccably applied makeup that was meant to hide the evidence of your tears last night.
Despite your notes being in perfect order, and your discussion outlines ready to go, you do not feel like you're in any state to be seen in public, much less teach, so you do something you've never done before in your four years of teaching: you cancel your classes. For attendance, you place a discussion board up and ask them to submit a 200 word discussion about the poetry reading assignment you had previously assigned.
It's early enough in the morning that none of your students would have been in class yet, though some early risers reply with thoughtful platitudes. You'll deal with the rest of the paperwork later.
With that taken care of, you take the biggest, most grounding inhale before dealing with the brunt of your work: your dissertation.
Insufficient data. It blinks up at you like a curse, and you almost want to throw your laptop out of rage. Right, because reading through six books isn't enough. Like your advisor hadn't looked through your proposal, and fucking accepted it before you started in earnest.
The rest of the day is a haze. Truthfully, you don't get anything done, simply staring at the words before you as if they've somehow transformed into an incomprehensible language. You try searching for the reference recommendations, intending to make some headway through the readings, but only find half in the local libraries. Some bookstores carry the titles, but between the shipping and the prices of each book, there's no way you could afford all of them. You're too tired to try searching through the annals of the internet.
By the time night arrives, your vision has started swimming. No amount of blinking makes the stinging in your eyes go away. Possibly a mixture of strain and the excessive crying you've done all day. There's a dull throb by your temples and the space between your brows feel like something's trying to push from inside out. You haven't had anything to eat.
Still in this frustrating, zombie-like haze, you sent and email the classes you have tomorrow and cancel them too.
Two canceled classes in a row. That's a new record.
With a sigh, you force yourself to eat a couple of crackers until the pain in your stomach subsides and your apartment stops swimming whenever your gaze lifts from your laptop. Sleep tugs at you, sweet and insistent, just as the last of your laptop's battery drains.
You wake up to knocking. Sunlight drenches your apartment in brilliant gold, harsh in its brightness, which tells you it's late in the morning. Possibly noon. The screen of your laptop remains blank when you press the power button, indicating it's dead, so you reach for your phone to check the time.
1:26 pm.
Well shit.
The knocking persists, and you're forced to ignore the 40-something notifications on the screen in favor of whoever is on the other side of your door.
"Hold on, I'm coming." you push your glasses up your nose, blinking as the world sharpens and comes into focus, and tug a robe over yourself. There's an incessant throbbing at your temples and your legs feel wobbly. Fuck's sake.
You crack your door open with a grumpy frown.
Spencer Reid stands right outside, properly dressed and bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously. His face is filled with an innocent concern that morphs to confusion, then slight amusement, before settling back to concern.
Your frown deepens. "What're you doing here?"
"It's the second day you've missed work," he says, voice low and soothing, like he's afraid you'd slam the door in his face. "Didn't return any of my texts, or Carrie Myers'. We both agreed it wasn't like you, so I came to check."
"Don't you have classes?"
"It's my lunch break." he lifts a paper bag, smiling. "I brought ramen. I figured you'd want something with a broth, in case you're sick… are you sick?"
"No," you admit, opening the door wider to let him in. "I'm not sick, it's—wait, how'd you even get my address?"
"Carrie gave it to me." He sets the food on the kitchenette in the corner. He sweeps his gaze around, studying the state of your studio, and you wince at what he might find. What he might think.
"Are you sure you're not sick? Your eyes and nose are all red, there's tissue everywhere. I was debating buying some medicine too. People tend to get some form of cold as the weather gets lower due to the—"
"I'm not sick, Spencer, but thank you for your concern." You wave him off.
"Oh… then why?"
"It's my dissertation." you force a laugh, self deprecating.
He looks at you blankly.
You stare back at him. When it becomes clear he expects more explanation, you add:
"I got my advisor's feedback for my initial findings."
Spencer blinks, like he's trying to decipher a puzzle from your words. "You skipped classes because you got feedback?"
You cheeks burn, though you're not sure if it's from indignation or embarrassment. Most post-grad students understand that 'feedback' is code for I spent the next several hours sobbing and contemplating my life choices.
"Have you never had a draft return to you with so many corrections you want to, I don't know, just throw up?" you ask instead.
It's not his fault, you tell yourself, it isn't a universal experience to have crippling anxiety over feedback, after all.
He shakes his head. "Well, no. Feedback is part of the academic process. I find it to be very stimulating."
"Must be nice." you mutter, "Really, you've never cried over a shitty draft? Or a failed test?"
"I've never failed a test." He winces as he says it, like he realizes his words would just make you feel worse right after they're out of his mouth.
And he's right. Tears spring to your eyes at the unfairness of it all. Right. Of course. At some point, you must have forgotten he's a genius. How silly of you to think you're somewhat equals, just because you're friends. No, he outclasses you in experience, education, and intellect. He doesn't struggle over this the same way you do.
"Well, fuck, good for you." you try to say it as a joke, but the words fracture around a sob.
"I meant–" he isn't able to tell you what he meant as your embarrassingly loud sobs interrupt his words, and then he's right there, crossing the space and gathering you into his arms as fresh tears streak hot down your cheeks.
The world turns to slurry when he takes your glasses off and places it on the counter. Then, ever so gently, his hand cups the back of your head, gently guiding you into his chest.
You don't fight it. It's inexcusable, how many times you'd cried the past two days, but there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears. Especially now, when Spencer's got you wrapped up and pressed against him like you're sacred and fragile, something he wants to protect.
Something splinters inside you, and it erupts through your tears, free flowing and spurned on by his warmth. By his comfort. No one's held you like this in ages, you realize. You shudder in his arms, suddenly cold.
"Shhh," you feel his chin pressing against your hair, his free hand rubbing circles over your back. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just let it out."
You sob, half convinced you're ruining his blazer, and too exhausted to care. Beneath your cheek, the fabric grows damp from your tears, and sob even more, guilty now for dumping this on him when he was probably expecting someone delirious from fever. Instead, he's saddled with a weepy, mess feeling ashamed for being so vulnerable, and god you don't even want to imagine how you look right now.
Even more, it all feels so right, being held like this. Cocooned in his warmth and the clean, perfect smell of him, and the pressure of his arms around your body like a grounding force when you've been sick with anxiety and self doubt and stress.
"Sorry," you mumble voice thin and watery with tears.
"Don't apologize for having feelings and caring about your work." he whispers, the circles on your back continuing despite your tears subsiding. "I may not have the exact same experience, but I do understand the… the feelings of inadequacy and frustration and how overwhelming it can all get."
"No, like, I'm sorry for ruining your clothes. And making you worry."
"Don't be," you feel a deep sigh heave out of his body, the air tickling your ear. "If you're at a point where you've missed two days of work because of this, then you clearly needed a good cry, darling."
"I thought we agreed to only use that in public."
He laughs, slowly unwinds himself from you. His big hands cup your face, tilting your head up to look at him. Big, earnest eyes stare at you, the light making them glint amber. "I think we can make an exception right now."
You feel the swell of his thumbs smoothing over your skin, catching the lingering tears with a gentleness that makes you want to start crying all over again. And you must look like you're about to, possibly from a swift glassiness covering your eyes, or a quiver of your lips, because his whole face softens with even more concern.
He says your name and you watch his lips wrap around the syllables, languid and sure, like he likes the taste of them on his tongue.
Before you know it, he's pressing those same lips on your forehead, quick and chaste, leaving the patch of skin burning. His thumbs keep swiping over your cheekbone, back and forth, like it's instinct. And maybe it is. It's the same motion he does over your knuckles when he holds your hand.
You barely manage to keep yourself upright from the realization.
"I have to go back," he says, sounding apologetic, "I have a lecture at 2 that I can't miss, but I'll come here as soon as everything's dismissed, okay?"
"You don't have to." Your insistence is beginning to sound ridiculous, but he doesn't make fun, or get frustrated.
"I know." he presses his lips to your forehead again, a brief, almost noncommittal thing you're worried will occupy your mind for the rest of the day. "I know. But I want to, really."
And it's stupid, the way your chest tightens at that softness, the way you just want to sink into it and let him envelop you.
"Eat. Please." his head jerks back to the counter, at the takeout ramen he thoughtfully brought.
You nod, numbed by surprise and anxiety and an inexplicable, vague ache beneath your sternum.
You wish you could pinpoint where it is, file it as something fixable through medication or surgery, but you know deep in your gut that it isn't that type of affliction. If only it is; if only you could be rid of it through some magic pill.
Spencer looks like he wants to say more, but he lets his hands drop to your shoulders instead, squeezing there firmly, and then he's walking out the door, leaving you reeling in the middle of your messy apartment.
It takes a while before you're able to unroot your feet from the spot, blinking dumbly at the food he's set for you. Finally, you slump into your little dining set to eat, fully braced to have some cold noodles, but to your surprise, the whole thing is still warm.
Funnily enough, you don't think it's the cause of the warmth spreading through your whole body.
You apartment is a mess. Not in a quirky, lived in way either, but reaching slob levels, someone-might-suspect-you-of-hoarding kind of mess. Clothes strewn about, mixed with books and pens, stacks of papers from your students everywhere, like your small studio is a weird stew of everything that makes up who you are.
You're a little embarrassed that Spencer had to see it in this state—it isn't normally this bad, but the past few days have been so busy and then you hadn't had time to tidy up any of it. If you'd known he's coming, you would have at least hidden the worst of it. Shoved them under your bed or the closet, kept up the impression that you've got everything under perfect control.
But, having something in your stomach has given you some clarity. You move, albeit mechanically, to tidy your space, stacking back the books you don't even remember grabbing from the shelves, making your bed, clearing the takeout and other trash that might still be around.
Once your studio resembles something respectably habitable, you finally trudge to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror stares back at you, puffy-eyed and familiar, with skin that's somehow both dry and disgustingly oily. You wince.
A small part of you twists when you realize Spencer saw you like this. Unadorned, raw, not very pretty. But it prompts annoyance from a bigger, more rational part, because why the hell do you care that Spencer Reid saw you in such a state?
It's the vulnerability, you think, it's not fun to be taken by surprise when you're in such a state, especially by someone who has never seen you this way before. After all, you've always prided yourself in appearing competent and professional, so as to avoid the judgment.
The small part tells you it's also embarrassment—he just saw you without make up, held you when you hadn't even made an effort to smell nice. Tells you that, as much as you'd like to pretend you're above it—the vanity of perception, this projection of confidence—you aren't immune to it.
What the actual fuck.
You strip off your pajamas and hop beneath the spray, welcoming the cold.
It will, hopefully, jolt these stupid thoughts right out of your system. It's a quick shower, almost clinical in the order—shampoo, conditioner, body wash. Lotion when you've dried off, then you leave your hair alone, knowing you'll probably regret it later.
Dressed and feeling slightly better, you curl up with your plugged laptop, this time not bothering with the dissertation. Not yet.
Instead, you file the necessary paperwork for your sudden absence, and read through the discussion boards you've assigned for your classes. Still doing work, still being productive, but avoiding what's been causing the bulk of your stress. You'll figure it out when you're in a better state of mind.
Around six, your phone rings. Dr Four Eyes. Spencer. Calling, which he rarely does. Usually, he'll text, but seeing as you'd accidentally ignored sixteen texts from him (and even more from Carrie), he seems to have taken the more direct approach.
"Hello?"
"Hey," his voice is soft, "Did I wake you?"
"No, do I sound that bad?"
He chuckles. "You don't, sorry. I just assumed you'd be sleeping or something. Getting rest."
"I told you, I'm not sick." Besides, you've done nothing but sleep and cry for the past day, you're getting a little sick of it.
He hums like he's not entirely convinced, and you hear faint chatter in the background. Sounds of life. You wonder where he is. You wonder if you can ask. Is that something the two of you can do? If he can come over unannounced, then you're allowed to ask where he is, right?
Yes. That's how friends work. And the two of you are friends.
"Where are you?"
"At a Chinese restaurant," he says.
Oh. You thought he's coming over. But before you could dwell on the dull sting of disappointment that shoots through you, he continues.
"That's why I called. Wasn't sure what you wanted."
Oh.
"Or if you even liked Chinese food. I should've asked first. I'm still in line, it's not too late to find another place, if you want something else."
"Spencer," you laugh, interrupting him before he begins to monologue, "It's fine. I'll have some lo mein, please."
"Got it," he replies, and you could almost see him nodding in earnest. "I'll be there within the hour, hopefully."
"Okay. I'll, uh, see you."
"See you."
"And Spencer?" your voice has lowered, suddenly a little shy.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
For a moment, all you can hear are the sounds of the restaurant, conversations and footsteps and music and clanging utensils all muffled through the phone. And then, "It's my pleasure."
—
He comes as promised, looking like some sort of messy haired angel bearing more takeout and a satchel. You let him in without suspicion or confusion this time, but feeling slightly exposed.
"Have you talked to Carrie? She's been worried sick, and I didn't have a chance to talk to her after my classes."
"Yeah, I did." You'd sent your friend a very apologetic text, and then another one that simply said comments about my dissertation. Carrie had sent a throwing up emoji and said I believe in you honey, let me know if you need any help.
Spencer makes a beeline for your counter again, unpacking takeout boxes like this is totally normal.
You clear your throat, feeling awkward in your own home, and begin laying out glasses and a pitcher of cool water, "I'm sorry you're stuck with me on a Friday night."
"Please, stop apologizing for something I volunteered to do." he replies gently, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice now. "Besides, where else do you think I should be?"
You shrug. "Out. I dunno, maybe with your–"
"My girlfriend?" he looks up, grins as if to say it's supposed to be you remember, and you want to simultaneously punch those dimples off his face and press your lips on each indent.
"Your friends." you glare, accepting your takeout box of lo mein with a huff.
Spencer laughs. "I think I'm exactly where I should be—taking care of my 'girlfriend' who missed two days of work."
And you really do try not to let that affect you because you know he's kidding, this relationship is fake, but there's warmth spreading just beneath your skin until the tips of your fingers tingle.
"Do you want to talk about it? The dissertation." Spencer asks. He's sitting on the armchair across from your bed and eating the rest of the wontons with a fork.
You'd both abandoned your sorry excuse of a dining table and found more comfortable spots. You're sitting cross legged on your bed facing him, napkins laid in front of you to catch any bits of food.
"Not really." you groan, setting aside your empty carton of food. "It's nothing bad, I promise. But I didn't get the scholarship grant I applied for either and I got saw the emails at the same time, so it was like… a lot."
"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't even know you applied for a grant."
You shrug. "I passed it before I even met you. I guess it never came up. That's just how it goes, though—too many applicants, too little funding. Honestly, I'm used to the rejection, it just so happened to be one right after the other, you know?"
"It can be overwhelming." he's watching you without judgment, eyes the color of oak in the artificial light of your apartment. "If I could be of any help, you know how to reach me."
"Uh, if you happened to have eight grand lying around, I'd really appreciate it."
"I believe I'm your fake boyfriend, not your sugar daddy."
"Ew, that sounds weird coming from your mouth." you wrinkle your nose, exaggerating your disgust, just to watch him smile. "Besides, you asked how you can help."
He laughs. "I guess I could sell my first editions, if you need the money that badly."
"Oh my god, please don't. Don't think I can live with that baggage." you lay down, still on your side so you can look at him, smiling. "But now that you've mentioned it, maybe you can help me find books. For my RRL."
He nods, the food pausing in mid-air. "Yes. Definitely, send me the titles."
"Tomorrow. I don't want to deal with it right now anymore." you squeeze your eyes shut and will the world to fall away. "I've kind of had enough of the pity party I gave myself."
"I don't think that's what you were doing."
"Wallowing in my pain isn't a pity party? Feeling sorry for myself and second guessing how I even earned my way into my candidacy isn't a pity party?"
"No." his voice gentles, which doesn't match the intensity in his eyes, "Self doubt is a human emotion, and you shouldn't flagellate yourself for needing a break once in a while."
You're quiet for a moment, but then whisper. "It feels undeserved."
"What does?"
"All this… cancelling my classes, not doing anything."
"You mean taking a break?" his brows furrow, and you're not quite sure what to make of the expression on his face. It's more intense than you're used to, like he's ready to begin arguing.
"This—I don't need a break. Nothing about what I do warrants something as dramatic as this."
"You're a Phd. candidate, doing research for your dissertation, writing and publishing shorter articles, all on top of teaching—what is it, three? Undergrad courses." Spencer points out.
You look down pointedly, lips pulled in a tight line. It's not really something you like discussing out loud, precisely because most people always sound so horrified.
You get nice things when you've accomplished something.
A break has to be earned. So does respect, and your position at the university, and your dissertation.
Which makes this impromptu vacation so much more guilt consuming. You hadn't done a good job. You'd been rejected. Rebuked, on two different instances. And yet you'd spent the last two days at home, crying like an idiot.
"Hey," Spencer says again, gentling his voice, "I'm sorry. You said you didn't want to talk about it. We can… I'll drop it for now."
For now. Hopefully, his eidetic memory fails him and it never comes up again (unlikely, but a girl can dream). You smile, eyes flicking up to meet his tentatively. "Thanks."
You watch him, sitting in your armchair. He seems so painfully right, limbs arranged in that haphazard way you've come to learn means he's relaxed, and you have to fight the urge to reach over and poke him, just to make sure he's real.
"What?" his brows have met in the middle again, but this time out of self consciousness, "Sorry, did you want more?" he angles the carton to you.
"No, it's okay. Don't feel like getting up."
"Oh. Well, here," he spears a wonton with the fork and stands, the food held aloft like an offering.
There's too little time to do anything but blink and accept, mouth parting for the food, eyes fixed at his ankle, which you judiciously decide are the most interesting thing in the room. And you thank the heavens that they are. Interesting, that is.
Otherwise, your mind would have done something unreliable and silly, like linger on how long his fingers are, and wonder what it would feel to trace the veins that crisscross over the backs of his hands and crawl up beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt.
But you are rightfully distracted by what peeks from his very professional dress pants—some very fun, very mismatched socks.
You reach out, hand curling around his forearm, both to stop him from going back to the armchair and to hoist yourself up for a better look. Black with robots on one foot, blue and gray stripes on the other.
"You do know socks typically come as a pair, right?" you say around the mouthful of food.
He shakes his head, settling on the edge of your bed, tentative as if he's afraid of imposing. "I'm aware. This is a deliberate choice."
Like a fool, you scoot to give him more room. More encouragement. Spencer takes the hint and fully situates himself by your legs.
"I didn't realize the great genius doctor Spencer Reid had such strong fashion choices." you grin when he laughs.
"It's a… thing. A luck thing."
"A luck thing?"
"Bad things tend to happen when I wear matching socks."
"That's oddly superstitious for a man of science."
"It's not superstition if it's backed by statistics."
You fully sit up now, grinning, eager to prod at his hypothesis. "Do you mean to say you've conducted enough research to reach this conclusion?"
"Indeed. I'm 81% more likely to stumble when my socks match."
"You don't think you've just conditioned yourself into being more clumsy on those days, just to subconsciously prove a point?"
Spencer shakes his head defensively. "The clumsiness isn't the only manifestation. A bad exam result–"
"I thought you'd never failed a test."
"A bad result doesn't always mean a failed one," he counters, smirking.
Your eyes roll at his smug expression, but the smile twitching at your own lips makes the action comes across fond. "How long ago is this data? I doubt you've taken any recent exams."
"Old… it started when I was young."
"How young?"
"Six." He says, laughs at the look of incredulity on your face. "Maybe it's outdated data, but the socks stuck."
"Mhm, FBI agent, professor and a fashion icon. What can't you do?"
Spencer laughs, and you have half a mind to record him, just so you can replay it over and over again. He offers another bite to you, and you've relaxed enough to accept it, though your gaze is still fixed on his silly socks.
He's quiet for a moment, wiggling his ankles to make you chuckle.
"You know, while it may be true that I've never failed an academic test, I have also failed others." he murmurs.
"Like?" you sit up, knees tucked to your chest, arms banded around them. You're on one end of your bed, and he's sat on the other. Casual, intimate.
Platonic, you tell yourself.
"Gun qualifications. I was really bad at those. Physical exams–oh, I had to be in remedial for those." he smiles, gaze dropping to the patterns on your bedspread. "Honestly, in my first few years with the FBI, my mentors had to write multiple letters vouching for me before I could be allowed on the field."
"So what I'm learning is you're a teacher's pet."
He laughs. "I'm just saying. I've… Earlier, when I said I've never failed one. I misspoke. I'm sorry I upset you."
"No, don't," you sigh, resting your chin on your knees. "It's okay, I was already upset. Anything would have set me off."
"Even so. I don't want you to think I'm unfeeling, or insensitive. I—it's hard for me to read the room, sometimes." he reaches out, gently takes one of your hands.
You have the urge to pull away, only because it feels good and you want him to keep doing it. Doing this, even when the two of you are alone and there's no need to act like a couple.
You squeeze his hand instead. "I don't think that about you at all."
He smiles, soft and warm and not the first time, you feel utterly doomed.
"Maybe not, but I'm still sorry. And… well, yes, I do know how it feels to be so anxious over something it makes me physically ill." he squeezes your hand back and doesn't let go. "And if that's how you've been feeling since yesterday, then you shouldn't feel guilty for missing a couple of days to sort yourself out."
"You said we wouldn't talk about it anymore." you remind him with a pout.
Spencer chuckles. Squeezes your hand again, thumbs moving in slow, absentminded circles like it's second nature, "All right, I'll stop. What do you want to talk about instead?"
"I dunno. Maybe nothing." you admit, feeling scraped raw. He honors it, staying quiet and holding your hand, until you add, "I don't want to keep you."
He shakes his head. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
"Even if you're just sitting with me, doing nothing?"
"I'm holding your hand." he says, tightening his palm around yours with a soft smile, "That's not nothing."
And maybe you've done nothing to deserve his kindness, or his company, but you smile and let yourself enjoy it all the same.
Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed!
➳next part
more prof spencer x prof!reader fics here!
summary: The BAU team is being sent to catch an unsub going after couples with age-gap relationships. How are things going to go when you have to go undercover with your boss in order to catch him?
word count: 7 K 🌵
-
“Alright,” Hotch’s voice evenly said, “Let’s go over what we know.”
Garcia clicks the remote. Four crime scene photos take over the screen. The team breaks their gaze on their files in front of them to look. Same town. Similar neighborhoods. Same brutality.
You take a long sip of your coffee. Trying anything to get your brain caught up with the team. You’ve been a part of the team for nearly nine-months, the newest and youngest addition. You thrive under the pressure, but seeing pictures like this at this hour of morning is something you hope to never get used to. You’ve gotten comfortable with the team at this point, facing countless horrors together is impossible not to bond someone. Except for Hotch. All frowns and corrections on the surface. You do a lot of things to make him frown. Some of the team had taller walls than others. Hotch being one of them. You tease him, but cling to the fact that his dark eyes follow you. Watch you when he thinks you won’t see. You can always feel it.
“All victims are couples,” Garcia looks over the group, ducking away from the images, “All of the attacks occurred in the Coyote Springs just outside Flagstaff, Arizona. All within a gated subdivision, heavy neighborhood watch presence, but it’s a large neighborhood. There’s nearly 6,000 residents in the community.”
“Woah, big neighborhood.” Emily sighs, looking back to the file.
Reid clears his throat, “The murders span six weeks. Each murder escalates in violence, but consistent within method. This suggests the unsub is a local. Or at least familiar with the area.”
“Not a drifter,” Morgan adds, “He knows their routines. Knows who belongs.”
Your gaze sharpens, “Which means he’s comfortable there.”
Hotch nods without looking up to acknowledge you, “And patient.”
Reid leans forward to add more, “There’s another commonality. Every couple has a significant age gap.”
“Yeah,” JJ agrees, “All of these women are at least fifteen years younger than their husbands.”
“That’s not a coincidence,” Prentiss confirms, “That’s motive.”
You speak without hesitation, “Resentment.”
Rossi turns to you, “Elaborate.”
“When I was working in hostage negotiation,” Your voice calm, “large age gaps in relationships came from extremist ideology and vigilante thinking. They see themselves as a moral authority. He isn’t killing these couples, he’s correcting something he sees as wrong.”
All eyes on you. Your eyes dart to Hotch.
“Theft of youth.”
Reid’s eyes light up, “A savior complex. He may believe he’s actually rescuing the younger woman from-”
“-a perceived predator,” Rossi finishes.
“Which makes Coyote Springs his hunting ground. His own aquarium. Everyone inside thinks they’re safe.” Emily continues.
“Yeah,” Morgan agrees, “This guy thrives on control. You flood the neighborhood with badges, he disappears.”
Prentiss tilts her head, “Unless he comes to us.”
You feel the shift before anyone could actually say it. Her eyes darting to you. Then Hotch.
Rossi’s eyes flick between you two now, “You’re thinking bait.”
It didn’t go over anyone’s heads that you and Hotch have a scarily similar age gap as the victims. Beautiful. Active. The perfect setup.
“I’m thinking opportunity.” Emily corrects, “Two people who could fit the pattern. A new couple moves in quietly. Lets the unsub think something perfect fell in his lap.”
“No.”
Hotch’s answer immediate.
You blink. Then laugh. “Wow, look at us already on the same page.”
His eyes turn to you now, sharp and warning, “This is not a game.”
“Never said it was,” You reply lightly, “I’m just agreeing that maybe the two of us playing house isn’t the best play.”
JJ steps in, “If the unsub is watching, he’s choosing couples that look stable. Happy.”
“Yet another reason this wouldn’t work.” You mutter, Rossi elbow in your side tells you he’s the only one that caught the comment.
“Which means?” Garcia questions.
“A married couple, or at least one that presents that way would statistically be the most appealing to draw him out.”
More eyes fall back to you.
You slowly look around, “Oh, absolutely not.”
Hotch doesn’t look at you, “Agreed.”
“You telling me you’re scared, Y/Ln?” Morgan grins.
You look him dead in the eye, “I’m telling you I’m smart enough to know that Hotch and I can’t sell married and in love.”
“Well,” Rossi turns his gaze over to the rest of the group, “Are there any other alternatives here on the team?”
The group looks around at each other. You know there aren’t any. You don’t need to look around to know that most of them are too close in age to raise that kind of brow.
“I can’t believe this.” You shake your head with a humorless laugh.
Hotch’s jaw tightens, “He’s looking for a performance.”
The rest of the room quiets at his words. You’d be ashamed to admit to the warmth pooling at the dark look on his eyes. This shouldn’t be able to work.
“Look, you’re both qualified.” Emily claps, “It wouldn’t be your first time going undercover.”
“I mean no offense by it, but Y/Ln is the perfect trophy wife bait.” Morgan holds up his hands in self defense.
“Somehow I’m still offended.”
Rossi raises a brow to you and Hotch, “The unsub is escalating. If we miss him again, someone else dies. This isn’t about what’s comfortable. It’s about leverage.”
Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose. Silence stretches while everyone tries to come up with an alternative.
“So maybe it is the best play.” You sigh, coming to the same conclusion as the rest of the team. Your hand slides to cover your face with a groan.
“For what it’s worth, this is like so hot.” Garcia bites the end of her pen looking at you both, “So hot.”
“Babygirl.” Morgan sighs with the shake of his head.
“You’re enjoying this way too much, Pen.” You warn with a smile that is anything but friendly.
“Immensly.” She continues to beam.
A long pause.
Finally Hotch exhales, “If we do this-”
He pauses to read your face. You aren’t supposed to profile each other, but you can see he’s looking to see if you’re truly comfortable. If you can do this. You know you can. You give him a subtle nod.
“-we do everything by the book.” He continues, “Full surveillance. Backup within minutes. No unnecessary risks.”
You suddenly smirk, “You’re gonna hate every second of this.”
“Yes,” He said flatly.
You grin wider, “Then I’m in.”
He looks at you. Really looks.
“Wheels up in two hours. We prep covers immediately.”
Garcia squeals. Prentiss smirks at you. Morgan claps once.
This is going to get complicated.
-
The jet's familiar hum rings over them lowly. You’re curled sideways in your chair, Emily to your right. Hotch directly across from you, Rossi to his left. A table separating you both. Morgan was making calls to get a stakeout van for the rest of the team. They wouldn’t be the only eyes on you two while undercover, but they would be most watchful.
“Alright,” You smile, “Let’s build our beautiful lie.”
Hotch’s eyes dart to yours over his file, “We already have preliminary covers.”
“Preliminary is not convincing.” You reply, turning to Emily for help.
“She’s right.” She shrugs, “Especially since we know this unsub is watching his victims.”
He doesn’t argue, he simply sets down his file on the table.
“Progress.” You bite your cheek.
“Aaron Hayes. Attorney. Corporate litigation.”
“Third marriage,” You add with cheer, “Which no offence, you can sell.”
His mouth tightens, “It’s realistic considering the previous victims.”
“And it adds baggage.” You continue, “Baggage is realistic. That’s what he’ll like.”
Rossi raises his brows, “What about you?”
“Y/n Hayes.” You quickly reach out a hand to shake his with a pearly smile plastered to your face, “Twenty-six. Former marketing assistant. Now… professionally vague.”
“Trophy wife.” Hotch said flatly.
You beam, “Exactly.”
His eyes study you, “You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”
“Hotch, you’ve seen me pretend to be sympathetic to truly terrible people. Being hot and underestimated is a vacation.”
He exhales quietly.
“I want to add something else.”
He looks back up.
“Power.”
He frowns, “Explain.”
“You’re already older. Already established. Already married multiple times, but I think we lean into it harder.” You lean back in your chair, “Make you a professor. Law school. Ethics. Authority.”
He immediately stiffens, “That’s unnecessary.”
“Is it?” You tilt your head, “Our unsub in punishing perceived imbalance. We don’t know how long he watches his victims, he may have already picked his next couple. But if we tip the scale? Give him something that makes his skin crawl.”
The jet goes silent as it’s clear he is contemplating your idea.
“A professor implies mentorship. Influence.”
“And the implication that I was dazzled,” You add lightly, “By your mind. Your status. Your power.”
The silence stretches back over the jet.
“That makes you uncomfortable.” You observe.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, again, “It complicates the dynamic.”
“That’s the point.”
He stares for a long moment, “Fine.”
You grin, “Great! So, how did we meet?”
“A conference.”
“Boring. Try again.”
He sighs, “Guest lecture. You were assisting with event coordination.”
“Ooh, I love that!” You agree, “I spilled coffee on you.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did. You were very patient about it. Very kind. I thought you were intimidating.”
Hotch’s lips twitch into a smile for a split second before he could correct it . For a split second, you saw it.
“And then,” You continue, “you asked me to dinner. Which I declined. Twice.”
“Why twice?”
“Because it makes you chase.” You answer obviously, “And because neighbors love that kind of story.”
Hotch closes his file, “You’ve done this before.”
“Something tells me you really didn’t look at my resume all the times Straus sent it back when I was brought on.”
Rossi leans in closer to Hotch, “She did this for a year for the FBI. It was prior to the hostage negotiation.”
You watch the realization and curiosity pass over his face. He hadn’t looked into you much at all. There wasn’t much desire after Straus insisted upon you.
The jet began to descend shortly after that. By the time you guys touchdown, the local office had coordinated everything. A house at the end of a cul-de-sac in the middle of Coyote Springs. Clean title. Plausible history. A U-Haul full of furniture staged to look like it was from a loving family.
As soon as you both stepped onto the tarmac, you slid your hand into Hotch’s. Walking over to the small public airport rather than the waiting black SUVs with the rest of the team. Hotch froze for a half second.
“Breathe. Like you like me.”
“I don’t-”
“In character.” You correct yourself, “It's game on.”
Realistically the unsub could be anyone. Which is why they weren’t afforded with the luxury of riding with the rest of the team. The show has begun.
You keep your posture relaxed, smiling brightly. By the time Hotch parks the U-Haul in the driveway, three neighbors were already watching from their front porches.
“Showtime.” You give Hotch one last smile before hopping out of the truck.
You make your way around to his side, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. You look at the house in front of you both. He stiffened again, then recovered. He slips an arm around your shoulders.
“There you go.” You whisper, “Professor Hayes.”
He glances down at you, “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” You tease.
They began unloading the truck under several curious eyes. You laugh loudly at his dry comments. Leaning into him. Stolen touches and passes. Selling the lie with ease.
“Newlyweds?” A voice calls out.
You turn to see a woman from two houses down. You answer without skipping a beat, “Six months!”
Hotch blinks, looking back down at you.
You tip your head forward before Hotch can flinch. Ripping off the bandaid. You knew he would tense if you didn’t catch him off guard. He’s still trying to protect you. You can feel the hesitation. Your lips are soft on his. Convincing. He relaxes into it.
When you pull back, the woman waves before heading inside. You look at Hotch, his eyes still on you.
“Relax.” You place a hand on his chest, “You’re doing great.”
His voice is low, “You don’t hesitate.”
You pull him down for a hug, whispering in his ear, “Neither does our unsub. We can’t afford to.”
You press another kiss to his cheek, grabbing another box out of the back of the truck and hauling it inside. Hotch stood for another second before grabbing something himself. He was beginning to have the feeling that this cover was going to test more than just his professionalism.
-
The surveillance van arrives a couple hours after they had returned the U-Haul. It pulls into their corner of Coyote Springs under the guise of a local internet provider. Uniforms are convincing, and plenty of equipment inside.
Garcia is already online and active before Morgan can put it in park. The cameras in the house are connected now. Her screens fill with all different angles. Street coverage. Door sensors. Motion alerts.
She hums in their earpieces, “For the record, the neighbors clocked you as ‘very affectionate’ within twelve minutes of you pulling in the driveway. Linda from two doors down texted her sister Sharon about you.”
You arch your brow, “What’d she say?”
You can practically hear Garcia’s grin, “Quote ‘The new wife is gorgeous and very young. He’s either lucky or stupid'."
”I’ll take it.” You hold up your mug of coffee in mock salute.
Word spreads fast in this neighborhood.
The team backs off for a while, letting them get settled together. Leaving you in a house that grows quieter and quieter. Heavier.
You open the fridge and take a peek inside, “We should establish routines.” you say, practical as ever, “Food. Morning patterns. Something that feels lived in.”
Hotch nods, “I’ll take mornings. Coffee. The paper.”
“I don’t do early.” You decide immediately, “But I’ll fake it if I have to.”
He glances at you, something like amusement flashing across his face before he hides it. “Noted.”
“I can handle dinner.” You decide, “What kind of trophy would I be without something warm on the table for you?”
You make a face at him that reveals your true feelings about that role you're playing. You still need to establish how much the mask stays on inside. You know the unsub was watching his victims, but not how. You start pulling ingredients and getting things ready on the stove.
“I can help.” He gets up from the counter, eager to wipe the sour look from your face.
“Respectfully, you moved us in today. You should shower.”
The way your grin lights up your face, turning back to the stove top without a care in the world, makes Hotch freeze. His heart skips a full beat. It already feels so domestic. You catch it and turn back, taking a half step closer to him.
“Don’t forget, I’m your hot twenty-six year old wife. Act like it.” You press a kiss to his cheek before he can protest. Now you actually focus on the stove, eventually hearing his steps take him away from the room.
By the time Hotch is done with his needed shower, he can smell the food coming from downstairs. Spaghetti. He’s impressed that you’ve even set the table. Creating the fantasy. Creating his illusion. You set down his plate at the end of the table, and you take the seat closest to his on the right.
“If we’re too distant we stand out, and now that we’re here-” Hotch clears his throat, “You’re right. I need to act like it. At any point now the unsub could be watching us.”
He smiles as if he hadn’t said something so horrifying. The place had already been swept for bugs, and now they had eyes on them. Now they would have to wait and see if the unsub was watching them too.
“I’m glad you’re officially on board.” You grin, placing your hand in his.
You guys both practically drag your feet cleaning up from dinner. Avoiding the bedroom. The last line to cross.
The room has been staged well, it’s a pretty room. A large bed right in the middle of it. Hotch pauses just behind you in the doorway, “We can take turns on the couch.”
You shake your head immediately, “No. Couples like us don’t do that.”
He exhales slowly, “Understood.”
You leave him in the bathroom and take your bag to the bathroom. You change quickly and then open the door back up while you take off your makeup and brush your teeth. After spitting in the sink, you look up in the mirror to see Aaron walking in. He’s changed into long pajama pants and a black t-shirt.
You were hoping if you were fast enough, Hotch would be in bed with the lights off by the time you came out. You blush when you notice him taking in your cover wardrobe. You’re supposed to be a young hot wife, that means little for the pajama department.
He begins brushing his teeth while you do your skincare. The silence stretching painfully rather than peacefully is the only clue that this isn’t real.
You’re nearly done by the time Hotch leaves and heads back to the bedroom. You follow after turning off the lights and pull back the covers. Total darkness and silence.
You lie on your back, your hands folded over your stomach, “Night, Hotch.”
“Goodnight.”
Neither of you sleep very well. He stares at the opposite wall. Plagued by listening to your soft breaths while you sleep. Morning comes too fast. He’s already up by the time your eyelids pull open.
You pad into the kitchen to see a pot of coffee on, Hotch manning the stove. He still has on his pajamas, his hair disheveled from sleep. You’re surprised he didn’t fix it first thing. But, this isn’t really him.
“Morning, professor.” Your voice lazy from sleep.
He freezes for half a second.
Then recovers, “Sleep well?”
You smile, taking steps closer to him. He reaches out an arm to wrap around your shoulders. The food smells good.
“Like a dream.” You lie. He knows.
You wrap your arms around his waist while you both sway together. You’d be ashamed to admit it once you were more awake, but you lean your weight against him to support.
By noon, you’re laying out by the pool. The bikini is not subtle. It isn’t meant to be.
Garcia groans over the comms you can all hear again, “This seems deeply unfair.”
“Tell me about it.” Emily whined.
Hotch watches from inside, his jaw tight, posture rigid. He knows exactly what you are doing and why it works. He’s almost alarmed at the pace you could set for the unsub.
Neighbors slow as they pass.
A man across the street checks his mail. Twice.
You don’t look at any of them. You keep your sunglasses on, body relaxed and unconcerned.
It’s bait.
And it’s effective.
Hotch’s eyes finally snap up from your figure when he sees someone approach the fence. A woman smiling brightly and waving you over. You get up from your lounge chair and walk over to her.
“Hi! I’m Linda. We’re having a block party on Friday, and I thought we’d invite the new couple!”
You smile, all warmth and charm, “Isn’t that sweet!”
Hotch steps out the back patio door and walks over to join you. His arm wraps around your lower back so his hand can find home on your hip. Linda notices. Everyone does.
“Aaron.” He extends his other hand to shake Linda’s.
It’s clear Linda is trying to hide her gaze on their PDA. She stutters out the time while focusing on your hand placed on Hotch’s warm chest. The rock the FBI provided glimmering brightly on your ring finger. The sun continues to beat down, Hotch very aware of how you’re all skin right now. He’s only touching bare skin. He vaguely hears you ask if you should bring anything. He misses the response.
“Lovely.” She waves, “We’ll see you then!”
Linda walks away, you wave goodbye as she walks back to her house.
“So, that's what it takes to get you to come outside?” You turn, Hotch’s hold still on you, “Linda?”
“What-”
“I mean, I’ve been out here for how long, Garcia?”
His hand tightens again, not expecting you to circle the team back in. He forgot their eyes and ears are on everything.
“Forty-five minutes.” She answers.
“Disappointing.” You whisper, it fans over his face.
“I’ll work on it.”
He leans down before you can pull another stunt, he presses a kiss to your brow.
-
Later Emily and Morgan come over under the guise of friends bringing a housewarming gift. They welcome them both in and accept the wine with hugs. They gather together in the kitchen, everyone’s face all smiles but Emily’s tone tells another story.
“I think we’ve got to work on being what the unsub is looking for.” She reminds, “You both need to work on being closer. Physically.”
Morgan nods, “She’s right. The profile says entitlement. Ownership. A guy who thinks he’s won.”
“You don’t protect, Y/n. You flaunt her.”
Hotch’s jaw tightens, “That’s not-”
“That’s the role,” She cuts in, “A man who would absolutely brag about locking down another wife half the age of the last one.”
Emily is exaggerating obviously, but she makes her point clear.
“I’m good, Hotch.” You smile, wrapping your hand around his arm and pulling him closer, “I’m not fragile.”
He exhales slowly. Once. Controlled.
“Understood.”
The shift is nearly immediate. You can feel it. He changes how he stands. How close he is. How his hand settles on your waist when you pass him in the kitchen. Unapologetic.
An arm draped over her shoulder as they sit on the front porch enjoying the summer night, the sky beginning to darken. Morgan and Emily left a little bit ago, leaving them alone again. This time you claim each other's space.
A neighbor you haven’t met jogs by on a late run, waving to them as she passes. Linda’s husband takes out the trash, putting it at the end of their driveway. A group of kids pass through on their bikes, loud yells and laughter.
Lots of activity in this neighborhood. Lots of eyes. You and Hotch are putting yourselves in full view.
“You good?” You ask quietly.
“Yes,” He answers, “Are you?”
You study him, “I’ve played worse roles than this.”
His mouth tightens, “That doesn’t make it easier.”
“No, but it gets the job done.”
You reach up to card your hands through his hair. Running along the side, pushing it back.
“Uhh, guys?” Garcia chimes in the earpiece. You both keep faces neutral.
“One of the exterior cameras just changed angles.”
You still. Hotch does too. You’re not sure you would be able to tell if you weren’t practically in his lap right now.
Inside the van, Rossi leans closer to the screen. “Did we do that?”
Garcia typing away furiously.
“No. And the system didn’t flag it either.”
Emily frowns, “Can someone access it remotely?”
Garcia hesitates before answering.
“If they had administration credentials they would have remote access.”
“So, the unsub is watching right now?” You ask, eyes still on Aaron.
“I would assume so since he adjusted the exterior to include you both in frame.”
“Let’s give him a show.”
You want to pull Aaron to you, but you know he needs to push this. He is the pursuer. Your hand is still in his hair when he leans down to connect your lips again. You don’t give him the chance to cut it short, leaning into him.
He opens his mouth wider to deepen the kiss, you sit up against him. Throwing one leg over his lap, practically indecent for the front yard.
“Take me to bed.” Your words are pressed against his lips.
Hotch stiffens under you for a second. His eyes wide, before you give a small nod. He picks you up from his lap, carrying you into the house. You let him set you down and pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt. Still full of smiles and teasing. Aaron corners you against a wall in the hallway, pressing hot kisses down your neck.
You push back from him, taking his hand and pulling him into the bedroom and shut the door. The second the door shuts, you both let go, but are still out of breath. Hotch paces a few feet away from you. The bedroom is one of the few places they didn’t put a camera.
“Garcia, did any other angles in the house change? Any interior cameras?” Your voice sounds a lot more calm and clear than you feel.
“Um,” She clears her throat, obviously still reeling from everything she just witnessed. “Uh-I-uh it looks like he has. The hallway is angled more in the bedroom than it was when it was installed. I think I can see if he’s watching.”
There’s a long pause while she works before she comes back on, “Wait, yes! He’s online. He’s still active on the hall camera. I’m guessing he’s waiting for the afterparty.”
Emily nods, “He’s watching for something. He wants to know if they fit his needs.”
Inside, the performance continues. You mess up your hair, Hotch’s to be fair already was. You change out of the clothes you had on before and opt for just one of Aaron’s law t-shirts. It feels right. Puts a little pressure on that authority insecurity.
“Is he still watching?” You ask Garcia.
“Mhm.”
You open the door and casually skip down the stairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You're still flushed from the couch make out. Didn't have to fake that.
“Babygirl, you’re a genius.” Morgan claps.
It only needs to give the illusion they need. Just enough to piss him off.
-
You made brownies for the block party. Aaron had to run out to the store, leaving an opening for the unsub to approach as well. They don’t know his true patterns and if he’s confident enough to approach them both at once.
All morning there is activity out in the street. People are setting up tables, music, and food. It looks like they don’t do anything small here in Coyote Springs. You picked out the perfect summer sun dress, and curled your hair and leaving it down simply. It’s short enough to put your legs on display.
“Safe choice,” Hotch nods, looking at the tray covered in foil.
Safe to comment on the food, not the dress.
You smile up at him, “People trust baked goods.”
He opens the door for you both to walk out, and it’s already full. The party is already in full swing. People everywhere. Children running around. The smell of the grill takes over.
Too many faces.
You immediately feel your posture sag a little trying to keep track of everyone’s expressions while walking through. You keep one hand on the tray and the other curled possessively around Aaron’s bicep. You let him guide you around, introducing yourselves.
He leans down to press the occasional kiss to your lips, temple, brow. Anything to hear your low laugh. You both look inseparable.
From the street, it’s enviable.
From the cameras, he’s raging.
“We’ve got a lot of eyes.” Garcia says into the earpiece.
JJ watches over the crowd, “He’s here. He wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.”
You move slowly. Deliberately. Introductions begin to blur. Retirees, young families, couples who’ve lived here twenty years. Kids continue to race around playing. Teens hang back in groups, too cool to really participate. You laugh easily, leaning into Hotch. You even let him speak over you once or twice.
You both stop near Linda, who is holding court beside the grill and a whole table of food.
“Oh! You made it,” Linda says brightly. “And you brought something.”
“Brownies,” You smile. “I hope that’s okay.”
Linda takes the tray. “Oh, people will love you.”
Her gaze flicks to Hotch. “You’re a lucky man.”
Hotch smiles wide, proud, exactly the wrong way.
“I know,” he says. “I really do.”
The reaction is instant. Not from Linda.
From just behind her.
A boy, sixteen maybe seventeen goes still.
Too still.
You can feel pressure between your shoulder blades. Hotch squeezes your hand, he saw it too.
“Oh, where are my manners!” Linda sighs, “Meet my family. This is my husband Bill, and my son Matthew.”
She then turns where the other boy still watches.
“And this is my sister Sharon and her son Toby. They live just a couple streets down.”
Toby is tall, a little lanky. He wears a black hoodie despite the heat. He stands half in the shadow of a tree, his eyes won’t meet yours. Instead they’re on Hotch. Specifically where his hand is glued to your hip possessively. You shift closer and his grip bruises, Toby’s jaw tightens.
You turn to speak over Aaron’s shoulder so they won’t notice what you ask Garcia.
“Garcia, what do we know on Sharon and her son?”
There’s a pause. You turn back your attention to Linda and Sharon, waiting for her chipper voice to come on the earpiece.
“Let me see what I can find!” She eagerly begins typing. They had to move the surveillance van a couple streets down for the block party. It would be curious for them to be parked there with all the homeowners having a party together.
You keep smiling and turn your attention to Sharon and her son who hovers behind.
“So, how long have you guys lived here?”
“All of his life.” Sharon answers, smiling softly at him.
“Must be hard,” You reply gently, “watching things change. New people are moving in, although I hope we’re welcomed!”
Everyone laughs at your comment, except for Toby. His gaze has yet to leave Hotch’s touch.
Sharp. Hurt. Furious.
Hotch squeezes a warning.
His eyes flick up to your face for the first time.
You excuse yourself from the group to refill both of your drinks. When you return, you immediately slide onto Hotch’s lap. You dive back into conversation totally unphased, but in your peripheral you can see Toby’s hands clenching.
Hotch makes sure to brag about his job, about you, about how good his life is now. Toby is locked in with his full attention. Every laugh from you is a needle. Every kiss gasoline. Building.
“I’ve got something juicy,” Garcia jumps back in, “Sharon was just divorced from Toby’s father last March. They had been married for twenty-two years, but he moved out and left. And then six weeks ago it looks like he was re-married.”
“Right when the killings started.” Emily reminds.
“It get better-or worse, I don’t know which is-what way it-”
“Garcia.”
“He has been teaching the girls college soccer team almost as long as they were married. His new wife? She just graduated from the team last year. Can you spell slimy?”
Garcia gags over the earpiece nearly making you wince and yank it out of your ear.
“She’s twenty-four, he’s fourty-nine.”
Bingo.
You turn to look over Hotch’s shoulder to see Toby’s expression, only to find him missing. Linda’s son is gone now too.
“Does anyone have eyes on him?”
No answer.
You both thank people as you’re saying goodbye. Smiles. Keep the act flawless.
The house feels wrong the second your foot crosses the threshold. Hotch’s hand moves instinctively toward his weapon and stops. Static takes over the earpiece.
-
Back in the surveillance van, the team waits anxiously. Re-watching footage to see if they can spot him disappearing. Eerie silence from the couple undercover. Garcia watches the door shut and suddenly the screens turn to pixels, static playing over the speakers.
“What the hell is that?” Morgan yells.
“I don’t know! Something is blocking the signal.” Garcia types furiously.
“We’ve got to go in now.” Morgan grabs his vest and his gun.
“If he’s not with them, this will blow their cover. We’ll scare him away.” Rossi adds.
“It won’t matter if they’re dead. Toby is the unsub, I’m sure of it.”
-
Toby is standing in the living room, holding a gun he shouldn’t know how to handle. And it’s aimed right at you both. His hands are shaking. Your hand tightens around Aaron’s arm.
“Shut the door!” He yells, you both slowly step the rest of the way into the house and shut the door.
His face is pale, eyes wide, and breathing way too fast.
He raises the gun closer to them, “Upstairs. Now.”
Hotch manages to keep himself placed between you and the gun as he follows you both to the bedroom. Every step is deliberate, intentionally trying to put you in the least amount of harm.
“On your knees.”
Neither of them hesitates. Neither of you tries to reach for your weapon. Yet.
Hotch’s shoulders brush with yours. Toby paces in front of you, waving the gun wildly in their direction the entire time.
“You think you’re better than everyone!” He yells, “You think it’s okay to take whatever you want.”
You tilt your head slightly, “What did he take from you?”
You try to remind that Hotch is not his father, although with the anger in his eyes you’re not sure he can tell. His pacing stutters.
“You watch people like us?” You continue, “You think you’re correcting something?”
“Correcting what he’s taking!” He jabs the gun at Hotch’s chest. You feel the air get knocked out of your lungs.
“Correcting my theft of youth?”
Your words from the beginning of the case now echo with Hotch’s voice. Toby freezes.
“That’s what he did,” Toby’s voice growing hoarse, “He took her youth. He took our family and replaced it with something younger. Easier.”
Hotch swallows when Toby turns his focus onto you. He lets the barrel of the gun slide across your collarbone.
“It’s despicable. This is the same thing.” He gestures between you two.
You hold his gaze, “I chose him. He didn’t take anything from me.”
Your voice softens, “And I don’t regret it.”
The truth in your voice is unmistakable. Hotch feels it like a shockwave. An earthquake.
“You don’t want to kill us.” You voice gentle, calming the room, “You want someone to admit what happened to you was wrong. That it was fucked up.”
Toby’s hands shake more, his eyes fill.
“He didn’t even talk to me about it. He just moved out.”
You nod, “Don’t you want it to stop hurting?”
His head bobs.
“Then put the gun down.”
He hesitates.
Hotch keeps his voice low and steady. Using his dad voice, “You’re not a monster. You’re a kid that got left behind.”
The gun lowers. Just enough. You reach forward and take the gun from his grasp and pass it back to Hotch immediately. You kneel beside him while he cries. Morgan breaks through the door, armed and ready.
“It’s okay, we’re all safe now.”
Red and blue lights take over the room flashing in from the window. Morgan takes Toby down to the cars to bring him into the station. An ambulance. Police. Statements. Protocols.
-
The team gathers in the living room to discuss everything that just unfolded and establishing a time to meet at the jet.
“Sharon works for CPI Security. That’s how Toby was able to access the homes and the cameras. He was using her devices.” Garcia explains their total blackout on seeing and hearing them. Toby was smarter than they had thought. That’s how he was without a trace. The team gives them a couple looks, quiet comments about their act while they try to wrap things up.
“Enough!” You shout, “I would like to shower and then get on a plane and go home! Is that too much to ask for?”
“No ma’am!”
“We’re going!”
“Okay, okay!”
Rossi leaves to go get one of the SUVS so they can head to the airport. It would be a late night flight home. You and Aaron are left with a few officers downstairs taking pictures and taking statements while you both pack up your belongings.
“Well, I suppose I will have to give this back to evidence.” You sigh, holding up the rock on your ring finger to the light with a chuckle.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll take some getting used to. You’ll feel lighter.”
You roll your eyes, putting your toiletries away, looking at him in the mirror.
Leaning your hip against the counter you look up at him, soft now and unguarded. “You were very convincing. You stepped it up.”
He matches your lean, a step closer.
“You were extraordinary from the beginning.”
The smile on your face shifts into something real, “You used my words back there.”
“I know.” He says, “I know what they mean to you.”
A beat passes. You swallow, his eyes follow down your throat. One he has kissed numerous times now.
“Do you regret it?” he asks.
You shake your head without hesitation, “Not even a little.”
Hotch reaches out, slowly. Deliberate. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is warm. Bare. Uncharacteristically gentle.
“Neither do I.”
-
The jet hums as it cuts through the dark sky. Hotch sits at the table with a file open in front of him that he is definitely not reading. You took the same seat across from him as usual. Emily and Rossi join the table, Morgan and Garcia sit on the couch facing them with wide grins.
For the first six minutes of the flight, no one says a thing.
“So,” Morgan starts far too casually, “We gonna talk about the kissing, or are we pretending none of that ever happened?”
You close your eyes.
Hotch exhales through his nose.
JJ doesn’t even look up from her tablet, “I witnessed at least nine when I was on cams.”
Garcia gasps, “I’ve got so many screenshots-
“Garcia.” Hotch warns.
You groan, “Oh my god.”
Rossi smiles into his coffee, “You know, I’ve been undercover a lot. But I’ve never seen Hotch commit like that.”
Morgan grins, “My boss went from ‘don’t touch me’ to ‘this is my wife, don’t even breathe in her direction’ in twenty-four hours.”
Hotch clears his throat, “Focus.”
“Sir,” Emily smiles, “You grabbed her waist every time someone looked at her for more than two seconds.”
“That was tactical.”
You snort loudly before you can even stop it.
Morgan points immediately, “See! She knew it!”
Garcia’s cuts in, “And can we discuss the wardrobe?”
You straighten in your seat, “Garcia-”
“The bikini,” She barrels on, “The sundress. The backless sundress. The way you were charming everyone and-”
“Garcia!” You say both mortified and laughing.
JJ smiles, “To be fair, it worked. He didn’t stand a chance.”
“Hotch or Toby?” Rossi asks with a jab.
Hotch’s ears turn red.
“Well, technically Y/n is closer in age to Toby than she is to Hotch.” Reid interjects.
“Please, don’t ever remind me of that again.” You shake your head, a sour look on your face.
“I would also not like to be reminded of that.” Hotch agrees.
Rossi raises his brow still looking at Hotch.
“It was part of the profile.” He reminds.
Impossibly so, Rossi’s brow aims higher at Aaron’s answer, “You told three different men you were ‘very lucky’ and ‘not stupid enough to mess this up’.”
Silence.
Your lips twitch with a smile as you look over to him, “You did?”
His jaw tightens, “That… may have come up.”
Morgan outright laughs, “Boss, you were bragging.”
You cover your face with one hand, “I can never show my face in Arizona again.”
“You absolutely can,” Emily disagrees, “You own that cul-de-sac now. Whatever you two were doing, it sold and it worked.”
Reid nods, “Yeah, no notes. Except, next time? I want hazard pay for having to watch all that.”
"Me on the other hand, " Garcia grins wickedly, "I saved it all!"
“You’re welcome, you pervs!”
You toss a harmless handful of plane popcorn at them, rolling your eyes. There’s an unguarded and warm smile on your face that makes Hotch shake his head watching it all unfold.
Hours later it’s early morning on the east coast when they finally land on the tarmac.
“Debrief tomorrow at 9AM.” Hotch says, “Get some rest.”
The team disperses, still chuckling and yawning as they walk to their cars. The cabin is quiet as you lean back in your seat while Hotch packs up his briefcase.
“You think any of them bought it?” You ask, a soft smile on your face. Honest and open.
He flashes you his rare smile. The one usually saved for you and Jack on the weekends.
“Probably not.”
extra of the team finding out here!
an// all too aware of the fact that it’s been almost two years since i’ve written for Hotch, but I am obsessed all over again i fear. i had so much fun writing for him again!
In a world where Demons had become domesticated in the last century or so, becoming glorified pets and workers.
You knew you had done your friend a favor by getting her a pet demon, especially since you were worried about her mental state, which had been rapidly getting worse.
Weeks and months had passed now. Of course you remained in constant contact and had observed how good it was for her to take care of the demonic creature. Which of course left you wondering why you didn't have one, since you weren't any better when it came to fighting the loneliness that was a constant part of your life. Some solitude was always good but when prolonged, it was overwhelming and could be painful.
That's why you thought it couldn't hurt to - maybe - keep your eyes open, look and behold, it literally popped in front of your nose as you walked past a shelter. There was a red sign with 'HIGH DISCOUNT' there.
It wouldn't hurt to take a look, right?
Your entrance was announced by the ringing of a bell above the door. There was no one there and you looked around cautiously. There were all sorts of things that were used for keeping a demon. You walked down the corridor and saw a big cage standing darkly in the corner. It was larger than the other cages you had seen and you became curious, especially since the sign also said high discount.
As you walked in closer, you noticed the demon who was on his knees behind the bars, dignified and humble, he had his gaze lowered until he realized you were there. He was beautiful with his maroon colored eyes and long black hair that turned reddish at the tips. A prominent mark on his forehead took nothing away from his beauty and neither did the two horns that protruded from his forehead. Two horns…? Wait a minute, this means…
“This is a pureblood, very rare on the market.”
Startled, you turned to the clerk, who suddenly stood behind the counter and stared at you. Your gaze went back to the demon, who looked at you carefully and didn't take his eyes off of you. “Then why is it at such a low price?”
“Because of his brother.”
"His brother?" You frowned and looked confused from the seller to the cage and you felt another presence in the cage - 6 glowing eyes stared at you from the dark corner.
He stepped forward next to his brother and even though you could tell they were probably twins, you could clearly see the differences. The red of his long hair was darker and more spikier, his complexion paler, his physique was broader and more muscular. But this was not the main difference. It was his eyes which he held 6 pairs of. Golden with red sclera. His aura was intimidating and yet also very regal and proud. He had two horns as well that were more purple than red. He also adorned an additional mark that ran from his chin down to his throat.
“Why, what’s wrong with his brother?” You couldn't take your eyes off him as you asked your questions and saw him squinting all of his 6 eyes on you.
“Yoriichi is a very domestic and remarkable demon. Very trusting, friendly, and listens to every command but his brother, Kokushibo, on the other hand… Well, I can only say that his previous owner was not able to handle him.”
“It didn’t occur to you to separate the two?”
“Of course, but every time they were separated, Kokushibo became more and more uncontrolled, and Yoriichi always managed to escape and return to his brother. We’ve tried it several times but it just didn’t work, which is why these rare purebloods are on discount.”
You saw Yoriichi looking at you with interest and Kokushibo about to hiss at you. You turned your head to the seller and grinned at him. “I’ll take them both.”
~ ~ ~
You really didn't know what got into you when you found yourself standing in front of the two demons that were clearly too tall. They literally towered over you by almost two heads, looking down at your pathetic height. You should have been intimidated, but strangely enough, you weren't. Maybe it was because Yoriichi's calm and tranquil manner balanced out Kokushibo's wild and angry one. The two of them were like yin and yang. Brothers who couldn't be separated.
The purchase was so spontaneous that you weren't really prepared and you were lucky enough to have a larger apartment with an additional room that you could possibly make available to the two of them. Your friend, whom you surprised with the demon Giyuu, probably felt as unprepared as you too.
“When was the last time you two ate?”
The two of them stared at you before Kokushibo turned away in disdain and Yoriichi felt obligated to answer for them both. He opened his mouth and it was the first time either of them had opened their mouths. “We last ate 10 days ago.”
What?! No wonder the six-eyed demon was in such a bad mood. Demons didn't have to eat regularly like humans. 1 to 2 a week was enough, but not 10 days! They must have been absolutely starving!
After they had eaten, you prepared their room. Unfortunately you didn't have any other beds, just futons, but that should be enough for now.
~ ~ ~
A few days passed and they were quieter than expected. Kokushibo hadn't done anything bad to you but still refused to talk to you while Yoriichi was very pleasant.
“Yoriichi, do you want me to take your collar off? The Wisteria pouch must be uncomfortable for you.” Collars were mandatory for demons when they wanted to go outside, but the owner was able to choose at home.
He lowered his gaze humbly. “You are too kind, Mistress.”
You were very fond of Yoriichi. You liked his kind and gentle nature that even soothed your own chaotic thoughts. It was the least you could do for him. You asked him to lower his head and carefully took off his collar. While you came so close to him, you noticed his hair and gently stroked it. “How about I brush your hair, it’s looking a bit dull.”
His hair was beautiful and you could feel how he enjoyed being pampered by you in this way. How your brush went slowly through the dark red waves, making them shine again. It was a very domestic situation between the both of you that got interrupted by a dark aura from the corner. You quickly glanced from Yoriichi’s hair to Kokushibo. If you didn't know any better then you would assume that he was jealous, but you were not sure.
“Are you hungry?” But there was no answer. It was not like you expected him to talk. Both demon brothers had been very silent since the beginning. After taking off Yoriichi’s collar you noticed that he spoke a little bit more. His pleasant and calm voice relaxed you deeply and you wondered whether Kokushibo could even speak and whether it was perhaps because of the prong collar that he still had around his neck. The prong collar looked painful and even if you weren't intimidated by his strong presence, you still wanted to be careful.
But somehow that seemed unfair to you.
“Yoriichi, please wait here.” You stood up and approached the tall menacing demon until you were standing in front of him. He didn’t lower his ominous presence when he looked down on you and yet you showed no fear. ”Lower your head, please.” But he did nothing of that sort, but squinted his 6 eyes onto you. You let out a long sigh. You knew that it wouldn't be easy with him and yet you were slightly annoyed when you needed to pull up a chair so you could be on the same level as him.
“Don’t move…” You were very close to him as you fumbled with his prong collar to open it. What kind of brutal device was that? The collar was far too tight on his neck and had left scars; there were also scratch marks that showed that he had desperately tried to open it himself. It was said that demons who have face marks are wilder and less easy to tame. Kokushibo even had two. Was that the reason why they tortured him like that? Anger flared up in you, but you took controlled breaths so you were able to focus on this damn opening mechanism.
Kokushibo watched your efforts with interest and for the first time there was no anger or threatening aura coming from him or his eyes. After some fiddling with his neck, you managed to open the damn collar and threw it on the floor. Your gaze was focused on the puncture scars on his neck. Without a second thought, your fingers roamed over the spots.
Well at least you tried, because he had stopped you with such a quick movement that you took a startled step back. The only thing was that you had forgotten you were still standing on a chair and your foot stepped on thin air.
Everything happened so quickly in the next few seconds that you were not able to realize what actually happened until your body was pressed against his, his strong arms around your waist. He caught you in time and held you against his solid physique, and you could feel how strong and muscular he was. You looked at him with wide eyes while he looked at you almost bored. “You humans are so clumsy.”
Were those really his first words towards you? His voice had a deeper timbre than Yoriichi's and it made your skin shiver. Since his arrival, all he had done was glare at you and intimidate you with his brutal presence, which he was very good at controlling. All that was gone now as he still held you close to him - as if you weighed nothing. His gaze on you was interested, since this was the first time you were up so close to him.
“You- You can put me down now…” And he did. With a gentleness you never expected from him. Your soft body slid along his. You looked at him, slightly puzzled. “I'll get some balm for your wounds. Maybe you should sit down so I don’t have to get back on a chair.” He just nodded at you and sat down on the sofa where Yoriichi was sitting.
You left the room briefly and didn't notice how the brothers communicated with each other or how Kokushibo’s eyes were following you. With the balm in your hand, you sat between the two and turned your attention to Kokushibo. “Don’t be alarmed, it might be a little cool now,” you whispered as you gently rubbed the cool gel along his neck. He didn't even bat an eyelash and just let you do it while keeping all his 6 eyes closed. Was he enjoying it? It seemed like it. You carefully stroked over it a second time as you saw how the wounds were already starting to heal. “Woah!” You let out surprise.
“Our wounds heal very quickly and we can’t have scars, but my brother's collar was coated with an extra strong dose of wisteria that made him even weaker and made it difficult for him to speak. Thank you, Mistress, for this generous gift you gave to both of us.”
Yoriichi, who was sitting to your right, had taken your hand. He brought it gently to face and brushed it against his cheek and gave each knuckle a kiss. There were so many emotions associated with his gesture, like gratitude and affection, that it almost brought tears to your eyes.
You turned your head towards Kokushibo who looked at you with a look that you couldn't interpret. He finally spoke and his voice made you shiver again. “I would like to take a bath. May I, Owner?”
You simply nodded and watched him get up and disappear into the bathroom. Yoriichi, who was still holding your hand, spoke as his brother was gone. “Michikatsu is not evil as anyone would assume. He needs love and affection like any other being. I wouldn't mind if you would give some of your attention and affection to him."
“Michikatsu? His name is not Kokushibo?”
He shook his head. “Koku, black. Shi, death, Bo, eye. They named him like that because of his eyes. He never corrected them as he wanted them to fear him. But in reality Michikatsu is the nicest of them all.”
Michikatsu is the nicest of them all.
Yoriichi's words echoed in your mind as you knocked on your bathroom door and opened a crack. "Can I come in?"
“This is your house, Owner...”
You grimaced at his wording and entered anyway. You saw him sitting relaxed in the tub with all but one of his eyes closed. With the one he watched you carefully as you took a washcloth and sat down on a stool behind him. You gestured for him to lean forward slightly, which he did.
You moistened the washcloth with the warm water and gently slid it over his broad shoulder. Luckily his hair was already in a bun so you had free access to his back. At first he was very tense, but when he realized that you didn't mean him any harm and just wanted to scrub his back, you felt his muscles slowly relax under your fingers.
“I told your brother the same, please don’t call me Owner. Just call me Y/N. It feels so degrading to you both to call me owner.”
He was silent for a while before answering. “We... are demons... We have no right to name anything the way we want... We have no right to have an opinion on what we should be called. We are just objects in people's eyes. Easy pets...”
This time you were the one who remained silent, because you had felt the resentment and frustration behind those words. You took a cup and filled it with warm water and poured it over his back to wash away the dirt that had formed from your scrubbing. “I don’t know what your previous owners did to you. You don't have to tell me, but you're not objects to me. You are living beings who deserve to live a good life. You can call my home yours too. You are allowed to have possessions too.”
“That is…noted…”
The next few minutes were shrouded in silence, but it wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, Michikatsu actually seemed to enjoy the way you gently massaged his scalp with your fingertips while you shampooed his hair. You enjoyed these domestic activities. To take care of someone. To make them feel good. You hadn't done that for a very long time because you had also been alone for a long time. Being alone was painful-
Before you could delve into your dark thoughts, you noticed an odd smell and was startled. Did you leave something on the stove? No, it smelled way too pleasant for that.
Michikatsu noticed your twitch, but he didn't react like you. “Yoriichi has been watching you for days, like me. He’ll probably cook you something while you’re here with me.”
You looked at him in surprise. He wasn't serious, was he? You really wanted to check, but wanted to finish bathing Michikatsu.
“Go… I’ll wash up and join you…”
You nodded and walked into the kitchen where you saw Yoriichi standing at the stove with your pink apron on. He looked at you and gave you a smile. “Since you take such good care of us, I wanted to prepare something for you. I read that miso soup is very popular and you had the ingredients for it. Do you like miso soup with silken tofu?”
You couldn't help but giggle at the sight of him looking so adorable with your pink apron. “Yes, I love miso soup.”
~ ~ ~
Ever since Kokushibo spoke to you, you were sure that all three of you were getting along very well. You ate together, laughed and talked. Well mainly you talked, because the two of them enjoyed listening to you talk and you finally had the feeling that someone actually wanted to listen to you too. And of course you cared for them too. Pampered them, washed their backs and bought them what they wanted even if that was not much. Yoriichi had once told you that it was enough that you would treat them well as you did now. This always made you question what terrible things had been done to them. How would they dare to treat them badly? You didn't want to think too deeply about it. If they didn’t want to talk and think about it then who were you to do so?
“Ouch!”
You looked at your finger which was starting to bleed. You quickly put your bleeding finger under running water to rinse out the dirt and checked out the wound. Shit, the cut was deeper than expected. Suddenly you felt Michikatsu’s presence very close to you. You jumped. Even after weeks, you couldn't get used to how quietly the two of them moved around the apartment. He looked down at you and your bleeding finger.
“Don’t worry, it’ll stop bleeding soon.” You weren't sure if you were saying this more to yourself than to him, but he wasn't deterred. He took your hand and put your finger in his mouth, licking the blood off. You looked at him with wide eyes. You were even more surprised when he suddenly took you in his arms and carried you to the couch and sat down, you sitting sideways on his lap, taking your bleeding finger into his mouth again.
You were literally puzzled, but he didn't seem to mind. You had been in the middle of cooking and wanted to tell him so, but he just gave you a look which silenced you.
“Clumsy human, let Yoriichi do the cooking and let me take care of your wound.”
You wanted to say something in response but didn't know what. You had already seen Yoriichi scurrying into the kitchen but were distracted again when Michikatsu gently nibbled on your finger and put it in his mouth.
Since that time he always looked for moments to distract himself by nibbling on your fingers. He seemed to have an oral fixation, or he just liked it. Either way, he seemed to be enjoying it and it didn't bother you, so you let him have his way. It also gave you the chance to look at him up close, as he often didn't allow that.
Michikatsu noticed this of course. “You’re not at all disgusted by my appearance.”
“Why should I?” You did not understand the question.
“Are my eyes not too scary for you?”
Oh, this is what it was about… “Is this why you always keep all eyes closed and just look with one?”
“No, I keep them closed so that I don’t have sensory overload and… so that you aren’t afraid of me.”
“So I was right?”
He kept silent and you gave him a soft smile. “Please close your eyes.” He did as you asked. You moved closer to him ever so slowly and gently kissed each of his 6 eyelids. When you let go he looked at you in surprise, his 6 eyes wide. This was the first time you could see the emotions so strong on his face. “You are not a monster and never will be to me.”
~ ~ ~
“You are not jealous, right?” you asked Yoriichi, while he was sitting patiently in front of you as you brushed his long beautiful hair.
He shook his head. “No, why should I?”
“Well… Because I give your brother so much more attention than you.” It was a little bit uncomfortable to admit this, but it was true. Michikatsu was very demanding and jealous from time to time, even if you don’t give him much reason for it. But yet, anytime you were close to Yoriichi or spending time with him, he immediately snatched you away in silence and nibbled on your fingers.
“But I did ask you to do so, right?”
“I mean, yes you did. But I still feel bad about it. You deserve my attention as much as Michikatsu.”
Yoriichi took your hand, it seemed like the brothers had a fixation with your hands, and kissed your knuckles as he always does when he wants to show his gratitude. “Sitting here with you, hearing you talk, while you touch me so affectionately, is everything I ever wanted.”
Yoriichi were always able to hit you with the right words and gestures. You leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the crown of his head. “You are such a good boy and deserve the whole world.” You felt Yoriichi shiver from your words.
~ ~ ~
Months passed, the season changed and it was winter. That meant the Christmas markets opened very soon! You were excited because you wanted to show the brothers how beautiful the markets can be. Of course they needed to wear collars, since demon companions were required to wear one by law. You hated it, since you were not able to forget the painful device Michikatsu had had to wear, but you had to adhere to the law. You decided to get the type that was demon friendly without the wisteria pouch for both of them.
The three of you strolled through the Christmas market, Michikatsu to your left and Yoriichi to your right, and you received a lot of attention. You didn't know if it was because of their height or because of their distinguishing face marks. It could also be due to Michikatsu’s threatening aura, or the fact that they had two horns which identified them as purebloods - a very rare sight to see.
It wasn't important to you. The only important thing was that they had fun like you did and got as many impressions as possible. You curiously looked at all the stands and came across a woodcarver that had beautiful pieces to offer when you suddenly saw a wooden puzzle box. Himitsu-bako. You took it carefully and stared at it, fascinated. You always wanted to try it. The idea to get so fixated with a riddle was so appealing to you that you asked about the price. He named the price. You thanked him, placing the puzzle back down, and went to the next stall.
“Why didn’t you buy the puzzle box? You seemed very interested in it.” Yoriichi looked at you questioningly, while Michikatsu lingered in the back, his attention somewhere else.
“Oh, it was a bit too expensive. I wanted to have money for candied apples and to buy you two something you want! The puzzle has no priority.” You gave him a bright smile as the cold air made your cheeks blush.
You threw yourself onto your couch immediately when you got home. Man, you were exhausted. Yoriichi and Michikatsu didn't even seem to show any signs of exhaustion, but you clearly were. Walking for hours had drained you and you just wanted to relax now. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
As usual, they sat down on the couch on either side of you as you made yourself comfortable. It wasn’t long until your head was resting on Yoriichi's lap, him playing softly with your hair while Michikatsu massaged your calves that were sore from all the walking. You felt so comfortable and safe that it didn't take long for you to fall asleep and you missed over half of the movie. You didn’t notice how Yoriichi gently lifted you into his arms and carried you to bed or how he gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead while you cuddled yourself onto your blanket.
~ ~ ~
"What is this?" You stared at the small box that was placed in front of you and you didn't hesitate to pick up. It didn't take long for you to realize what it was. It was a wooden puzzle box. Himitsu-baku! You looked excitedly at the beautiful piece. “But where did you get that from, Michi-kun?”
“Michikatsu is very skilled in wood carving,” Yoriichi replied as Michikatsu watched you with interest. “He made me a flute too, see?” He took out the little flute and showed it to you.
You looked at the beautiful piece in awe and then looked over at Michikatsu. “Michi-kun, I didn’t know you were so talented! Yori-kun, can you play on that?”
Yoriichi didn't hesitate and played some soft tunes. You clapped your hands enthusiastically. “You two are so talented!” You watched as Michikatsu turned away and hid his face behind his hair. Was he blushing? You probably saw it wrong… You looked back at your box. These were some refined skills, which made you wonder.
“It never occurred to me to ask you about your hobbies or what activities you like to do…” You felt guilty because until now they had always obediently gone along with everything you wanted but you never asked what they wanted.
The brothers looked at each other, visibly confused by your change of topic. This time Michikatsu spoke to answer your question. “We enjoy…training kendo together… But our previous owners didn’t like it at all… They got scared… Also we always lack the space and the necessary tools.”
"Tools?"
“A bokken, but a simple wooden broomstick will do too,” Yoriichi explained to her.
"Oh! I think I can organize that! Also a place for you to train! The apartment complex has an unused backyard. We can go there in the evening! As often as you want too!”
You three were at the said place. You were not able to find a bokken, but Yoriichi had said that broomsticks are enough for now. You can get them the necessary equipment later. Oh, how happy they would be, you thought excitedly to yourself.
Now you sat in a corner, lulled in your jacket as you watched the two brothers standing in front of each other. They first bowed respectfully and then it began. Their movements were so fluid and elegant that you were barely able to look away. It was a dance between two brothers who couldn't be more different. Like the sun and moon, Yin and yang. You weren't sure who would emerge victorious, but you were still surprised to see Michikatsu a few minutes later on the ground.
Another fight. Michikatsu was on the ground again. It went on like this until the yukatas were thrown over their shoulders, hanging down from the Hakamas. They were both suddenly topless, the cold didn't seem to bother them. You felt heat creeping into you. It wasn't like you'd never seen them topless before, since you washed and bathed them both from time to time. But now they are training. The muscles rippled in harmony with their movements, it was only then that you realized how incredibly sexy they both actually were.
Both were muscular and strongly built. Yoriichi a little leaner than Michikatsu. Your eyes wandered and you couldn't get enough of what was presented in front of you. Wandering up and down until they stopped on the seductive V-line of the two of them. Your eyes switched back and forth and you had to suppress a sigh as Michikatsu lunged forward, flexing his big biceps.
It didn't take long for you to get wet and dampen your panties. Crap. That was not good. You couldn’t be horny for your demons! That's irresponsible! Both of them had immediately stopped and stared at you as if they knew something. You blushed like a tomato.
“It seems like Y/N is cold. We should go home,” Yoriichi said as he put his yukata back on.
Michikatsu nodded and did the same and you were happy that demons were not able to notice things like that, right?
~ ~ ~
You laid in bed, frustrated, not being able to finish what you had started. Fuck, why can’t I come already? For the past hour you were touching yourself, trying to get rid of this horniness and the lewd thoughts that bothered you all evening. But it didn't work!
You huffed, frustrated, pulling your hands from your pants, and rested your arm on your forehead. It has been a while since you touched yourself. Was it possible to unlearn things like that? You didn’t know. What you did know was that you were exhausted and wanted to sleep but the hot images of the two brothers haunted you badly.
Your thoughts were interrupted by soft knocking. “May we come in?” It was Yoriichi’s soft voice.
You immediately gathered yourself and sat straight in your bed. “Um, y-yes, sure!” The door opened slowly and the two brothers entered your bedroom. “Were you both not able to sleep?”
No answer, only gazes as Michikatsu sat down at the end of your bed and gently massaged your calves while Yoriichi sat close to you and held your hands in his. Normally you didn't have a problem with them being so touchy, you were happy to give them whatever they wanted and secretly you enjoyed it too, but at the moment it wasn't so good. Because you were a bit oversensitive due to your frustration.
Yoriichi looked at you with his soft maroon eyes as he cupped your face. “We sensed your troubles.”
Your furrowed your eyebrows. “My troubles?”
Michikatsu’s hands were gliding a little bit higher onto your thigh. “Yes, your arousal.”
You didn’t know if you were blushing because of the embarrassment of being caught or the feeling of his hands being so close to your core. It also didn’t help that Yoriichi lowered his head closer to your face and talked in his soft beguiling voice. “There is no need to be ashamed, Y/N. You always make sure that we feel good. You care about us so much, never seeing a monster in us. We want to give it back to you…” With each word he came closer, until his lips were on yours. His kiss was so soft and loving that you sighed into the kiss. Yoriichi took that as an invitation for his tongue.
While Yoriichi distracted you with his sensual kiss, you felt Michikatsu slowly dragging your pants along with your underwear down and spreading your legs. “Brother, she smells so intoxicating…” You felt his breath close to your pussy.
Yoriichi, who let go of you briefly to let you catch a breath, answered his brother. “Her lips are sweeter than anything I’ve tasted before.”
Michikatsu did not wait and licked at your slick like a hungry cat and groaned. “You are right… She tastes like heaven…” With these words he dove into your core and lavished on your juices. You let out a surprised moan as you threw your head back. Your hand grabbed desperately at Yoriichi’s yukata who just watched you, fascinated, and then kissed you again. But he didn’t stay on your lips for long. His mouth traveled down your neck, nibbling at the soft skin there. You felt how his hands were slowly pushing up your loose shirt to cup one of your boobs and massaging it slowly with one hand. His mouth also found his destination and kissed and sucked on your other nipple.
So many sensations at the same time and you were not sure what to focus on. The knot inside you tightened, and suddenly everything exploded. You came with a loud moan as you threw your head back once again.
Michikatsu’s lower eyes were closed, his face glistening in your juices. He pushed a single finger into you just to let Yoriichi lick it off. You watched the interaction between them both. It was like he wanted him to know how you tasted. You saw how Yoriichi’s pupils dilated as he tasted your sweet nectar. It was such a lewd image that it made you sigh in anticipation.
You heard your bedsheet ruffle and watched as the brothers swapped their places. Suddenly Michikatsu was in your face, kissing you greedily on the mouth, not letting you take a breath. You were able to taste yourself on his lips but you didn’t mind it at all. Not even that he used his teeth, because all of that was washed away by Yoriichi's tongue and mouth, who was now the one eating you out.
There was a clear difference between the two. Yoriichi was definitely gentler, as were the tongue strokes along your outer labia. Or the way he sucked on your clit. Your left hand was on his head, tangled into his soft waves as you pushed him closer to your cunt, feeling how close you were again.
Your other hand was on Michikatsu, who was pinching your nipples, making you wince and twitch every time, forcing you to keep your attention on him. It was a lot to handle. Lots of feelings and desires at once that you didn't know how to deal with. But they were so strong, able to hold you still while they feasted on you.
Yoriichi hit a point with his tongue that made you come with a loud cry. The waves of the orgasm were so intense that it left you trembling. You had never cum twice in a row in your life.
Yoriichi wiped his face with the back of his hand. Both brothers watched you in awe as you layed there, exhausted from your orgasm.
“She is so beautiful… I want to mark her.”
“Later, when we are inside of her.”
“I am not sure if her bed is able to carry us three.”
“Yes, we should move her to our room with the futons.”
You were not able to distinguish who said what, since your brain felt like mush, but that was not important. You were suddenly lifted up and carried by someone. Your cheek resting on a strong chest. You realized that you were all naked. When did they undress you? You opened your eyes slowly to see his beautiful maroon eyes. “Yori-kun…”
You felt his lips on your forehead and then on your lips again, making you sigh again and heating up the desire in your lower belly.
“Do you think she can take us both?
“She is stronger than you think.”
“I know.” These two words were said in such loving affection that it made your heart flutter.
“Hey… I am still here,” you protested. “You both prepped me so well I… I think I can handle that.”
"Oh, you do?” The first time in your life you saw how Michikatsu smirked at you as he snatched you away from Yoriichi and sat you down on his lap.
You felt his hardened cock close to your core, but your eyes were fixated on that smirk of his. He was “...gorgeous…” You leaned forward, your hands on his muscular chest as you kissed him oh so softly. It seemed like he didn’t expect that softness. Never did he expect anything, though he deserved all the softness and kindness.
You poured all your love into the kiss, playing with his hair, nudging his tongue against yours and biting at his lower lip. He groaned and got impatient. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you on the tip of his dick and let you sink down very slowly. “Michi..!” You whimpered and shuddered at the fullness and how good it felt.
He bottomed out and didn’t move, letting you adjust. Until you moved your hips. “Impatient human,” he murmured as he started sucking on your tit.
You didn't stay still though as you slowly moved your hips and started riding him. His hands grabbed your thighs tightly to help you. Michikatsu couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling of your tightness around him. Gosh, it felt so good hearing those noises coming out of him, knowing that you were the cause of it. Making you feel that you had a tiny bit of control even if it was not like that at all.
Suddenly you felt his hands on your waist, moving up to cup your breasts and kneading them; you also felt his lips kissing along your spine, making you shiver as you still moved on top of Michikatsu. You smiled and when his kisses reached your shoulder, you tried to turn your head to look at him, to give him a kiss. Yoriichi came closer but you were interrupted by Michikatsu, who grabbed your chin and turned your head back to him, just to claim your lips harshly and groan into the kiss.
“H-Hey-” you panted after he left you breathless. “Stop being jealous. I want to kiss Yoriichi too!”
Michikatsu was about to respond when Yoriichi picked you up into his arms without warning. With one fluid movement Michikatsu’s dick slid out of you and you could only go “Oh!” at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Even Michikatsu breathed out harshly at the sudden change and glared at you both.
“Now it's my turn.” You giggled at him teasing his brother and slung your arms over Yoriichi’s neck, your legs around his waist. It was clear that he missed your kisses and you were glad to give him all he could ever want. You started kissing him all over his face - his cheek, his nose, his eyes, and then his lips. You both couldn’t hold back moaning into the kiss when he suddenly sheathed himself into you. You at the fullness he was giving you, and him because you were so tight around his cock.
You marveled at his strength as he held you up so easily, starting to move inside of you at a slow pace. You felt safe in his arms; you knew he wouldn’t even think of dropping you.
You felt the jealous glare on your back and it didn’t take long until Michikatsu got up to stand behind you. One of his hands pushed your hair aside so he was able to kiss and nibble on your left shoulder. You felt his chest pressed on your back as his fingers slid up to spread your wetness and lube you up with additional saliva. It was a strange feeling, but not unwelcome, as Yoriichi’s careful thrusts distracted you from Michikatsu’s motions behind you.
Soon enough, he retracted his fingers and replaced them with his tip. He was so careful with you - a contrast to his earlier roughness - moving in tandem with Yoriichi to bring you pleasure rather than pain. The feeling of them both inside you was overwhelming and you didn’t know what else to do other than to hold tightly onto Yoriichi’s shoulder, your nails digging into his skin.
Michikatsu’s hands joined Yoriichi’s on your thighs. It felt as if the heat of their touch burned you to the core and even if you wanted to get out, it was impossible. You were placed so tightly between the two brothers, moving in sync into you, you could not move at all.
One of your hands reached behind you so you could grab onto Michikatsu’s neck. The other one still gripping onto Yoriichi. The angle changed, and you saw stars, clenching tightly around both of them making them both groan. They sped up, the pleasure bringing tears to your eyes.
“Please…!” You begged, not knowing what for, but it seemed like they knew.
You were not sure if you saw it correctly as your brain was not able to comprehend anything logical at that moment but you saw a change in Yoriichi’s face as if he was communicating with his brother.
The knot inside you tightened for the third time that night. You cried out their names as they thrusted harder into you making your vision blur. This time your release was more intense than you’d ever experienced, but before it could ebb away you felt teeth on both of your shoulders.
You could only cry out and everything went black.
~ ~ ~
Ah shit... Why does my shoulder hurt so much?
You woke up between two muscle-bound bodies and didn't know where you were until you remembered the last night. “Oh fuck…” you whispered and immediately put your hand over your mouth when someone started to grumble in annoyance. Did you wake one of them? Suddenly you were pulled by a strong hand and pressed against a muscular chest. “Stop thinking too much, human, sleep a little bit more. You need rest.”
You looked up into the face of Michikatsu, who had narrowed one of his lower eyes to look at you. You couldn't contradict him because you felt tiredness overcoming you again and you fell back into a deep sleep, safe in his arms.
You woke up again, but this time on Yoriichi's chest, who was playing with your hair. “Good morning.”
“Good morning…” You yawned and looked around, realizing that you both were alone on the futons. “Where is Michikatsu…?”
“He is preparing a bath for you. How do you feel?” He watched you as he waited for your answer.
How did you feel? You were not sure if you thought about last night. Did you regret it? No… But your shoulders were killing you. “My shoulders hurt and I feel sore, but that’s it.”
“Oh, that’s because we marked you.”
“Marked me?”
“Yes,” he smiled at you, “We are now mates.”
Mates… Wait what?! Was that even possible between a human and demons? You heard about this rumour that demons were able to mate each other, but fuck… This was the last thing you ever expected. “What will happen now?”
“First of all you are going to take a bath while we take care of you.” Michikatsu appeared at the door frame as he looked at the both of you, laying naked on top of each other.
~ ~ ~
Even if it was weird in the beginning you quickly got used to the idea of being mated to both of your demons. You hadn’t been sure what to do with the situation and called your friend, who just told you that she had also got mated with her demon. It was not a common thing at all, actually unheard of, but here you were, having not one but two demon mates.
You asked them if that was something common, to have two demons, but they shook their heads. “It’s probably because we are twins and very attached to each other. Perhaps it was inevitable we would share a mate,” Yoriichi told you, while he nuzzled his face into your hair.
“Who would have thought that we would mate with a clumsy human?” You saw the smirk on Michikatsu’s face that now happened to appear more after that night. He seated himself next to you both and snatched you away from Yoriichi again. It seemed like a game between the two brothers at this point - as if they were not able to share a toy.
You faux-sulked. You just took his face into your hands and gave him a long loving kiss. Then you felt how he placed something on your lap.
It was a wooden carving of a woman with two tall men at her sides and looking closer, you realized it was the three of you. The gift nearly made you spill tears, touched by his gesture of love.
SUMMARY: you're struggling to study a specific topic for your P2 training exam. luckily, your TO knows exactly how to teach you- in his own special way, of course.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: the feedback on my recent fanfics has been UNREALLLL thank you for the support! i have been having so much fun writing these for you honestly slay for us. i need to be y/n SO BAD in this GUYS PLEASE IM SO SERIOUS. the reader is tim's rookie if you couldn't tell lol. please enjoy and give feedback AHHHH xoxo
INCLUDES: dirty talk (HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT AHH), pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it up chickies), PRAISE PRAISE PRAISE, soft dom!tim, sub!reader, mentions of anxieties (more like stress-of-not-passing-an-exam type of anxiety), desk sex
WORDS: 11.2K+
Amidst the peaceful night where the stars twinkle ever so luringly and the wind whispers gently against your window, the chaos within your apartment differs.
Stacks of paper and books are sprawled across your desk and the floor surrounding you- reflecting the mess of your mind and your feelings of stress, frustration, annoyance. The thin white sheets have already begun to threaten you with paper cuts after hours of flicking through the corners of each page.
You’ve contemplated burning these books and papers into your colourful candles that stare at you from across your desk- they, too, are not neat from where they stand. But, you suppose that having them accentuate their flames may entice you to keep studying.
You tried to create a peaceful scene to your otherwise booming stressful emotions. You tried.
In all honesty, you thought that the warm tint of the candles, the soft cushioning of the pillow beneath you and your laptop that currently plays Frank Ocean’s ‘Forrest Gump’ would have been motivating enough to get you through this specific topic of studies.
Sure, while it is quite mesmerising and comforting, the papers and books that scatter across your apartment along with pens, uncapped highlighters and sticky notes with frantic scribbles have deemed themselves overpowering to your once calm environment.
And it certainly does not help you understand what you are staring at right now with twitching eyes and furrowed brows.
Chapter 5: The Art of Observation | Subsection 5.3: Decoding Body Language
Your highlighter bleeds through the page of your P2 training manual as you over highlight.
You whisper the highlighted points, “Nonverbal communication accounts for up to 93% of human interaction…an invaluable skill to master during interrogations, de-escalations, and day-to-day interactions….recognise universal gestures, understanding micro-expressions, and identifying incongruences between verbal and nonverbal communication…practice and situational awareness are key to refining this skill…and remember-” You mumble. The words you speak breathe into your lungs but never quite reach your brain. You blink yourself awake, “reading body language is not just about observing- it’s about understanding the story behind the movement.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You curse yourself to the universe above that watches you steer away from your desk, a huff drawing from you as your mind fogs from exhaustion. Fuck, this is supposed to be easy. Why can't you understand this one thing?
Throughout your time training with your TO Tim Bradford, you found yourself getting strung up on one thing: Body Language.
Whether it be because your overthinking leads to self-doubt, or that you overanalyse every movement and try to memorise textbook definitions of cues rather than trusting your instincts or inconsistent interpretations.
And we wouldn’t want to get you started on spotting subtlety in one’s movements rather than an overt cue.
Whatever kind of situation you were put in, which thankfully, wasn’t a lot, you struggled to read someone’s body language and identify who was the real threat.
Releasing a groan, you drop your head down to your desk with a thump, your arms wrapping around you out of comfort and shielding you as you try to ground yourself from the shitty situation you have been placed in.
Physically and emotionally, you’re a mess. Your eyes are strained from how much focus you have pushed them into pursuing amongst the endless words and the screen on your laptop, and you can feel the oils in your hair greasing your roots from the stress your body has struggled to keep up with. Your brain feels fried and your heart patters tirelessly.
You're unsure how long you stay like this for...seconds, minutes, hours? But the moment you hear a knock boom against your wooden door, your thoughts immediately shrivel away as you jump out of your seat.
Who the fuck is knocking at 8pm?
Pausing your music from your laptop and standing up from your seat, you try to ignore the ache in your lower back from the horrible posture you've kept sitting at your desk. You rub at your eyes and pace your feet one in front of the other, dawdling your way to the knock that still rings in your ears from its expectancy.
“I’m coming!” You groan out, your hands just reaching the knob and the twist of metal sends an immediate chill to your overheated skin. Finally, you pull the door away, only to frown in confusion at the sight of the person in front of you.
“Sir?”
And there he stands. You take in his blue-washed denim jeans and the navy jumper that cuddles his body. He smells…really good. His hair is freshly washed, a darker tint cascading throughout his strands of hair, and he’s staring down at you with a frown on his face.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Boot?” Is the first thing he spikes up with, indulging in your physique by looking you up and down and you can’t help but shrink under his inspection. He spots your cream-coloured fluffy slippers, your hair loose and messy, and the matching grey sweatpants and hoodie set that bags away from the framing of your body.
You look at him, then down at yourself, then back up at him, “What’s wrong?” You ask and your head angles to the side.
Tim throws his hands up, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that I’m here to pick you up to take us to the bar where everyone is waiting for us, and you’re not even dressed!”
Fuck.
“Fuck,” You find yourself whispering aloud anyway, your eyes shut as you remember the conversations earlier today with your Mid-Wilshire team and friends inviting you to join them at the local bar for a drink.
You remember shaking your head multiple times, saying: “Oh my god, no! That’s the last thing I need before my exam!”
“Oh come on…” Lucy drags on as her and John’s stance next to your sides draws closer, your body warming under peer pressure as they continue to allure you, “We’ll call it ‘preparation drinking’ for you!”
“And Sergeant Grey will be there,” John peeks up, nudging your side, “so you basically have to go.”
You halt in your footsteps as they now stand against you, blocking you from moving anymore. Clearly awaiting your confirmation, the two of them raise their eyebrows with excitement glinting in their eyes.
You sigh, “Guys, no. I’m already stressing enough as it is, and plus, I have no one to take me...remember? Some loser decided to hijack my car and steal my baby away from me.”
“Excuses is all I’m hearing Officer Y/L/N,” Lucy places her hands on her hips, “One: Having a drink or two may actually do more wonders for your relaxation and de-stressing than you realise. And two…” Lucy scans the room over your head and her eyelids squint at her supposed spotted target, “I know someone who can take you.”
There’s no getting out of this, it seems. You give in to your dismay- and Lucy and John’s happiness.
So later that day when you’re riding with your TO in the shop, your mind running a mockery as you try to recite chapters and pages, you’re immediately distracted by Tim clearing his throat as he glances over at you.
“I’ll pick you up at 8, Boot, be ready by then.”
It’s 8:05pm.
“Well?” Tim begins, his arms back to being crossed over as he awaits your excuses.
However, your heavy sigh that covers your excuses slips out of your breath as you push the door open a little more. And Tim doesn’t get what you’re doing until his baby blues catch onto your desk- or what open space is left of it to his eyes.
“Sir,” You start, meeting his confused look at the surroundings, “I would love to go, but I really need to study for the exam. I’m struggling with this one concept and I just…” You huff, “I can’t get my head around it. I’m trying- I really am! And I just got so lost on time and-“
Tim frowns, “What concept?”
You stumble upon your words, unable to grasp the perfect way to admit to your TO that you are struggling even though your P2 exam is so short away.
But you can’t, because there isn’t a perfect way of saying this.
So, you drop your gaze to the floorboards and quietly usher, “Body language.”
The moment the words fall off your tongue, you don’t even need to look up to know that he reeks of disappointment- that, and you don’t want Tim to see your utter blush of embarrassment flushing your neck and ears.
His groan is heavy as he raises his right hand from where his arms were crossed to rub his forehead in circular motions with his index and middle finger, “Boot…”
“I know, I know, I’m trying so hard, Sir but it’s just not-“
“This isn’t good enough, and you know that,” Tim cuts you off, his gaze bordering frustration and disbelief- something you hate seeing with him, “We’ve gone over this section in multiple scenarios- how can you still not get it? I thought I taught you better than this.”
You’re a good rookie- you know that. But the overwhelming creatures that lurk the back of your brain stress to you that you really aren’t good enough as they keep pounding the walls you’ve built up against them.
You’re a good rookie. You’re a good rookie.
Your breathing is erratic as you blink back tears before reaching for your last bit of courage to look back up at him.
And it hits Tim like a dynamite to his heart.
His eyes soften as they study down into your cloudy ones and the way you’re just barely holding it together in front of him. Your hands fidget, you’re a mess, you can’t keep still, but you’re staring at him with plead in your pupils.
You’re trying- and he’s your last chance to get this right, to get you over the line, to just get it.
That’s when Tim realises that rather than ridiculing you (because it’s so not like you’ve already ridiculed yourself this whole fucking time), he should step up as your training officer and teach you because it’s only ever been his training techniques that have helped you to where you are now. It’s no use punishing you for something that falls entirely back onto him and his responsibility.
A fail in the P2 exam doesn’t just mean a failure to you as an officer, but an ultimate reflection on Tim’s failure to train you.
His exhale is slow as the tension in his muscles becomes plush to the touch, “Okay, let's work through this.” And immediately, a rush of relief flushes through your face. Tim peeks his head a little more into your apartment as he steps one foot past the door, “May I?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” You mutter, extending your arms out into your home to physically welcome him, “come in. Tea or coffee?”
“Water, please,” Tim murmurs, his eyes flickering amongst the piles of papers and books across your desk the closer he reaches it. A deep knot furrows between his brows as he brings a chair from your dining room over to your white desk, all the while, moving the endless pages of information around to free space.
As he does so, you’ve disappeared into your kitchen, hands trembling slightly as you fill a glass with water. The sound of the faucet running is your only distraction against the thick air that has suddenly arrived just in time with his presence. You don’t know what’s causing the tension, whether that be that, quite frankly, this is the first time a man has entered your feminine home or it’s the weight of knowing you’re about to have a one-on-one session with said man.
You’d be stupid to ignore the facts that Tim Bradford; your TO, means a lot to you.
Of course, you can’t stop the high-school swooning crush you have for him. Come on, who doesn’t? He’s a man of protection and resources. Sure, you’re younger than him, but his masculine qualities and those veiny arms do something palpable to your body.
Most importantly, though, is that he’s someone who has moulded you into who you are and what you know now, and his approval means everything. He’s hard-headed and rough and dominant, but deep down you know that in that cold-stoned heart of his, he’s compassionate and willing to do anything to help you succeed.
Your ovaries can wait. His time and knowledge is valuable- you can’t let him down.
When you return, you find Tim leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as his sharp blue eyes assess the chaos of your desk. You notice that he's placed your laptop and the lit candles on your dining table opposite the open space of your apartment.
He takes the glass with a small nod of thanks, setting it down without drinking.
“Alright,” He starts off, his tone steady but tinged with a kind of quiet authority that makes you straighten your posture instinctively as you sit down on your chair, “Show me what you’ve been working on.”
You clear your throat, quickly glancing his way before pulling your P2 training manual closer and flicking through to the dreaded section of the book. The pages are an embarrassing mess of highlighted passages, margin notes, and sticky tabs that seem more decorative than functional at this point.
“I’m trying to go through the practice questions,” You speak up, pointing to Question 3: Clusters of Behaviour.
Tim huddles closer to examine it, his arm just gently brushing yours and you try to suppress the absolute shock that spreads from his very touch, “Okay- During an interrogation, a suspect exhibits the following behaviours: Avoids eye contact, speaks rapidly, taps their foot repeatedly. How should the officer interpret these actions?” He tilts his head to look at you, “What do you think the answer is?”
You look at him, then down at the question that taunts you, then back at him, “I keep thinking A): These are signs of guilt and should be addressed immediately but I already had a look and it’s B): They indicate stress, which may or may not relate to deception.”
“As it should be,” Tim retorts, moving his body so he’s sitting directly in front of you and away from the manual, “Why did you immediately jump into action without assessing the suspect’s context?”
“I don’t know!” You fling your hands up with a huff, your eyebrows knitting as you also look at him, “Clearly, I’m not trying to. I’ve been memorising all these cues and examples, but when I try to apply them to actual scenarios, I just…blank. It’s like the more I try to focus, the harder it gets.”
Tim studies you for a moment, his gaze unwavering and you can’t help but feel an ounce of intimidation and nervousness under his silent stare.
You’re unsure of how he’s going to react to your admittance, but you shouldn’t expect any less from him. This is who he is- an unopened book with every response he gives you sending anxiety to your bones at whether he’s going to yell at you, smile at you, joke with you, snap at you, grumble, grunt, whatever.
However, to your surprise, he reaches out and flips the manual closed.
“Wha-“
“You’re overthinking it,” he says simply, resting his forearm against the closed manual. “Body language isn’t about memorising lists or definitions. It’s about instinct. Observation. You don’t need to know every term in the book to read someone- you just need to pay attention.”
You blink at him as the confusion in your brain fogs even more, “But…how am I supposed to pass the exam if I don’t know the technical terms?”
Tim smirks and chuckles quietly, allowing his body to relax against your agitated one, “Trust me, Boot. If you can read people in the field, you’ll pass the exam. They’re not testing your ability to recite definitions- they’re testing whether you can use what you’ve learnt.”
Sure, his words are meant to be reassuring, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest doesn’t quite ease as the frown in your brows never shies away and you’ve now moved to biting your nails as your last coping mechanism.
Sensing your lingering doubt, Tim sighs and shifts in his chair, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Alright,” he says, his voice taking on a firm but patient tone, “If there’s anything you should take from this topic and, most importantly, from me, it’s that observing non-verbal language should be examined in 3 sections: Eyes, body, and breath.” You try your best to snap a picture of what he said into your mind as you pull your fingers away from your face. He resumes, “Ignore the words they speak and how they speak them because you’ll get lost trying to figure out whether they’re lying or tricking you. Their body will give away their answer- it always does. The body never lies. What’s important, however, is that with whatever information their body shows, you need to piece together what they’re trying to say.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
Tim's head angles to the side, “Does that make a bit of sense?”
Fuck, if only he was here five hours ago helping you would you be under different circumstances than just holding onto your last thread of hope and tears.
“Better than the textbook,” You compliment him, “Focus on eyes, body, and breath. Got it.”
“Good,” He replies and he exhales in relief, "Let’s try something different than reciting lines and lines of words.”
You eye him out of curiosity to his suggestion, however, you nod your head reluctantly and you shuffle a little in your seat, uncertain to what will come next.
“Body language is all about context,” he explains, “Every movement, every gesture- there’s a reason behind it. Let’s see how good your instincts are. I’ll act out a scenario, and you tell me what you see. No overthinking, no second-guessing- just say what comes to mind.”
Your stomach flips at the idea, but again you nod, determined to prove yourself.
With your agreement, Tim continues, “Let’s start with eyes, Boot. The eyes are everything- they’ll tell you where the mind is going before they even say a word. It’s about where they’re looking, how long they hold a gaze, or even if they avoid it completely.”
And then he draws closer, his sharp blue irises locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. For a split moment, his gaze softens, but then he shifts his expression ever so slightly- his brows narrow, his lids lower just a fraction, and his jaw tenses.
“What do you see?” he asks, low but steady.
“Uh…” You fumble, hyperaware of his scrutiny, “You…look like your normal self?”
He rolls his eyes, “Focus, Boot.”
Fuck, how can you with him looking at you so intently?
You swallow, “Okay, you’re focused…angry? But not really angry just…concerned?”
The flicker of approval in Tim’s eyes is unbearable to your racing heart as he slants back a little, “Good job, Boot. Concerned is close. My eyes are narrowing, my jaw is tight- they’re classic signs of someone processing something serious or difficult.”
There’s something about the words ‘good job’ and ‘Boot’ that you rarely hear form in a sentence from Tim’s lips and it has you lingering onto that hot flush of praise and validation that you oh so yearn for.
So you exhale, “Eyes. Where the mind is before words.” You recite, and suddenly the paining knot that’s been deeply rooted within your chest now for days loosens just a bit. Maybe, just maybe, you can actually do this.
A tiny hint of a…smile sparks onto his face as he carries on, “Alright, let’s move on to body. Stand up.” He orders, and you obey- as you always do.
You push your chair back and rise to your feet with Tim following suit. Your bodies are only inches apart and you find yourself shuffling back a little before your hormones make you do something entirely inappropriate like fucking jumping on him.
It’s no use anyway whether you moved back or not, he still towers over you.
But then he does something so…unsexual, yet, it has your focus entirely set on him. He hooks his fingers under the hem of his dark jumper and, in one fluid motion, he pulls it up and over his head, his muscles rippling under the movement. The air feels charged, your eyes immediately zeroing in on his white shirt showcasing his toned chest and bulging biceps that you can’t help but gawk at with the quick beating of your core.
God, you’re so feral for him- this shouldn’t be flustering you the way it is. But with how warm the atmosphere in your apartment has grown, you’re sure now that it isn’t the muted light above you tinting your cheeks a hot red but, perhaps- just perhaps, it’s the man who stands confidently in front of you.
It’s like you’re tunnel visioning right on him and his muscly arms and strong wafts of cologne and that taunting smirk on his lips and…and he’s stepping closer to you.
“Relax,” he says, his voice softer, almost teasingly, really. “You’re stiff as a board, Boot. Loosen up.”
Fuck, guess you really hadn’t noticed how lost in trance you were staring at him that your body completely solidified into the floor; a man’s physique has grounded you and sincerely, you know a crush turned this badly can only mean you are royally fucked.
But then, he places his hands lightly on your shoulders, guiding you to adjust your stance. And the heat of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you swear you see his lips twitch upwards in amusement.
“Better,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to let you breathe- but certainly not enough to ease the sudden tension crackling between you. “Body language is about more than just posture. It’s the way someone leans in, the tension in their muscles, or how their movements shift when they’re comfortable- or when they want something. Watch me.”
Tim suddenly crosses his arms (you try your best to avoid the way his biceps expand from the movement), his shoulders draw upwards and he taps his foot repeatedly against the floorboards.
You knit your brows together in the hopes that it will make you observe better on him, “Closed off,” You spark up, hesitantly at first but it simmers more into confidence, “You’re defensive. The foot bouncing is…anxiety? Frustration?”
Tim stops the tapping of his foot yet keeps his arms crossed, but the small grin that tints his lips is far more important than anything else, “Not bad. Closed posture often signals defensiveness or discomfort, and the foot movement can show agitation or nervous energy- limbs can be utilised to cope with internalised stress such as fidgeting fingers or shaky knees. Keep in mind still that body language needs context. Frustration and anxiety can look the same, but the environment will tell you which one’s more likely.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You stand a bit straighter, pride rushing through your veins, “Okay, body language needs context, but it helps reinforce what the eyes tell?”
“Exactly- that’s it. See? You’re catching on now,” He praises, and you look up in surprise at his words and release a shudder through your bloodstream.
You’re helpless, you’ve fallen, you’re entirely under his embrace as you whisper, “Thank you, Sir.”
God, you’re making a fool of yourself.
Tim smirks, “Don’t thank me yet, we aren’t finished.”
Right, of course, breath.
Tim leans back into your desk, the moonlight that shines through your window from behind him glimmers an everlasting white glow onto his physique- causing a simple yet effective spotlight onto his back. You watch his hands grip tightly onto the edge of the desk causing his muscles to flex and sharpen his veins and his knuckles whiten from the pressure.
You quickly divert your gaze away.
“Breath is the hardest to fake. It’s involuntary and tied to emotion more than anything else. Breathing gives away more than you think. Controlled, even breaths mean someone’s calm. Quick, shallow ones?” He tilts his head and suddenly he’s moving closer to you where only two steps closer would have you colliding with him. His eyes tauntingly stare into yours, “Nervous. Or perhaps…something else?”
...Something else?
At first, you look at him blankly because the underlying words he points out in the explanation are far too relatable to how you feel in this sudden moment.
And then, you immediately curse yourself with a shit in and try to hold your breath.
Yet, it would be too late supposedly- he’s already noticed.
Your face heats as you stammer a line of defence, “I’m…calm.”
“Relax,” he says, his tone equal parts teasing and commanding, “It’s not a bad thing. Just…interesting.”
Interesting? Interesting?
It's one word but with that, your heart’s thump echoes throughout your body, your rib cages shake and the blood swimming in your veins only accelerates with pace and quantity. You force yourself to breathe in…breathe out…but there’s no use to it.
Does that mean he knows? Does that mean he’s caught on? And to the extent of how badly you want him? Surely he knows there’s tension, but does he know you’re not just thinking about kissing him but fucking him too? Does he know?
You shake your head to rid the thoughts- whatever he knows now is all that he’ll get out of you and nothing more. Your TO doesn’t need to know that you see him as something more than just a higher line of authority to you.
However, the air feels charged now, and the warm-tinted lights above you flicker against the overwhelming whirlwind of energy surrounding the room- the candles, too.
The bastard continues as if that moment never happened, “Breath is all about pace, depth, and how someone breathes when they’re worked up, nervous, or completely in the moment.”
You focus intently as he takes a slow, deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a purposeful rhythm. Then, without warning, his breath quickens, shallow and uneven, his shoulders moving with each exhale.
“What do you notice?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.
You hesitate, your pulse pounding in your ears. “The slow breath...controlled. Like you’re trying to stay calm. But the quick breaths- panic? Or excitement?”
Tim’s expression softens, and for the first time, you catch a hint of something unguarded in his gaze, “Nicely done, Boot. You’ve definitely got it, you just need to stop overthinking and start trusting yourself.”
Your body eases as his words settle over you and the anxiety that once was gnawing at you has long frizzled away; you’re getting better. “Eyes, body, breath,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. “Got it.”
Tim’s shoulders relax, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That's it. Now let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention. I want you to read me.”
There’s a pause as you take into his words, and then you frown, “What?”
Your puzzled expression causes him to grin, “You’re going to observe me. Call it like you see it. Eyes, body, breath.”
Your heart skips, “You want me to...analyse you?”
“Exactly,” Tim says with a shrug, settling into the desk more comfortably as he leans back into it. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he gestures for you to start. “Well? What do you see, Boot?" he prompts, his tone playful but laced with that familiar authority.
You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes and your fingers fidget from your sides. The pressure encapsulates you, you’ve never read anyone this closely before- let alone your own TO.
“Okay, well…” Clearing your throat, you start at his eyes first, studying his baby blues closely, “Your gaze is...steady,” you say, your voice a little shaky at first. “You’re watching me closely but you’re not narrowing your eyes or tensing your jaw. That tells me you’re open but still in control of the situation.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“Your body is…relaxed,” You continue, noting how his posture oozes confidence. “But the way your fingers are tapping against the desk means you’re impatient.” But impatient of what?
Tim arches a brow, his expression unreadable, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath when you look down at his rosy lips, “And your breathing,” Your eyes move down to his chest too, “It’s even. Controlled. You’re not nervous or frustrated- you’re calm.”
There’s a beat of silence as Tim studies you, his face giving away nothing. And then, slowly, a grin spreads across his lips, “Not bad- I’ll give that to you.”
Relief flushes to your cheeks at the same time a little sigh leaves your lips at his approval, your chest swelling with pride. Thank fuck for that, thank fuck you did it, thank fuck you-
“But you missed one thing.”
You halt. Brows furrowing and eyes squinting as you look back at him with your mind replaying the previous scenes continuously, “What…What did I miss?”
Tim’s gaze locks onto yours, and for that split moment of silence, the air buzzes between you two, “My eyes,” he says gently, “They’ve been completely locked on you this whole time.” He tilts his head as his tone drops low, “What do you think that tells you?”
You hesitate. The flames that crackle from the candles of afar produce white noise in a way to ease the tension within you two and you find yourself warming up at his honesty, “It means...you’re focused on me. You’re analysing me as much as I’m analysing you. Maybe even testing me.”
“Exactly,” he commends, “When someone maintains direct eye contact, it can mean a lot of things: confidence, challenge, or, in this case, testing boundaries. But always remember, context matters. Eyes alone don’t tell the full answer.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels much smaller. Tim’s words hang in the air, heavy with a meaning you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack.
But he doesn’t wait for your approval of understanding- you two have gone too far for that now, "You did great but-" He suddenly stands up, “Let me show you how observation is done."
You swallow hard to where you watch him and how slow and calculated his steps are compared to your fast-pumping body. Like a trance, your irises are glued to him and how he begins to circle you.
“If you were smart enough to notice, Boot.” He begins, “You’d realise this whole time I’ve been observing you, from ever since the moment you opened your door and looked at me with begging eyes for help to now, where every look and touch I give you makes you melt.”
You look to your side and stare down into the spurts of fire that dance on your dining table in the hopes of grounding yourself.
“You’re trying too hard to control yourself,” he mentions first, catching onto your force of engagement away from him and you curse yourself in your head. “You and I both know it’s too late for that. Did you know your eyes gave you away first? The way you couldn’t stop looking at my lips whenever I spoke, or how they flutter when I step closer to you with pupils dilated.” He then pauses behind you, his breath just as warm against your ear as the flames that sit mockingly from afar.
Your stomach flips. His breath tickles your neck and you feel the motion of one of his hands gripping the left side of your hip to turn you towards the desk, leaving you trapped between the desk and him. His other hand lifts your right arm’s sleeve up and he hums at the obvious sign on your limb.
“And this?” His fingers ghost over your skin, “The goosebumps. Your body’s way of screaming at me without saying a word. ”
You shudder but, you don't pull away.
Tim approaches closer, his lips brushing your ear, “Do you want me to stop?”
Because undeniably, there is a massive line you two are crossing here between TO and rookie, mentor and learner…man and woman.
A line that is shamed upon, unforbidden, unrealistic, unnecessary, and all in all, everything wrong. You know that once this line has been crossed, nothing will ever be the same between you two and the actions that are made tonight could have terrible, horrible, guilty consequences. Would Tim even be able to look you in the eye after this? Would you be able to for him? Would all the progress of a partnership between a kind and curious rookie to her rough and shrewd TO mean everything or nothing at the end of this? Would it all be worth it in the end?
But despite it all, there is no inch in your trembling body that screams yes as an answer to him.
“No,” you whisper.
And that settles it.
Tim turns you around to face him and he's towering over you with how close you are. He's never been this close. Not even when he'd use it as an intimidating tactic to yell at you- but his usual complexion of dominating is softer now...luring...assuring.
With gentle fingers, he reaches up to one of your temples and tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ears, and a tremor releases so strongly that your exhale comes out shaky.
Tim teasingly smirks at your body's reaction, "You tremble every time I touch you, but you never tell me to stop or act upon your actions, which can only mean one thing," He resumes, drawing slow circles into the dip of your waist, "you want me to make the first move...Would I be correct?"
Your blush of embarrassment fills your cheeks at how easily he's read you and how awfully pathetic your body can betray you under his observation. And he's looking back at you with that knowing look that he truly has you wrapped around his finger.
"Yes, Sir," You mumble shamefully, "That would be correct."
"Well, if that's the case," He starts, re-tucking the strand of hair he was working on before cupping the side of your jaw into his warm yet rough hand, "What do you think your body’s telling me right now?"
You squirm. Not because you don't want to answer him, but because you don't know whether he knows just how badly you want him. You don't just want to feel his lustful lips seer into a fiery kiss with yours. God no, your needy and wet core yearn for him.
With a beating heart ringing throughout your ears and your half-lidded eyes locked onto his, you find yourself gathering any source of confidence before replying: “That it really wants to get fucked by you.”
Within those longing seconds of awaiting his answer, you notice how his eyelids widen but then retreat back to a squint with his blues no longer there. Instead, black takes over the space. His lips curl into a salacious smile and he whispers attagirl before bringing you closer to his face with the pull of his hand.
The praise sends a jolt through you, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours with a desirable hunger that ignites every nerve in your body.
It’s not soft nor tentative (not that you would have expected any different from Tim) but you're revelling in how raw, commanding and powerful it is. You’re drowning in it for your greed pushes your breath aside to capture his kiss again. But just as equally, it’s like his very own lips are the only thing keeping your head afloat. They're a gentle saviour to your overwhelming built-up of feelings that could have done more damage than good to yourself if you continued the way you had by trapping them in your already busy mind.
In saying that, while Tim’s hand grips the side of your jaw to angle it back to deepen the kiss with his own personal invitation of his tongue, you can’t help but sigh in ultimate relief at how loudly this act of intimacy fills the weight of every stolen glance and unspoken word that has ever passed between you two. So much so that you feel like your feelings are being…reciprocated.
He’s precise with how he kisses you, and you don’t realise he’s pushing you back from the grip of his hand on your hip until you feel the hard surface of the desk just digging into your backside.
A moan slips from your throat as his hands lightly trace all the way down to cup your ass. He squeezes lightly before hoisting you up so you sit completely on the desk's edge.
Are there some pages scrunched from the sudden friction of movement and are there some papers you’re sitting on right now? Sure, but it’s not like either of you noticed anyway.
His fingers travel under your hoodie, roaming your velvet skin beneath his contrast of rough hands. As you finally pull away from the kiss, your moment to catch your breath is immediately disrupted by Tim lowering his face and placing wet and feather-like kisses on the side of your exposed neck. His stubble tickles your sensitive skin and your body reacts by canting your head back to provide more space for him to explore.
Your voice is breathy as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Tim, are you like this with...all your rookies?”
You can hear a small chuckle leave his throat, but he doesn’t pull away from you, “No, just ones who I know will…” He kisses you, “pass…” Another kiss, “their…” Another one, “exam.” And his tone is teasing with his raspy voice vibrating against you.
You stifle a laugh at the same time you let out a yelp at the sudden pinch against your neck, already knowing without looking that he’s creating a hickey, “Fuck- Sir,” And your hands have their own mind as they move up to his head. They cradle him there, your grip tight but comforting and your nails dig into the roots of his now dry short strands.
There’s no pushing him away as he draws one…two…three hickeys into your now bruised skin. Then, he pulls away to finally meet your low-lidded gaze, your mouth agape in hunger and full-blown lust.
But, he’s just like you. His cologne is now imprinted on your clothes and your eyes wander lower to his lips, then his sharp jawline, to where his chest furiously pounds against his white tee- and you feel yourself dripping wet at the thought of what may lay undernea-
“-You’re way too easy to read, Boot.” His voice cuts off your thoughts and you snap your focus to look back up at him to where a smug smirk rests upon those swollen red lips of his.
Your words are confident despite still flushing pink in your cheeks, “Not trying to be subtle about it.” You murmur, pulling your arms away from him to give him the space he needs to step back slightly. Then, he’s reaching behind his neck and your breath catches as he grabs the collar of his white T-shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid, practised motion. The movement is so calculated, so commanding, that it leaves you momentarily stunned.
However, what’s most important is that he now stands before you, shirtless. It's such new territory that at first you aren’t too sure how to react- the sight of his bare chest and sculpted shoulders steals every coherent thought from your mind. But, when he moves in closer to you, your body instinctively reaches out and traces the muscles that flex beneath your fingertips' nerves.
You can’t restrain the moan rumbling deep from your core and you draw him into another kiss. This time, however, your hands roam his body- he’s even hotter than the searing air floating throughout your apartment.
Tim’s fingers inch to the hem of your hoodie, tugging it to motion you to take it off which, of course, you oblige. Pulling away, you glance up at him before grabbing the edges of your hoodie and taking it off, now becoming a collection on the floor with Tim’s shirt. Ultimately, this leaves you in nothing but your bra and sweatpants.
Again, new territory means you’re incredibly nervous for what's to come and it doesn’t help that Tim is just…staring at you.
“Do I look okay?” You try to swallow your anxieties as you try to not cover yourself and instead fiddle with your fingers in your lap, “Do you…like what you see?”
The low groan of Tim’s fuck that rasps out of his heavy breath is his first sentence, and then he’s gripping your waist again and he pulls himself closer to you, his eyes discovering every inch of your body for a split second before he trails his baby blues back to meet yours, “Oh, I don’t know, Boot, why don’t you tell me?”
At first, you think he’s joking, just playing along from your previous events of learning observation. But then he’s giving you that look, and he’s angling his head as if awaiting your answer and…oh, he wasn’t joking.
You blush furiously and you honestly feel like you could sweat from how hot you feel, but still, you obey and Tim can’t stop the pulse of pressure his hands indent into your waist from excitement and impatience. “Okay, well-” Already being so hyper-fixated on him assists in identifying his body language as you stare into his eyes, “Your pupils are dilated and heavy, which are easy signs of arousal. Your breathing is…erratic- meaning, you’re out of breath but also could mean you’re excited…or nervous. And…your body is close to me. Your hands hold me in place so I can’t leave and you’re leaning into me- you want more.”
He is leaning into you, and he certainly does want more. His forehead now nearly touches yours as he yearns for the touch of your body, “And?”
“…And?” You knit your eyebrows, trying to think about what else of his body language could mean more for his arousal.
Until, you feel his rock hard cock in his jeans pushing right into your covered core.
Your mouth faintly forms an ‘o’ shape at the realisation that your TO is very much so turned on by you. And the blush that was already there has doubled in heat and redness, your chest thumps wildly from it.
“Remember, sweetheart,” He begins teasingly, his fingers rising up from your stomach and around your back to where your bra’s clasps sit, “Put it all together now- eyes, body and breath. Like a puzzle piece, what does it tell you?”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You slightly choke on your breath as you struggle to form words at how to exactly tell him that he, too, wants to fuck you.
But, that’s it- there is no other way. There are simply no other words that can form a coherent sentence that relates even closely to what his body is begging for you to do.
You find yourself a stuttering and flustered mess, “You do like what you see and that-” You whisper the next words, “-you really, really want to fuck me.”
“That’s it,” he coos, his lips barely grazing your forehead as he undoes your bra one clasp by another, slow but sensual, “Good girl, you're such a quick learner.”
Your breath hitches, his words making your stomach flip and your mouth falls open like jelly. He pulls back just enough to smirk at your reaction and then he’s taking your bra off, leaving your breasts completely bare.
“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice rough, “You like hearing that, don’t you?”
But before you can reply, his lips move down your chest via kisses, only to then attach to your right nipple.
Immediately, you arch into the warm embrace of his mouth, the heat of his touch sending sparks of arousal through every nerve in your body down to your wet pussy. His left hand keeps your other breast occupied while the other traces lazy lines into your back.
You’re so fucking turned on that your hands connect with the one thing closest to them: his jeans.
So, as Tim licks and flicks your nipple with his tongue, your fingers move to unbutton his jeans and pull his zipper down with the utmost haste. Then, as his jeans fall to the ground, you tug down his grey Calvin Kleins’, and you can’t help but moan loudly as just when Tim faintly brushes his teeth against your sensitive bud, he becomes completely bare from entrapment and his cock springs free.
He’s…fuck, he’s massive.
You flutter your eyes as Tim tackles your other nipple, your top teeth gently grazing your swollen bottom lip. And without thinking a second into it, your hands are already reaching out to grasp his cock, one sitting at his thick base and the other resting at his leaking pink tip. There, you move in motion to how the man assaulting your chest circles your breasts and if there is one thing you could wish upon the dazzling moonlight from behind your apartment’s illuminating windows, it would be to keep a forever replaying record of your TO’s groan. It’s husky, low, and quite honestly, the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.
Your hands continue their rhythm, the one on the base twisting at the same time that your palm does too, making sure to collect all drops of pre-cum and distribute it onto every inch of him.
Tim pulls away, breathless and he lowers his forehead onto your shoulder, groaning again, “Fuck, Boot, feels so good,” He whispers against your smooth skin, kissing the spot his lips rest upon.
You pull back to capture his whole face just for a second and before you even realise it, your subconscious reads him- observes him;
Shut eyes and knitted brows…concentration. Concentrated on the feeling. Messy hair…‘sex’ hair. Breathless and imbalanced breathing…aroused, excited. Pretty eyelashes fluttering. Leaning in…wanting more, always wanting more.
And then, he opens his eyes.
But the emotions still stick around.
There’s a smirk tugging on your lips as the hand that once rested on his base has now lowered a little more to where his balls rest. The smallest touch of your fingers playing with them has pride blossoming throughout your veins at the gasp that escapes him.
You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so gentle, so…exposed. But, you like it. For someone so hard-headed and constantly wearing a frown so much it’ll probably cause early-aged wrinkles, you savour in this moment where he’s content.
He’s content because of you.
So lost in thought, you don’t notice that you both have directed your eye contact down to watch your hands glide perfectly around him- and Tim’s untying the drawstring’s bow on your sweatpants.
You feel his words more than hear them, his voice gravelly and thick with need as he grunts, “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing this.”
A sly smile spreads across your lips, your new profound ego boost intoxicating your persona as it breaks through your haze of desire. “What? This?” You tease as one hand reaches lower to trace his perineum and the other, slick with moisture, rubs his frenulum.
His jaw tightens, his knuckles tightening on your pants’ waistband, “Careful,” he warns, his tone dark but laced with that tempting edge that makes your stomach flip.
You analyse him and how his breath has changed its route to quick yet airy inhales and exhales and as much as he tries to look at you, his arousal says otherwise with the way his eyelids flutter.
You hum, “You should be the one that’s careful, Sir- you’re getting close.”
He lifts an eyebrow at you, “Oh, you want to test me?” he growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His baby blues are stormy now, locked on yours as his hands tug your pants down your ass and thighs until they fall with gravity to the floor and you're left in nothing but your panties. The cool desk connecting with your skin contrasts with the heat you radiate in this very sudden moment, “Well, let’s see how long you last.”
Before you can respond, his fingers are slipping your underwear down as well, and he’s brushing his index finger against your slick heat.
You gasp, wrapping one hand back on his cock while the other places itself beside you, clutching onto the edge of the desk for stability. His thumb has already found your clit and he wastes no time circling it slowly and deliberately. “Already so wet for me,” he mutters, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His other hand grips your chin and tilts it up, forcing you to look at him. “I want to hear every little sound, understand?”
You nod breathlessly, barely able to form words as one finger slides inside you, curling just right against that plush cushioning of your g-spot.
“Good girl,” he praises, his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you, "How's that feeling?"
Tim’s fingers are long and rough as he fucks them into you, hitting all the right spots within you that have you shuddering into a hot and overwhelming bliss. You've left your attention off of his cock as you pull your hand away and place it also on the edge of the desk, selfishly taking into account your own pleasure in this heated moment. He’s just so excellent at this that even your own digits couldn't reach the areas he can and you wish he were here every time you were aroused so he could come back and bless you like this over and over again.
You don't even know how to reply to him but yet you still stutter out incoherently, "Fuck, so good, holy shit."
Your senses hit an overdrive- you don’t know whether to look at his dark irises and that smug smirk you want to kiss off, the hand that's moved from your chin to your waist, his fingers or, really, nothing by shutting your eyes closed. The air is thick and sticky from the arousal filling your apartment, and the only noise that can be heard is your heavy breaths, the occasional moan from you and your pussy squelching from Tim’s teasing fingers.
“Sir-” You start, but what are you even going to say?
Luckily, he knows exactly what you need, “I know, baby, I know,” He coaxes, placing a tender kiss on your lips as he adds a second finger and his other hand diverts its attention from your waist to your aching clit, earning himself another gasp that he collects into his memories, “Doing so well for me, aren’t you?”
Fuck, he's right- you aren’t going to last. Your bundle of nerves have already begun fluttering within your core’s walls and your breath is harder to catch the longer he’s fucking into you.
You pull your lips away from him, finding comfort in the nook between his neck and shoulder as you nibble gently down on his skin and you’re begging, “Please, please, Sir…” but for what? Release? More? Harder? Rougher? Faster?
But, Tim gets it, he really does. Despite never have laying a finger like this on you ever since knowing you, it’s like he knows exactly how to please you.
You’re a kind and gentle person and a good rookie who obeys and listens- that’s a starter. You need to be talked through things, especially from him whether that be helping you with your P2 exam or...well, fingering you (Regardless, he's giving you the satisfaction you need either way). And on the rare occasion when Tim praises your work, there’s a flash of something dark that flutters within your eyes and eyelashes like an addiction, an obsession to have more. It wasn’t hard for your body to tell him that his praise wasn’t just a compliment to you, it was something you’d be going to bed fantasising about.
"Taking my fingers so good, Boot,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, the rumble of his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. “Wonder what you’ll be like taking my cock.” His veins pump heavily out of exhaustion with each hook movement he gestures from his index and middle finger and his other thumb pushes into your clit with such delicate yet deliberate circular motions.
His words have you gasping and your shaky legs widening which, in return, has the desk rattling even more- but that’s the last of either of your concerns.
“Sir, I’m so close-”
“-Oh, don’t worry, I know,” He taunts because, really, you’re quite obvious about it. But Tim is more revelling in how your warm pussy flutters around him, your sharp breaths coming from your pretty lips and your trembling body that follows.
Then, one of your hands clasps the back of his head and you’re pulling him closer to you, a loud gasp drawing from the deep heavens of your voice with a symphony of oh, oh fuck~ that he knows exactly the moment your orgasm has peaked.
“Breathe through it,” He coaxes, though his voice betrays the tension running through him, his own arousal barely contained as he watches you come undone beneath him. He milks your climax, his fingers slowing down to a faint manoeuvre within you and your clit just being grazed as he places featherlight kisses on your forehead. And yet, you still listen; trying to catch your ever-escaping breath as your body quivers down from your high, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
One, two, three heartbeats echo within your ears as you sit there tirelessly, your eyes that were once shut now fluttering open to meet your TO’s stare- the man who just gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life.
You swallow hard, your breathing slowly returning to a steady rhythm. Tim pulls his fingers out of you, and a pang of emptiness settles in your core. That is, until another wave of arousal tingles through you as your gaze drops to his fingers that glisten with your juices. You exhale a shaky puff of hot air, “Wow, that was-“
“-Was?” Tim cuts you off, his voice rich with authority and a suggestive lilt that he always had whenever you would say something while he was training you in the shop. He tilts his head as his hands travel under your thighs, canting your body so your pussy is fully exposed to the warm glow of the overhead light. The sight of you is iridescent - flushed, radiant, utterly wrecked - and it steals his breath. In this very moment of Tim’s sexual tendencies and the release of bundled-up feelings: you are an angel, “Oh, Boot, I’m not done with you yet.”
His words are all that you need to hear to have your heartbeat spiking back up again, your breath hitching and the wetness between your legs intensifying.
Fuck, that is exactly what you wanted to hear.
There’s a smirk on his face and he widens your legs, stepping closer into your space. He gently pushes you back with one hand resting on the back of your head so you now lay completely flat on the desk. His cock's tip aches red as it just gently rests at your entrance. You squirm as he lets it glide through your folds, gathering your slick and nudging against your throbbing clit before returning to tease your entrance.
“Sir,” You prop yourself up on your elbows as you glare at him, a groan slipping in frustration and your hips instinctively arch towards him, seeking more.
“I got you, Boot,” He murmurs, eyes daring into yours as he drags his cock through your folds once more before pressing the blunt head against your entrance, this time with a little more pressure.
Then slowly, he pushes in.
The small gasp you let out as you feel his tip stretching you forces Tim to recite lines and lines of the Police Handbook in his mind in order to not fucking cum from your pretty noises, and it doesn’t help that you’re staring deep into his dark gaze with heavy eyes, filled with pleasure and need.
He continues to push into you and your mouth falls agape, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he finally bottoms out, his hips completely flush against yours.
There’s stillness, aside from the blood that races throughout your system and both of your chests heaving. And you’re staring at each other with such hunger, desperation, sensualness. In this angle from where you lay, the moonlight’s physique compliments yours as it shines directly onto you, lighting you up like you're some kind of Goddess.
In Tim's eyes, you are.
He doesn’t leave you waiting long- he pulls back just enough before thrusting in to bury inside you. Your head falls back against the desk as your body adjusts to the massive intrusion, a moan rumbling through the both of you. Whether it be your imagination or that you’re actually basking in it from where you lay, you are for sure seeing stars the more he pushes into you. The stretch is exquisite, every inch filling you and igniting a fire that spreads through your entire body.
While at first, his movements are slow, a pace begins to pick up, and it’s to the point where Tim’s locked onto your waist and he’s pounding into you.
His fingernails dig into your flesh, “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face,” He breathlessly says, to which you immediately lift yourself up, along with propping back up onto your elbows for support and you melt at the man that stands in front of you.
Of course, you always thought your TO was hot- in a way that was desirable and intimidating in chorus. But right here, right now where his hair is a hot sweaty mess, his pupils are full blown out black, and his muscles are flexing in all the best ways possible as he fucks into you is an absolute sight to see.
He grins at the way you observe him, “That’s right, baby, taking me so well,” He inches in closer to draw his lips into yours.
The kiss is everything of a mess; tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clattering, hot breaths engulfing one another, but, it’s everything right too. This new angle has him fucking you deeper and the stretch has you moaning into his mouth.
“You make me feel- fuck-” You choke out at a hard thrust, “amazing.” And sincerely, you don’t want this to end.
Tim groans, sweat beading his forehead, “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” He fucks you hard again, “How much I…want you?”
Your heart flutters, an overwhelming dose of praise hitting you and you think about how he’s probably praised you the most today out of all the other days you soldiered through being tormented as his rookie. No other day you have had with him has or will ever compare to right now- sexually, romantically and morally. From moments where he’d spend the whole day glaring and yelling at you like you were an absolute waste of time to…now, where he’s confessing not just his desire for your body, but for you.
At first, you’re taken aback by it, eyes widening in utter surprise. But then you rake your gaze up his eyes, down to his body, then back up to his breath and…yeah he isn’t quite hiding it.
“I…” You collect your breath, “I think I may have an idea.”
He chuckles breathlessly, making sure to really bury himself into you for your smartass mouth, “Fuck, of course, you do, I’ve taught you well.”
But the banter falls just as quickly as your smile when you feel the coil in your core tightening. And it’s like he sees it too and so he slows his movements, pulling out almost entirely before leaning down to peck you. Then, he whispers against your lips, “Turn over for me.”
The command sends a fresh wave of heat vibrating through you, and without hesitation, you obey. You allow him to reluctantly pull out and you shakily step off the desk (completely ignoring the mess of scrunch-up and ripped papers) before standing and turning away from him, bracing your hands against the desk.
Tim’s calloused hands slide down your back, over the curve of your ass, then one hand moves to your mid-back and the other to the back of your head and again, he’s ever so slowly pushing you down. Finally, you’re face down on the desk and before you can say anything about how he’s never been so soft on you before and that maybe this should teach him to be more easy-going on you while training you, he’s sinking his cock back into his home.
He doesn’t hold back this time. His thrusts are steady and unrelenting, each one drawing a mix of moans and cries from you. He manhandles your arms to rest behind your back and he’s clutching onto your wrists with one hand.
“You’re so beautiful like this. Every little sound you make- it’s all for me, isn’t it?” And then, if it couldn’t get any better than his flourish of praise reddening your already blushed cheeks, his other hand snakes around to your front, his fingers finding your clit again and rubbing slow, torturous circles that only add to the intensity.
With the extra stimulation to your bundle of nerves, that ever-growing bubble forms once again and your breath hitches, “Oh my God, Sir, please, I need to- ah-”
“What is it, sweetheart?” You can hear him hum, his stare burning through your head, constantly pounding into you at a pace that even you can’t handle. He knows what you need, of course he does- but, he’s a tease and won’t let you go that easily.
Your legs start to shake, your body trembling with the force of the pleasure building inside you. Your smart mouth has withered away under his dominance as you blush in embarrassment and stutter out, “Cum! Fuck’s sake, Tim, I need to cum.” Only to shyly add, “Please, Sir- you’re driving me crazy.”
Tim stifles a laugh at your sudden outburst before tightening his grip on your wrists, “Of course, baby, let go. I want to feel you cum around my cock.” But he isn’t far off from you either, feeling the tightening in his balls.
It’s at this moment that he, as well, wishes you two could stay like this- hot, aroused. And with this position, you both have the moon brightening onto your scene, shining on you two as if you were one, if you were...together, connected.
Tim applies just the perfect amount of pressure to your clit that it pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you crying out his name, your walls fluttering around him as your vision tunnels and blurs.
Tim doesn’t let up, his thrusts slowing but growing deeper as he chases his own release, his breathing ragged and strained. Your whimper of overstimulation is swallowed by his low groan, the sound vibrating through your already spent body. With one last thrust, he leans over you, his strong arms bracing the desk on either side of you and he stills. His hips press flush against you as his hot threads of cum spill inside you, his grip on your body grounding him as he rides out the waves of pleasure.
The room falls silent.
Except, this time, there’s a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air- your breaths sync into a rhythmic cadence as they slowly return to normal, the goosebumps aren’t from tension anymore but from the coolness of the room, and your heart is stable, balanced, content.
Tim is still leaning over you, and you can hear the moment his breathing steadies because he plants a kiss on the back of your neck and murmurs, “You okay?” His voice is silk to your ears but filled with genuine concern as his hand traces up your back, brushing strands of hair from your face and tucking them gently behind your ear.
You hum in response, “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice laced with exhaustion and exhilaration.
Tim chuckles, low and warm, before he stands back up and pulls out of you carefully, earning a little whimper from your sensitive body. He shushes you soothingly, his hands running down your back and over your hips, grounding you. “I’ve got you, Boot,” he coaxes, and you believe him.
Before you can fully process it, he’s guiding you to sit in the desk chair that had been abandoned oh so long ago. He presses a kiss to your temple, “I’ll be right back.”
You nod, your eyelids heavy as you sink into the cushioning chair.
Your mind is a blur, but thankfully, it isn’t because of stress for the P2 exam, or that stupid topic on Body Language. If anything, your body’s still buzzing, your mind blissfully blank from being thoroughly fucked.
When Tim returns with a damp, warm cloth, you watch him kneel in front of you. “I think I may have found my new favourite learning technique,” You whisper, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you watch him clean you up with the utmost care.
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, “Good thing you won’t be a rookie for long, then. Otherwise, I might have to come up with a few more creative teaching methods."
“…I’ll think of things to learn.”
He pauses, his attention turning fully to you, his eyes softening in a way that feels foreign on his usually hardened face, “Biased or not, Boot, you will pass the exam. I know it.”
The humour once slipping hoarsely from your mouth grows quiet as your cheeks flush with affection and his words of kindness, “Thank you.” You murmur just as you gently exhale.
He smiles, then leans in to kiss your forehead, “Always.”
The weight of his gaze settles on you, and it’s not just lust anymore- it’s something deeper, something unspoken. It makes your heart flutter in a way that’s almost more overwhelming than the physical intensity you just shared.
Once he finishes cleaning you, you invite him down to your couch. He obliges, pulling you into his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, lulling you into a peaceful haze.
synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.
status - ongoing
taglist - open
intro (chapter 1)
HOW TO GET BACK AT HER - to do list
make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state
2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday
3. go on an interview show together
4. flaunt your proposal in her face.
5. recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.
6. heated and messy livestream on Instagram
7. do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound
8. even messier podcast
9. soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.
Just imagining Reader being close friends with Missus Laswell. You met by chance in a weekend crafting class; and despite being two decades apart, with wildly different backgrounds, the two of you somehow clicked. She was warm, witty, and steady in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. And it was comforting to have someone local when Kate was off saving the world.
Of course, eventually you met Kate Laswell herself: sharp, charming in a dry way, and surprisingly easy to talk to. The three of you grew close, the kind of bond where wine nights blurred into sleepovers, and you found yourself slowly opening up.
They knew all about the boyfriend. About the subtle threats. The tracking apps. The gaslighting. The bruises that never turned black, only ached deep enough to scare. They never pushed, but Kate made sure you had a key to their house, just in case.
And one night, just in case became now.
You burst through the door, rain soaked and shaking, hair plastered to your cheeks, voice raw and cracking as you blurted, “He cut the brakes in my car. I think- I think he cut the fucking brakes-!”
And then you froze.
Because there, at the dining table, were four men you didn’t recognize. Big, broad shouldered, all turning to look at you mid-sentence, eyes sharp, expressions going from surprise to cold calculation in seconds.
Missus Laswell rose slowly from her seat. “Sweetheart,” she said evenly, stepping between you and the table, “come here.”
You blinked. Your pulse roared in your ears. “… S-sorry. I didn’t realize you had anyone else over.”
Kate’s jaw ticked, but she smiled, calmly.
“Friends of mine,” she said. “And now, yours.”
The man at the end of the table stood. Big. Bearded. British. Voice like gravel “Did you say someone cut your brakes?”
You nodded, breath catching, dazed, tears pricking your eyes again. “M-my boyfriend…”
He looked to Kate. Then to the others. There must have been some sort of communication between them because when he turned back to you all he said was:
omg hello! requesting a part 2 to the threesome with ridoc and sawyer with innitistic reader 🥹 can be fluff or smut, either or, or both?? def need their reactions to how she knew they both wanted her 😩 tytyty!!!
Thank you for sending in a request, I really enjoyed writing this (even though it took me a while, sorry) I'm not looking to make a whole series or anything, but I think I could do like one of those things where people request scenarios with these characters, and the fics aren't really in any specific order, or a cohesive story, does that make sense? Do you know what I'm talking about? Anyway, hope you enjoy, @babypeapoddd
Secrets Laid Bare
Part 1 (This cannot be read as a stand alone)
The Poly Cafe
Summary: After their night together, Reader avoids Sawyer and Ridoc entirely. She unfortunately cannot hide forever and is forced to confront them where they learn her secret.
Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of murder, Panic attack, Prejudice against marked ones, Smut, Orgasm denial, Fluff, Angst, Hurt with comfort, Threesome, All involved parties are switches, Anal, Iron flame spoilers (You can read until the Xaden confrontation, there is a cut off) lmk if I missed anything
Word Count: 6.2k (4.9k without the extra scene)
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'So late, so late, so late', She chanted over and over again in her head. Y/n was supposed to be in physics right now, but after spotting Sawyer and Ridoc — neither of whom she'd spoken to after that night — she had practically turned tail and ran in the opposite direction, taking the long way around.
Context: Ridoc, Sawyer, and herself had a threesome two weeks ago, and while the sex had been fucking phenomenal, her mind had tormented her all night on the plethora of ways everything could go wrong. She woke up before the sun as a result, and crept out of the room they'd commandeered, adding them to the ever-growing list of people she had to avoid.
Some god must've taken pity on her, because that very morning, she was moved back out of their squad. Now, at this point, Y/n had become an expert at dodging people, but the more people she had to evade, the harder it became.
She was so preoccupied with everything that was going on, her own thoughts for once louder than everyone else's, that when she turned a sharp corner, she ran right smack into the middle of someone's chest. Y/n falls on her ass, rubbing her hands over her face, "Ow," She mutters, checking to make sure her nose wasn't broken.
She looks up at the person she'd run into only for her entire body to freeze when she realises she ran face first into Xaden Riorson. Y/n holds her breath, watching him. He stands there, tall and imposing as ever, studying her like a bug under a microscope. His expression is unreadable, one solid wall of concrete. It's a miracle she doesn't begin shaking. Up to this point, she had never seen the Wingleader this close, and she'd certainly never spoken to him. She could've gone the rest of her life without speaking to him and been very happy.
It felt like an eternity had passed, yet still, she was on the floor, frozen. Xaden hadn't moved an inch; if it wasn't for his chest moving up and down, she might've been convinced that she was really staring at a terrifyingly life-like statue. Unfortunately that was not the case. He stared down at her. It felt as if he was physically pinning her to the ground with the intensity of it. She didn't know what to do, what to think, so naturally, she lashed out with her signet. Y/n had discovered that along with mind reading, she could give people powerful head aches if she concentrated well enough.
Drawing from that well of magic inside of her, she throws it at him, imagining the glittering green energy into a spear, piercing his head. Her heart plummets when that metaphorical spear ricochets off of him and clatters to the ground with a sickening finality. Even though the attack does less than nothing, she swears she sees him flinch.
Xaden's onyx eyes widen, that in itself is more shocking than anything, Y/n doesn't think she can remember a time she's seen any expression on his face other than 'don't fuck with me; you won't live to regret it'. What happens next, is in short, a shit show.
"You're an inntinnsic," He whispers.
It's her turn to widen her eyes. First of all, how did he figure that out? More importantly though, what would he do to her now that he'd found out?
They stared at each other, unblinking and bewildered for several heartbeats before she did the worst possible thing she could've done in that situation.
She ran.
From Xaden. Fucking. Riorson. A shadow wielder, and her Wingleader.
'I'm dead. So, so dead.' Despite these thoughts, she continued to run like her life depended on it, because it very much did. Physics quickly became the last of her problems. The halls are mostly empty, all first years — which make up about 65% of the riders quadrant population — should be in class right now. She wasn't sure about the second and third years, but she also didn't care. Y/n just hoped that where ever everyone else was, that they stayed there.
Ridoc and Sawyer stood against the walls of the sparring gym, pretending to pay attention to their squadmates, and their techniques, but really, they were each lost in thought. Memories of that night plagued them both. Sawyer worried that they'd done something wrong, and every time he talked to Ridoc about it, the other rider reassured him that Y/n had consented enthusiastically, they'd both made sure of it. No matter what her actions after said, it wasn't their fault.
Ridoc had kept it to himself but he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't mad. He could understand leaving before they woke up — he wasn't particularly a fan of awkward morning after conversations himself — he could understand not wanting to talk to them, hell, he could even understand her avoiding them, but to this extreme? It could not possibly be so bad that she wouldn't even walk the same halls as them. That she also refused to eat in the mess hall when they were there was just the icing on the cake. He knew that they hadn't done anything wrong, so what the fuck was making her react like this? Is it because she's a marked one? Did she assume that himself and Sawyer would do something to her? Hold it over Y/n's head somehow? The very thought made his blood boil.
"I gotta step outside for a sec," He muttered out the corner of his mouth. Sawyer glanced up at him, and kicked off the wall, "Yeah, I could use some fresh air too; it's getting stuffy in here"
Getting away from people was kind of the point; he didn't know how long he could keep his features schooled, but if anyone was going to understand, it would be Sawyer, so he didn't complain. No one noticed when they slipped out, carefully closing the door behind them.
He took a deep breath, holding it for a few counts, before slowly releasing it in an effort to calm himself down. Sawyer cautiously asked, "You thinking about her again?"
"Fuck, when am I not?" Ridoc asked back. A hint of pain poorly disguising itself as anger coloured his tone.
"I'm so sick of this!" He grunts, kicking a stray piece of rubble as hard as he could, "Her avoiding us, I mean. It's not fair on anyone"
Ridoc wished that it was only the way she sank down on him, the way he felt buried inside her, the sounds she'd made that he missed, but it wasn't. Yes, he missed and wanted all of that back, but it wasn't what made his heart ache. He could live without ever being in the same bed as her again, but he couldn't live without her. Before the absolutely mind blowing sex, they'd been squadmates, friends even. He missed making her laugh, and the looks they'd send each other during classes when the teachers were being especially boring. His life was terribly lacking now. Every time he walked onto the flight field, he still expected to see the deep forest green of Nyla's scales. He scanned every class he entered for her, day after day, and it hurt when she wasn't there.
"You have to admire her commitment though," Sawyer remarks with an expression that says he was in desperate need of some churam, even if he didn't smoke.
The worst part? It was true. Ridoc had no clue how you did it. Neither of them had seen so much as a glimpse of you ever since they'd dosed off in a tangle of limbs.
Their moping was interrupted by the sound of someone booking it through the passageways. Sawyer and Ridoc looked to each other, both having matching 'what the fuck?' expressions on their faces.
To their complete shock and surprise, Y/n is the one that came hurtling toward them. Anger reared up inside him, before quickly being washed away. She looked scared, terrified, actually. No matter what she did, he didn't want her to get hurt, despite himself, he still cared.
As if suddenly recognising whom she was running to, she skidded to a halt. She glanced hastily between the two of them, and back the way she came. 'So she was running from something, but what?' Ridoc craned his neck to see around the bend, and though the only thing he saw were rippling shadows, he could guess what, or rather who, was there.
"Y/n, finally ready to talk to us," He very much hoped she would hear it as the scapegoat it was meant to be, and not the sharp jab it sounded like.
Y/n stared at them, panting. He could see the gears turning in her head. 'Come on, you're a smart girl. Get the message'
She nodded hesitantly at first, then with more surety, "Uh, yeah, yeah, talk- talking sounds good," She grabbed both their arms, and with surprising strength, she dragged them away. Ridoc, and Sawyer let themselves be pulled along. He didn't know if his friend had seen what he had, but he was glad Sawyer had played along nonetheless. Y/n practically shoved them inside another empty dorm room, her breath still shaking.
She sank down against the door, her legs coming up in front of her. Y/n buried her face in her knees, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Ridoc suddenly felt guilty for all the anger he'd harbored toward her. She was clearly going through something that had nothing to do with them. He hadn't even considered the possibility that it might've been something else entirely, which in hindsight, was incredibly ignorant of him. He didn't pretend to understand what it was like to be a marked one, but he knew it was vastly different. Maybe you hid from them in fear of ridicule. If word got out, Sawyer and himself would likely be praised for their 'sexual prowess' or even envied, but he wouldn't put it past the more small minded riders to slut shame you for the very same thing. Maybe it wasn't the other riders, but the marked ones you were concerned about. Would they judge you for having a threesome with two Navarrians? Or perhaps they already knew, and you were trying to mitigate the fall out. What did he know? Maybe—
"Stop! Stop! Please I can't— I can't think!" Y/n's fingers tangled themselves in her hair, gripping the locks painfully hard. They looked at each other confused. Neither of them had said a thing since she'd shoved them through the door. A flash of deja vu struck him like one of Violet's lightning bolts. The image of the cadet who'd manifested as an inntinnsic invades his head. The way he yelled while gripping his head eerily similar to what Y/n was doing now. Ridoc thinks back to that evening that had started it all, back in the sparring gym. How Y/n had snapped, yelling for one of them to 'just fuck me' as she'd put it, as if she'd known that they were thinking of her. Because she had.
It seems that Sawyer comes to the same conclusion just moments after. Y/n shakily raises her head. Tears stream down her blotchy cheeks as she nods ever so slightly. Finally, she meets their eyes, flicking between the two of them.
"Please," She gasps out. It's so soft, he almost doesn't hear it. "Please don't tell anyone," Her voice cracks. It sounds like every word is scraping out of her throat. "They'll kill me"
He remembered all too clearly how merciless professor Carr had been to that cadet. Picturing her in that situation... he shuddered.
It seemed that once again, Sawyer and Ridoc had come to the same decision. Ridoc crouched low beside her, bringing her shaking form closer to his chest. Sawyer mirrored his actions, rubbing her back in slow gentle circles, whilst his own hand played with her hair to calm her down.
"Hey, hey, we're not going to tell anyone. Nobody else has to know, this'll stay between us,"
He had no idea how they were going to hide a signet. At some point, someone would start asking questions. Though that was a problem for later.
"Tell us what we can do to help," Sawyer whispered.
"Just— Think about something else. Anything else"
Ridoc hated how weak she sounded. This wasn't her. Y/n was strong, and capable, and fierce when she wanted to be. However, he didn't think he could think about something else right now. He tried, for her, his mind running through the classes they still had today, and what would be served for dinner tonight.
It seemed to be working. The tears had stopped flowing, and her breathing had finally returned to normal. She still sniffed here and there, but that was to be expected. At least the trembling had stopped.
They all three sat there for some time, rocking back and forth. Ridoc thought she'd fallen asleep before she mumbled against him, "Not asleep"
He was confused, and then felt silly, remembering that she was a mind reader. She pulled back, looking up at him with a guilty expression.
"Sorry, it's not on purpose. I can't help it."
"You can't control it?" Sawyer asked her, not unkindly.
She shrunk into herself, embarrassed. "I— Not completely," She admits, "I can block out most people if I focus on one stream of thought, but anything thought about me is louder and more difficult to shield against"
That made him wonder how long she'd been tuning into their thoughts. When had she manifested? Likely before their night together. Was she reading his mind then? Was she doing it now?
"Yes, both of you, I am. What part of 'I can't block out thoughts about me' did you guys not understand?"
Sawyer and Ridoc look sheepishly at each other, caught red handed. A wave of sadness comes over him when he realises that if she heard everything they thought about her, then she must know about all the conversations him and Sawyer had had about that night. How they'd discussed at length that they both wanted to be more than friends with her, and that they were willing to share.
He quickly buried the memories, knowing she'd hear them. Apparently he hadn't been quick enough. She sat back, staring at him slack-jawed. Y/n swiveled her head around to face Sawyer with the same expression.
"I— Wha— Excuse me?!"
She continued to gape at them, "No. I very much was not aware of that, of any of that," She answers, mainly directing it at Ridoc. He had no idea where Sawyer's thoughts had taken him, but for once they weren't on the same page. He looked about as confused as Ridoc felt.
"You guys talked about being in a polyamorous relationship with me?"
"Oh. That. Right," Sawyer said lamely, now able to fill in the parts of the 'conversation' he missed.
"How come you don't know?" Ridoc asks.
"My telepathy doesn't reach very far. I haven't been close enough to hear either of you" Y/n explains, "I can only hear the thoughts of people about... two and a half metres (8.2 feet) from me. Give or take"
Oh. That made sense. It also comforted him a bit. He didn't like the idea of her hearing all the things he thought of when he— 'If I want her to continue not knowing, I shouldn't finish that thought'
She smiles apologetically at him.
"I could teach you guys how to shield," She offers, "It's not all that different from how you block out your dragons"
"I don't know... I kinda like it. What do you think Sawyer?"
"It'll take some getting used to for sure, but there are certain advantages that come with it"
Ridoc could tell by the slight change in tone that Sawyer's mind had gone to the exact same place his had. He reveled in the furious blush blooming on her cheeks.
"What's wrong sweetheart? Can you hear all the dirty things we want to do to you?" Her legs squeezed together as she avoided his eyes. Ridoc wasn't having it. He cups her face, forcing her to look at him as he spoke, "Is it making you wet? If I reach into your panties right now, are you going to be dripping for us?"
She bites her lip, staring up at him with an innocent expression. Behind her, Sawyer brushed the hair off her shoulders and leaned in close, brushing gentle kisses along her neck, "He asked you a question darling. You should answer him"
In a sudden surge of confidence, she locks her hazel eyes with his brown ones, all shyness vanishing from her body, "He can find out for himself," She challenges.
Ridoc smiles, delighted. "You really want to play it this way, huh? You've already been a bad girl. There are two of us, and one of you; your odds aren't good"
"I like my odds just fine," Her voice drops, becoming low and seductive, "Think you can handle me?"
Ridoc's gaze became predatory. He'd originally planned to be soft, and sweet, a nice welcome into this new relationship dynamic, but he had absolutely no problem teaching her a few lessons first.
"Oh, we'll do much more than 'handle you', sweetheart"
Ridoc scoops her up in one smooth motion, setting her on the bed with utmost care. He, with Sawyer's help, undress her meticulously, like they were trying to unwrap a Christmas present without tearing the paper. Ridoc begins to do a strip tease. Unbuckling each clasp one by one, and slowly drags the zipper down. He removes the shirt, then trails his fingers lightly over his abs down to his crotch. In her peripherals, Y/n sees Sawyer roll his eyes at Ridoc's display, having already undressed himself and is now standing there entirely naked, waiting for him to finish.
"You know, I'd like to get started before graduation, so can we speed this up please?"
Ridoc glares half-heartedly, grumbling, "No patience. No appreciation for the arts"
He complies though, taking off his pants without the dramatics. Before he can even finish the thought to get settled between her legs, Sawyer is shoving him out the way, "Nuh uh, you got to eat her out last time, I've waited weeks for a taste, entertain yourself," He then turns to Y/n, "You tell us after who does it better, yeah?"
She nods, smothering a smile when Ridoc scowls. Despite this, he doesn't argue, contenting himself with watching as Sawyer had the first time. He pushes her legs apart, and pauses, admiring.
"Fucking hell, I really missed out, didn't I?" He asks, pupils blown.
Ridoc smirks, thinking of everything he felt whist eating her out. How her thighs tried to close on his head, the show he'd put on for them. He's sure that to them it looked purposeful, but that's just what she made him want to do. He couldn't help it, he'd never enjoyed giving oral so much in his life.
"Just wait until you taste her. You'll never want anything more than being between her thighs"
Sawyer practically begins to tremble with desire, licking his lips like a dog. He lowers himself to be level with her entrance, shaking. He takes one tentative lick, scooping up some of the copious slick gathered and groans deep in his throat. All reservations are broken in that moment, the gentle facade ripped apart and in its place, a ravenous man on his knees in worship.
Y/n's hands fly to his hair, tangling in his sandy waves. She writhes, the sensations overwhelming her. It isn't helped by Ridoc's mouth skating over the sensitive skin of her neck, daring to leave hickies dangerously close to where they might be seen.
"Ridoc! Someone could— Ohh!" She begins to say, but is interrupted by a stinging bite on her clit. Y/n stares down bewildered at Sawyer. Ridoc chuckles, "Aww, he's jealous. Upset she's moaning my name, and not yours?" He taunts, "Didn't you say you'd 'show me how it's done?' Looks like you don't really know what you're doing"
Sawyer's eyes narrow dangerously. It's like she's no longer in the room. This is just between them. After a moment of pure undiluted fire burning into Ridoc, Sawyer fucking devours her. Y/n can barely breath from the relentless onslaught.
"Sawyer, Fuck SAWYER!"
He smiles against her, looking smugly at Ridoc. The ice wielder pays him no mind, which should've been the first warning. He does nothing as his friend works her to the very edge. Once she's there, Ridoc practically manhandles Sawyer, needing to use all his body weight to get him off of her. Sawyer whines, fighting to keep at it. Y/n cries out, panting, "Ridoc! Why'd you do that?"
"You decided you want to have an attitude, you think you get to cum just like that?"
Sawyer grumbles behind him, but accepts the turn that's been taken. He crawls back up the bed, lying next to her. Ridoc grabs his leathers, and fishes around in the deepest pants pocket before pulling out a bottle of lube.
"Aha! Been carrying this around just in case ever since... well, you know" He says. Real subtle.
Ridoc clambers so that he's the one between her legs. Y/n wraps them around his waist, yanking him closer.
"Patience, sweetheart. All in good time"
He says that, but apparently 'all in good time' means 'as quickly as I can lube my cock and get it inside you without causing pain'.
Ridoc thrusted deep inside her ruthlessly. Sawyer helped muffle her moans with his mouth on hers while Ridoc's sounded out around the room without any restrictions. Fuck he was enjoying this. He could feel Y/n clamping down on his cock. She was close, and he couldn't wait to rip her release away from her again.
In a sudden turn of events, Y/n pushed Sawyer away from her, and tugged Ridoc down instead. Before he could even register what had happened, she'd flipped him over, and begun riding him. He looked up at her dumbly, his breaths shuddering out of him.
"Inntinnsic, remember?"
Shit, that's right. Until he learned to shield, Y/n would always know what he was about to do before he did it. She has the entire night. Every time he'd 'stolen' her orgasm was only possible because she let him. He hated the way it reframed all the events of tonight. Hated even more how his traitorous body shivered with pleasure, and the way his cock twitched inside of her. Most of all, he hated the knowing smile on her face.
"Aww, you didn't think you were really in charge, did you?"
He tried to glare, but in the same moment, his eyes rolled back, and he arched up into her with a needy moan.
"Sawyer, won't you come over here and help your friend? His hole is in desperate need to be filled"
Fuck! He had really hoped she hadn't heard that little thought of his. Evidently he wasn't so lucky.
Sawyer looked shocked, but it didn't take a mind reader to see that he was extremely tempted. It occurred to Ridoc that Y/n wouldn't have suggested it unless she thought his friend would be interested. Did he think about fucking Ridoc? Was it a recent thought, or has it been on his mind for a while.
"Oh, Ridoc, you've got no idea what filthy things go on inside his head," She crooned. The deep blush rapidly spreading across his features gave Ridoc more questions than answers.
"He's feeling shy, how cute. Ridoc, tell him how much you want him," He hesitated. He'd be lying if he said he'd never imagined it, but never in all those fantasies had Ridoc thought Sawyer might actually want it too.
"Go on," Y/n encouraged, "Beg Sawyer to fuck you. Tell him how badly you need it"
Ridoc's eyes shoot to Sawyer. He seems unsure, gaze flitting about, never focusing on anything. Ridoc does what he does best, and pitches his voice needy and desperate, "Sawyer? Please? I need it so badly. Been dreaming about you forever. Imagining your cock when I touch myself"
The metallurgist looks to Y/n, as if asking for confirmation.
"Oh honey, that's a severe oversimplification of what he's fantasised about you"
Ridoc didn't know if Y/n was just saying that to help convince Sawyer, or if she really had been present in his mind during those imagined scenarios. She winked at him, which didn't actually answer his question.
Sawyer's hands clenched and flexed a few times, as if imagining clutching something, Ridoc's hips perhaps. He could see Sawyer's dick bobbing slightly. He almost drooled at the thought of all that inside him.
"Please, Sawyer, I need you," He bucked his hips up for emphasis. His friend glances at Y/n again, "Mistress," He starts, and Y/n allows her eyes to flutter shut briefly, pleased with the title, "May I?"
She places her hand under his chin, guiding him forward, "You are just perfect aren't you? Doing exactly as you're supposed to without having to be told"
She kisses the tip of his nose before releasing her hold on him, "Give it to him"
Sawyer doesn't hesitate, reaching for the lube and immediately applying it to Ridoc's entrance. He moans beneath her, gripping Y/n's arms to ground himself while his friend plays with him.
"Shh, shh, Sawyer's gonna take good care of you, don't worry. He'll fuck you nicely, won't you, Sawyer?" Y/n asks over her shoulder. He nods, leaning forward to kiss the juncture of her neck. The metallurgist meets Ridoc's brown eyes in a startling display of dominance, "Tell me to put it in"
Ridoc, unable to help himself, challenges him, "No. You want it just as badly as I do. Why should I have to beg?"
He grabs Y/n's hips, lifting her up and slamming her back down on him. It's too good, and he's already so desperate. Ridoc arches his back dangerously high, his face screwed up in a silent scream. "Because you're a good boy, and you listen"
He certainly was not, but that tone made him want to be. "Put it in me, please Sawyer"
He obliges his friend, rewarding him with the tip of his cock pushing inside the tight ring of muscle.
"More, more more more!" He cries.
Sawyer mercifully sinks in deeper, slowly inching in till he's completely buried in the ice wielder. He takes a moment to catch his breath, "Tell me... who do you belong to?"
It seems that Ridoc genuinely ponders the question, Knowing Sawyer wanted him to stroke his ego, and say his name, but of course, he'd rather stir the pot, "Y/n"
Sawyer clenches his jaw, gaze darkening on Ridoc over Y/n's shoulder, "No. Right now you belong to me. Say it. Say it, or I stop"
Ridoc stares back at him defiantly, daring his friend to end this. And he does. Sawyer makes good on his threat, pulling out entirely. It's abundantly clear that never in a million years, did Ridoc think Sawyer would actually stop.
"You, fuck Sawyer, I belong to you! Please! Come back! Y/n, make him come back!" Ridoc had tears welling in his eyes at the sudden loss, so she took pity on him.
"Sawyer, put him out of his misery. There will be plenty of time to toy with him later, but for now, put it back in him so we can all cum"
"Of course, angel" He says, acting as if he was all innocent. Nobody would ever guess from his tone the sexual torture he was putting his friend through.
He wraps his arms around Y/n, and settles himself back in Ridoc's heat. He sighs in relief, calming down now that he was full again.
Y/n turns her head, placing a kiss on Sawyer's cheek, "You start, I'll follow your lead"
And so he does, thrusting rhythmically inside, Y/n matching his pace perfectly. It isn't surprising when it takes almost no time at all for Ridoc to get close.
"Fuck, 'm gonna cum"
"But you'll wait for us, won't you?" Y/n asks, something dangerous in her voice.
He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, the mounting pleasure difficult to keep at bay, "I— I don't know if I can, sweetheart"
She hums, disappointed, "Looks like we need to slow down—"
"NO! Please don't slow down. I'll hold it. I'll be good, promise"
Y/n smirks, knowing that would be his reaction, and reveling in the way she could play him like a fiddle, "That's what I thought"
Her and Sawyer go on for what feels like hours to the man beneath them. He almost cried in relief when Y/n finally gave him permission to cum, her and Sawyer joining him in overwhelming bliss.
Ridoc babbled unintelligibly whilst Y/n and Sawyer took care of him, and each other. It occurred to every one of them that they probably should return to lessons, but none of them had any intentions of doing so.
If you haven't finished Iron Flame, or are only interested in the Sawyer/Reader/Ridoc dynamic, you can stop here. This is just extra. (The Xaden confrontation {1.3k})
Ridoc and Sawyer basically glue themselves to my sides as we walk down the hall, finally leaving the random dorm room. Classes are officially over for the day... I hope Dain isn't too hard on them. We make our way to the dining hall, but standing against the wall to the entrance, is none other than Xaden Riorson.
Sawyer and Ridoc look to me when I stop, then seeing who I'm staring at, they both tense. The shadow wielder's sharp gaze cuts into me, and I gulp. He pushes himself off the wall with way too much casual arrogance, striding over to us confidently. My boyfriends — it feels so weird to say that, even if only in my head — step forward, shielding me.
He raises a scarred brow, unamused. Touching both of their shoulders, I whisper, "It fine, go ahead," I jerk my head at the doorway. They turn back to me, and even without being in their heads, the concern exuding from them is palpable. Reluctantly, they leave me with Xaden. To my complete and utter horror, Ridoc has the audacity to shoulder check him. My entire body freezes.
Please don't kill him. Please don't kill him. Please, please, for the love of Amari, don't kill him.
Apart from a cutting glance, Xaden does nothing. My relief is short lived, because a moment later, those dark eyes are on me. "Cadet L/n. We need to talk. Privately."
My heart dropped. I knew this would happen, but that didn't lessen the fear. I wondered if there was anything I could do, anything I could say. More importantly though, a deeper, darker part of me, one drowning in self-loathing, wondered if I should say something. If I was found out, I would be putting every marked one at Basgiath under even worse scrutiny. However, if I let Xaden kill me, no one would bat an eye. Wouldn't it be selfish to try an live, when doing so might put everyone at greater risk?
But then... Ridoc and Sawyer... we'd just worked things out, and they would surely be furious if I died. I wouldn't put it past either of them to do something stupid like try to hurt Xaden in some way if they ever found out that he did it.
Xaden advanced quickly through the twisting hallways silently. Not once did he check to make sure I was still with him, probably relying on his reputation to keep me in line. Asshole. He's not wrong though. Whatever confidence possessed me before that allowed me to run from him had fled, and defying him now felt like a death sentence.
Listening to him might be a death sentence. Every instinct I had was telling me, screaming at me to run. Find Nyla. Mount. Fly. And never look back. That's never going to be an option though. A sinking feeling threatens to pull me under, and my subconscious finally comes to the realisation that I actually could die within the next five minutes, and I'm going to do absolutely nothing to stop it.
'Nyla?'
'I'm on my way, hold on!'
'...Thank you for choosing me. It's been an honour. I hope your next rider is a worthy one. More worthy than me, at least'
'You are not dying!' She practically bellows in my head, 'I will not let him hurt you!'
Panic that I know isn't entirely my own floods my body, and I do my best to shove it away, blocking out my dragon at the same time. Xaden grabs my wrist, dragging me through the secret tunnel. It should scare me, being plunged into darkness, Xaden's strong suit, but I'm too busy carefully locking my emotions away in preparation. A mental exercise I haven't had to indulge in since the executions, something my father taught me to help with my anxiety. I refuse to die afraid. If today is my last, then it will be on my terms.
When we finally get to the flight field, the Wingleader whipping around to face me, all he is met with is cool indifference.
Xaden scowls. Whether it's at me, or that's just his face, is a mystery.
'...Nyla, can you tell them I'm sorry? That it's not their fault?' I don't have to specify who 'them' is.'
'No!' She shrieks, 'I'm almost there!'
I know it's true. Thunderous wing beats sound out in the open air not too far away, but it would only take a minute for him to kill me and dispose of the body in the rushing river nearby. Why he hasn't yet, is a little perplexing. He stares at me, as if trying to pillage through my thoughts, like he's the mind reader, not me.
"Do you have any control over it?" He asks me. It's so unexpected, that it gives me more of a fright than if he'd pulled out a blade and slit my throat.
"Not much," I respond truthfully. There's no point in lying. Oddly enough though, he doesn't look murderous, he looks... thoughtful? No, that's not the right word. He looks like he's trying to fit me into a puzzle he's created, holding my piece up to the picture to see where I could belong.
Nyla lands behind me, gusts of break neck winds pushing up sand all around us, He doesn't even flinch! I can't decide it that's his fearlessness, or his arrogance.
"How much do you know about our... 'operations'?"
I struggle to beat down the sheepish expression that has become so natural to me. Admittedly, I knew much more than I should from hearing snippets in the other's heads. Enough to get us all killed (Which really not much is needed at all) but not enough to know what's going on at any given time. I wonder what's the best answer in this situation. If I say yes, would that make me useful, or a threat? If I say no, would I be let off with a warning? He can't kill me now, not with my dragon right behind us, that would be stupid. But there's nothing stopping him from killing me later.
Nyla prowls closer, head low, golden eyes piercing Xaden like if she glares hard enough, he'll burst into flames.
"Well?" He prompts.
"More than I should," I reveal cautiously.
He doesn't move, doesn't blink, "How much do you think you could find out?" I know he's not talking about whatever the marked ones are doing, he's talking about the Navarrians. What information can you get. What secrets can you unfold? Are you worth the trouble of keeping you alive?
For no more than a split second, a hairline crack in his mental walls appear. Without conscious thought, my signet leaps, latching onto that little breach, and in that minuscule moment, I see something that breaks my facade.
"You're inntinnsic too"
His eyes widen, then narrow. I notice his hand twitch, as if wanting to pin me to the wall, but one glance at Nyla keeps him from doing so.
"Yes," He grits out, "I am. And I plan to train you"
My brain short circuits. "You what?"
"I'm going to train you," Xaden reiterates, "to use your signet, and most importantly, to hide it. Be here tomorrow at eight"
He says nothing else, disappearing back into the tunnel dramatically. All he needs is a flowing cape. Once gone, I allow myself to sink to the floor and take a deep, shuddering breath.
"He's not going to kill me. Thank the gods," I whisper to no one. My heart is beating out of my chest, but slowly, a smile creeps it's way onto my face. Yes, I my have had one of the scariest interactions of my life, but I have two amazing boyfriends waiting to dote on me.
Synopsis: You find yourself being turned on by your boyfriend displaying his power, and it's making you curious about just how good his control over shadows truly is ... and what else he can potentially do with them. Particularly, regarding your pleasure.
Tags: smut. inappropriate use of shadow signet. ( guided ) masturbation. multiple orgasms. shadow tentacle sex ( vaginal and anal ). oral sex ( m receiving ).
Content Warnings: nsfw.
Wordcount: 6.4k
It always starts the same way.
You swear you're used to it by now, Xaden's shadows trailing after him like loyal beasts, dancing between his fingers when he's focused, curling into the air as if they're alive. It should be routine, familiar. But somehow it never is.
Not when you're watching him like this. Especially when you're watching him like this.
He's sitting near the window, stripped to the waist, the late sunlight tracing the lines of muscle across his back as he works, his dragon relic familiar to you. One hand rests on the table, the other casually lifted as if he's half-listening to the quiet murmur of his shadows. They flow across the room with easy grace, flickering around him in slow, deliberate movements. Controlled. Obedient. Dangerous. And utterly beautiful.
You're supposed to be doing something else, but instead you sit on the edge of his bed, chin propped in your hand, letting your eyes wander across the dark expanse of his shoulders and the slow, swirling movement of those ever-present shadows.
And that's when the thought sneaks in. It's not a new one, but this time, it lingers.
What else can he do with them?
That precision, the control he has over them, and the way they respond to him like they're an extension of his own body. What would that feel like, turned inward? Directed not toward battle, but toward you?
A slow, traitorous flush creeps down your neck.
You shift on the bed, suddenly very aware of how warm your skin feels, how much space there is between the two of you. You chew your bottom lip, watching as one of the shadows curls around his wrist like a lover's hand, languid and slow.
Your thighs press together without thinking.
"Whatever you're thinking," Xaden suddenly says, voice low and edged with amusement - apparently, he's been watching you without you noticing, "you're not being subtle about it."
Your heart skips a beat. You look up too fast, and sure enough, he's turned to you now, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fist. Those dark eyes fix on yours, heat smoldering behind them.
"I wasn't thinking anything," you lie, poorly.
He lifts an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. "No?"
The shadows twist upward behind him, lazily coiling like smoke in a breeze. You can't help it; your gaze follows the movement, and he notices. Of course he does.
"You've been staring for the past five minutes," he murmurs, rising slowly to his feet. "And you do this thing ..." His head tilts, eyes raking over you. "... where your breathing changes. A little faster. Lips parting. Eyes glazed. That usually means one of two things."
You blink, startled. "Oh?"
"Either you're about to kiss me," he says, stepping closer, shadows following after him like eager whispers, "or you're imagining what I can do to you."
Your skin goes hot. You don't respond, can't, because yes, damn it, that's exactly what you're doing.
He stops in front of you. Close, but not yet touching you.
"What is it about them?" he asks softly. His eyes flick to his own hand, where a shadow is curling between his fingers. "The way they move? Or the fact that I can control them with a thought?"
You breathe in, gaze fixed on the shadow. "Both." This single word is a whisper and a confession in one, and you immediately see something in his expression change.
His shadows still as he leans down, mouth near your ear, voice a raw, delicious scrape of sound. "I've thought about it too, you know."
Your breath hitches.
"You pressed up beneath me, breathless and flushed, my hands holding you down while my shadows ..." He pulls back, just enough to meet your wide eyes. "... explore."
You shudder just once, not in fear but in anticipation, and don't look away. You can't - too enthralled, the images already burning into your mind.
"Tell me," he says, voice low and reverent. "Do you want to feel it?"
There's a pause before you answer, soft but sure, "Yes."
That one word changes everything. Xaden's eyes darken, heat and intent flaring behind them like something alive. But he doesn't move forward. Not even a single step toward you. Instead, he stays exactly where he is, a few feet away, arms relaxed at his sides, shadows slowly curling at his heels like they're waiting for permission.
"This is about you," he says, voice a low, molten thread of sound. "So I'm not going to touch you."
You blink. "What?"
He smiles, slow and dangerous, like he knows exactly what that promise will do to you. "You're going to feel everything," he says, "and I won't lay a single finger on you. Not until you ask me to."
Your breath catches.
Because you can already see it, you see how much he wants to. It's in the way his hands flex at his sides, how the tension has crept into his shoulders. His gaze is locked on you, burning, like he's already imagining what it would feel like to give in, to press his mouth to your neck and pull those desperate little sounds from your throat.
But he doesn't.
He just lifts his hand, fingers twitching in a subtle, deliberate motion, and the shadows come to life. One tendril rises, slow and sinuous, brushing along your ankle like a whisper of wind. You twitch, the sensation feather-light and unfamiliar, and your eyes shoot to his. He watches you closely, carefully, as another shadow curls around your calf, sliding beneath the hem of your pants.
You inhale. Sharp. Audible.
The shadows are cool but not cold. Just ... different, unfamiliar. They move like silk against your skin, with the weight and texture of something half-formed, something alive. One glides higher, slowly trailing the curve of your thigh, and you feel it even through the layers of fabric. It's a delicate, teasing pressure that makes your stomach twist and your breath grow shallow.
Xaden says nothing. But his pupils dilate, and his throat bobs when he swallows. Yet he still doesn't move closer.
Another shadow moves, this one rising behind you, slipping between your back and the shirt that suddenly feels far too heavy, too in the way. It lifts the hem slightly, gliding along the dip of your spine with aching patience. You shiver, spine arching instinctively, chasing the touch.
"Good," he murmurs. "Just feel."
The one at your thigh climbs higher, and gods, your breath stutters as it slides beneath the waistband of your pants. It doesn't touch anything yet; it just rests there, waiting for a command. You meet his gaze again, and something about how he's watching you - dark and reverent, restrained but starving - makes heat bloom low in your belly.
"Do you feel how much they want you?" he asks softly. "They react to me, but they respond to you. They're drawn to your need."
You bite your lip hard enough to sting, legs tense, muscles coiling in anticipation as the shadow behind your back slowly inches higher, brushing your lower ribs, tracing the side of your breast through your shirt.
You let out a quiet, shaky breath. Too overwhelmed by the sensation to do anything else.
"I can stop," he offers, voice rougher now, more ragged.
"No!" you say quickly, almost desperately. "Don't."
His jaw clenches and his hands twitch, but he nods. "I won't."
The shadow beneath your clothes at your waist finally moves again, tracing the curve of your hip bone, before finally slipping lower. Not quite touching where you want, where you need it, but circling closer and closer like it knows exactly how to undo you one brush at a time.
And still, Xaden hasn't taken a step.
But he's breathing harder now, lips parted, chest rising with each slow inhale like it's costing him something to keep his distance. He's watching you unravel, and gods, the way he's watching makes you feel bare even with all your clothes on.
"Does it feel good?" he asks quietly.
You nod. "Yes," you breathe.
The shadows are slow and deliberate, gliding just beneath your clothes, shaping your breath, and making your skin feel electric. Every pass, every faint caress beneath fabric you suddenly resent, tightens the coil in your belly another notch.
But then they stop. Sudden. Inexplicably.
They still and retreat, slipping away from your body like smoke sucked into the air. You blink, heart racing, skin humming with frustration and want.
You're about to question your boyfriend, curse him, and beg him to continue, but then you hear his voice, low and raspy, "Take them off."
His dark eyes are fixed on you, sharp and hungry. He's still standing exactly where he was, chest rising with careful, controlled breaths as if proximity might undo him. As if he cannot guarantee not to touch you, should he come closer.
Your lips part. "You want me to ...?"
"Clothes," he explains, voice even lower and rougher than before. "Take them off. I want to see."
Your breath catches because you know he won't ask twice. So, you slowly rise to your feet on trembling legs. You don't rush the process, though. Partly because your fingers are shaking. Mostly because something is intoxicating about the way his gaze follows your every motion, tracking your hands as you peel your shirt over your head, slow and careful, revealing bare skin inch by inch. His eyes immediately flicker to your breast, to your nipples already tightened from the phantom touch of his shadows. He swears under his breath.
Your pants slide down next, slowly over your hips, until they pool at your feet. You stand there for a moment in just your underwear. The room is silent except for your breathing and the subtle crackle of restrained power in the air.
Then, without a word, you slip the last layer down too, baring yourself to him completely.
His jaw tightens. "Sit back down. Just like you were before."
You do, moving slowly, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed. Your thighs part instinctively, showing him how aroused this whole thing has already made you.
Xaden's mouth parts just slightly, as he stares at you.
You're already wet. You know you are. The air brushes your skin and makes you clench around nothing, and the way his eyes drag over every inch of you, now neck to chest, to your slick center and back up again, makes your breath catch.
His voice, when it comes, is low and reverent. "Fuck."
He runs a hand over his mouth, like he needs a second to compose himself. "I knew you'd be beautiful," he murmurs. "But like this? Dripping and flushed and waiting ... all because of me? Because of my shadows touching you?"
You exhale shakily. "Xaden ..."
His shadows stir again. Like they can feel his restraint slipping and want to return to what they've been doing before. Touching you, feeling you unravel beneath them. But he holds up a hand, commanding them still.
"I want to remember this," he says, voice quiet. "Every part of you. Every look you make. I want to see what my shadows do to you."
You shift on the bed, instinctively trying to ease the ache growing between your legs. His eyes follow the motion and darken.
"Touch yourself," he says. It's not a command, just a plea by a man starved. "Just for a moment. Let me see how badly you need it."
You hesitate, the heat of his gaze wrapping around you like a second skin. But then, slowly, you obey.
Your breath stutters as you slide your hand between your thighs, fingers moving cautiously at first. Testing. The memory of his shadows still lingers on your skin. Soft, ghostlike. Wanting. But now it#s your hand, your touch, and his eyes never leave you.
You glance up and your breath catches in your throat.
Xaden's no longer standing in front of you; instead, he's taken a seat in the chair across from the bed, distant enough not to touch, but close enough that nothing escapes his view. He sits wide-legged, hands gripping the arms of the chair like his life depends on it. And between his thighs, his pants are visibly, unmistakably tight.
There's no hiding it. The bulge pressing against the front of his pants is hard and obvious, a physical betrayal of everything he's been trying to hold.
You lick your lips, proud that you can have such an effect on him just by presenting yourself to him. Your arousal becomes his arousal and vice versa.
His gaze stays locked on your hand. On the slow, tentative movements of your fingers as they brush through your slick folds, circling your clit once, twice, which draws out a soft moan you try (and fail) to contain.
He keeps watching like he's starved. Dark eyes fixed, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck straining with restraint. His shadows swirl faintly at his feet again, like they're agitated and restless, sensing just how much their wielder is holding himself back.
"Don't stop," he says roughly. It's the first time he's spoken since sitting, and his voice alone is proof of his building arousal. It's lower now, hoarse. Like it's scraped raw from the inside. "Let me see you fall apart."
You shiver, and his command causes your fingers to move a little faster now, bolder, getting encouraged from his noises. Your other hand lifts to your chest, brushing over one breast, teasing one of your already pebbled nipples. The sensation sends sparks dancing down your spine, and you let your head tip back for a moment, lips parting to let out a low moan.
When you spare a glance at him, you realize that one of his hands has clenched into a fist on the armrest. The other twitches, like he's resisting the urge to reach for himself, no matter how difficult it seems to be. His jaw is locked tight, his eyes dark and feral, but his body remains still. Controlled, but burning up in heat.
"For someone who's not supposed to be touching," you murmur, breathless but in a teasing tone, "you're looking at me like you're seconds away from losing it."
That earns an immediate reaction. His head tilts, and a small smile curves at his lips. "I said this was about you, not me."
And then, finally, the shadows start to move again. They slither forward like they've been waiting for this moment, rising to meet your thighs, brushing past your fingers with the same careful precision as before. One tendril wraps gently around your wrist, slowing your movements, before using its grip to guide them. Another one glides along the inside of your thigh, tracing slick skin, spreading you a little wider. Two wrap around your thighs, holding them open, and giving Xaden a perfect view of everything that is happening.
Xaden exhales like he's been holding his breath for minutes. "Look at you," he says, "you're soaked."
The shadows shift, and a new one curls beneath your breast, lifting it slightly before trailing the tip across your nipple. You gasp, louder this time, hips rocking instinctively into your own hand guided by their touch.
"You should see what I see, love," Xaden murmurs. "Flushed. Desperate. Dripping for me. For my shadows."
The one around your wrist retreats now, your hand free again, and you're moving it quicker now, fingers sliding in deeper, guided by your need and his intense focus. But the shadows don't stop this time; they join you. One flickers gently across your clit while another brushes the spot where your fingers disappear inside yourself, clearly planning to either join you or take over completely.
You moan again, this time unfiltered. Loud and desperate and fueled by a kind of heat you've never felt like this before.
And across from you, Xaden groans, quiet and broken, when you suddenly see it: His hips shift. He presses into the seat of the chair, like he's trying to relieve the pressure, just for a second. Just to survive the sight of you like this. But still, he doesn't touch. Gods, does he want to, though.
You're so close you can taste it now. The shadows are everywhere, coaxing, teasing, knowing. One is stroking your clit in maddening circles, precise and rhythmic, while another moves against your entrance in tandem with your fingers, every motion tailored to bring you to the brink of orgasm. Your hand is soaked, knuckles slick, your breath ragged as your thighs tremble with every breath.
Your head falls back. Your hips rise. You're right there, teetering on the edge ...
Suddenly, your wrists are caught, stopping every motion immediately.
Your eyes fly open with a sharp inhale as cool tendrils of shadow wrap around both wrists, gentle but firm - no matter how hard you try to free yourself, you can't - and lift your arms above your head.
They pin you to nothing but air, stretched and exposed, your back arched and your chest rising in quick, desperate breaths. Your hands twitch in the hold, but there's no pain. Just a quiet, impossible strength that says: stay.
"What ..." you gasp, eyes darting to him. "Xaden!"
His gaze is molten, no longer calm, no longer composed. He leans forward in his chair at least, forearms resting on his thighs, and his voice is barely human when he speaks. It's low and dark and hungry. Different from what you're used to. "You don't need your hands anymore."
Immediately, you reply with a quiet, wrecked sound, caught somewhere between surprise and need. He still hasn't moved from that chair, hasn't touched you, but somehow, this is even more intimate than him being right in front of you. Or above you. Your body is fully open, trembling under the sensation of shadow and want, your skin hypersensitive, your breath breaking.
"I want to see you fall apart," he says, each word thick with restraint. "But I want it to be because of me. Not your fingers. Mine."
In that moment, you realize: his shadows are his fingers. They are an extension of himself. Guided by his will, listening to his command, touching you the way he would.
They start moving with more purpose now, no longer teasing. One slides between your legs, a thicker one than the small tendrils that have touched you before, and presses inside you. Slow but thick enough to stretch, and somehow it feels both soft and strong all at once. You cry out, hips jerking, the sensation unlike anything you've ever felt.
Another one trails up to your stomach, curves over your breasts, and brushes your nipples with aching precision. First one, then the other. Going back and forth, switching between them.
And the one at your clit? It doesn't stop. It keeps circling, stroking you with maddening accuracy. Never too much, never too little. Just enough to keep you spiraling higher and higher.
Xaden watches you writhe under the touch of his power, his jaw clenched so tight you think it might crack.
"You look so fucking perfect like this," he rasps. "Wrists bound. Mouth open. Needing me ... and so fucking wet for me."
You moan at the cadence of his voice, low and dark, cracked with hunger. One of the shadows brushes your throat like a phantom kiss, not choking, just reminding you that he could touch you anywhere and anytime. That he is touching you, even if not directly.
"Do you want to come?" he asks, eyes fixed on your soaked center, on the way his shadows move inside you.
"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. "Please ... Xaden, please."
"Good," he growls. "Then let go."
And with one final flick of shadow against your clit, one deep thrust of dark silk inside you, right against your spot, you shatter. The moment your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs, tearing a loud moan from your throat, everything blurs.
You need a few seconds to come back, and when you do, when the wave recedes, the shadows remain.
Your body is still pulsing, clenching involuntarily around the cool tendril inside you. Your skin is damp with sweat, your chest heaving, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. You're floating, skin prickling, heart fluttering ... and then you feel it.
They haven't stopped.
The shadow tendril buried inside of you doesn't retreat. No, it stays where it is. Still moving, slower now, but steady still, curling in a way that makes your overstimulated nerves jolt in shock. Another brushes your clit in delicate, lazy circles, too gentle to hurt, but too much for your already sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words stutter out as a broken moan.
Xaden hasn't moved from his seat yet, but he's leaning forward now, elbows braced on his knees, his expression dark and unreadable. His pupils are blown wide. His jaw flexes as he watches the way your body arches, the way you fight the pleasure even as it builds again. Faster than the first time.
"You're shaking," he says softly.
You nod, unable to do much else, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, held by nothing but shadow and his command. You don't even think about pulling free anymore.
"You just came, and now you're already clenching for more. Tell me, love. Tell me how much you enjoy it."
You whimper, hips jerking as the shadow inside you twists again, gentle but devastating.
"Xaden." His name slips out like a plea, like a warning.
He cocks his head slightly. "Do you want me to stop?"
You should say yes. You should. Your body is too raw and overstimulated. But even as the words rise in your throat, you feel it again. That heat. That slow, growing ache that builds from the aftermath and transforms into a second wave of pleasure. The shock has started to fade, replaced by something darker, something deeper. Pure need. Desperate want. Burning heat.
So instead of giving him the answer you should, you shake your head, and whisper, "No. Don't stop."
His eyes darken even more, if possible, and a low groan escapes him, like your words physically unravel something inside him. "Then take it," he growls. "Let me watch you fall apart again."
The shadow at your clit quickens just slightly, the circles tighter now, more deliberate. The one inside you thrusts a little deeper, filling you completely before dragging out with slow, perfect pressure. You cry out, body jolting with every pulse of sensation.
Your back arches. Your legs twitch.
And Xaden is watching it all, hands clenched on the arms of his chair, muscles taut, a sheen of sweat at his brow from how tightly he's reining himself in.
"You're going to come again. And you'll keep going until I say you're done." It's not a threat, it's a promise. You know he isn't playing around, especially not when it comes to something like this.
Another shadow tendril rises and wraps around your waist - not to restrain, but to cradle. To hold you still. You're barely sitting upright anymore, slumping into its cool embrace like you're weightless, boneless. Which, honestly, after everything, might not be that far off the truth.
Your nipples are hard, your mouth slack, and your whole body trembles. The pressure of another orgasm is rising again, faster this time. Hot and brutal and inevitable.
You can't think. Can't breathe. All you can do is feel.
When it finally hits, it hits you harder than the first. The second climax tears through you without warning, without mercy. It's raw and overwhelming, your body clenching so hard around the shadow inside you that your whole vision whites out at the edges. You cry out, loud and unfiltered, every nerve stretched, every muscle taut.
Your limbs tremble violently in their bindings, thighs twitching with aftershocks. The tendrils of shadow cradle you still, one stroking inside, another lazily circling your clit like it's savoring the moment. There's one still playing with your nipples, and a few more keeping you in place, holding you open and mostly unmoving. Your skin feels too hot, too sensitive, like you could burst from even a single breath of air.
You let your head drop back for a moment, eyes fluttering shut. Your heart is racing, lungs dragging air in ragged gulps, body slick with sweat.
For one second, you think it's over. But then you blink and realize Xaden has finally moved. He's standing now, and while his shadows move across the room, remaining on your hot body, he has finally stepped closer. Not yet touching you, but finally within reach.
His jaw is hard, his breathing uneven. His eyes are darker than you've ever seen before. And when your gaze shifts downward, you see it.
He's pulled down his pants, his cock now in his hand. Thick, flushed, and painfully hard. He's not stroking, just holding it, fingers tightening like he's seconds away from losing all control.
Yes! He'll finally give it to me now, you think for one blissfully naive second.
You're wrecked, spent, soaked. Although your body is done, your mind screams at you, imagining it vividly: Xaden finally sinking into you, claiming you after all that teasing and restraining, giving up the control he so carefully maintained.
But he doesn't move, doesn't come closer, doesn't give any sign that you're wish is about to come true. Instead, he meets your eyes and smirks.
"You think you get this now?" When he speaks, his voice is ruined with lust. His hand flexes around his cock, but he doesn't stroke. Doesn't offer it to you. "You think just because you came twice for me, I'm going to fuck you?"
Your lips part, but you don't have an answer. Your mind is too occupied with watching him, big, flushed, and ready. The ache between your legs hasn't faded - it only seems to grow stronger.
"You don't get that yet. Because this isn't about me." His gaze flicks down to your body, your parted thighs, your glistening skin, your nipples still hard, your wrists still pinned high in the air. "This is about you; this is about what you can take."
He's moved closer, until he's standing right at the edge of the bed and between your spread legs.
The shadow inside you pulses once in a deep, deliberate thrust that has your hips jerking as another gasp rips from your throat.
"You're not done, love," he says. "Not even close."
Suddenly, something new touches you. Smaller. Different.
Your body goes completely still as a thin tendril brushes softly over the curve of your ass. Hesitant. Gentle. It's not yet pressing, just a presence. Like it's testing the waters, asking for permission to go further.
Your breath stutters in your throat, your heart giving a sharp little flutter of surprise as your eyes fly to Xaden.
He's still watching you, every inch of you, every breath. His cock is hard in his hand, his control barely holding. But his gaze softens the moment he sees your expression shift.
"No, don't tense you," he says gently, tone softer than before. He knows this is new territory, and he's giving you a chance to stop him before he goes further.
You swallow hard. "Xaden ..."
"Shhh. You're safe, I promise."
The smaller shadow hasn't moved again. It lingers where it is, waiting for you to breathe more normally.
"I won't hurt you," he promises.
You nod, chest rising with each shaky inhale. You know that. Xaden would never do something that'll hurt you.
He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze like a hand stroking down your body. "This is just another way to make you feel good. If you want it."
You don't need to think about it for long. You just nod and whisper, "Okay. I trust you."
That soft tendril starts to move. It's just a nudge at first, brushing between your cheeks, slicking itself with your arousal before it traces lower. The pressure is featherlight. Circling, teasing, not yet pushing in.
Xaden looks at you, at the small tendril working at your tightest hole. "That's it. Let it in. Let me show you what you can feel."
You gasp as it eventually slips in, not far, just barely enough to make you tense. But you feel the stretch, the sensation. It's neither overwhelming nor wrong. It's just ... more. Different. Not something you're used to.
Paired with the slow thrusts from the other shadow and the rhythmic circles on your clit, it feels insane. Like your body is being touched in ways you never thought to imagine.
You moan, louder this time, raw and half-broken. From the corner of your vision, you see Xaden's hand tighten around his cock, stroking up and down just once. Probably to alleviate the pressure.
"You're taking it so well," he says. "So fucking perfect for me."
The tendril inside your ass moves again, just slightly. A flex. A press. Slowly but surely working you open, so your whole body shakes. By now, it feels like it's not entirely your own anymore, nothing but heat and trembling limbs, every nerve alive and burning.
You're still bound. Still held open by his shadows, which have not relented the slightest. The one inside your cunt keeps up that slow, steady rhythm, deep and dragging, like it knows exactly how to keep you suspended right on the edge. The tendril inside your ass moves in time, not fast, not rough, just full. Measured. Perfect. And the one at your clit continues its circles, patient and relentless, tracing the shape of you, bringing you closer to your next inevitable orgasm.
You moan again, high and shaking, toes curling.
Xaden's voice breaks through the haze. "Fuck. You look so fucking good like this."
His hand is still wrapped around his cock, now flushed dark and heavy, and he's definitely throbbing.
"You don't realize, do you?" he murmurs, looking down at you, at your stretched, wrecked body, held wide open for him by nothing but his magic. "Stuffed in all the right ways. Taking every bit of it like you were made for this."
You moan, body arching, because gods, the words, the way he says them ...
Suddenly, he freezes because you do something he doesn't expect. You tilt your head back, eyelids fluttering. Your mouth falls open. Not in a cry this time, but in invitation. Slow. Willing. Silent.
You look up at him with your lips parted, tongue just barely visible, and there's no mistaking what you're asking for. Not begging. Not demanding. Just offering - in case he needs it.
His breath catches in his throat. A muscle in his jaw ticks. He lets out a noise which sounds suspiciously like a growl, and for a second, he doesn't move.
But then he steps forward.
His cock is right there now, heavy and flushed and aching. So close you can smell the salt and sweat and want rolling off him in waves. He watches your mouth like it's the most dangerous thing in the world.
"Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and guttural. "Because if I fuck your mouth right now, I'm not going to last long. You've already undone me, love. All of this -" He gestures at your body, his shadows still moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. "This is you doing it to me."
You breathe out around the words. "Then let me finish it."
That seems to be all it takes.
His hand lifts as he guides himself to your lips, eyes asking for permission once more, before he finally slides in. The weight of him on your tongue is heady. Real.
The moment you close your lips around him, Xaden shudders like he's being struck by lightning. "Fuck. Yes. Just like that, love."
He doesn't thrust. Not yet. Instead, he lets you set the pace, lets your tongue swirl, lets you hollow your cheeks, and allows your mouth to worship him in the way you want.
But his control? It's shredding by the second. You see it, you feel it.
As his shadows keep moving inside you, pushing you higher once more, he finally touches you, tangling a hand in your hair. His breath catches and his hips twitch, and you know: This is the beginning of the end.
His cock is heavy on your tongue, warm and pulsing, the taste of him already blooming against the back of your throat. He's still not thrusting, letting you drag your mouth over him slowly. Your lips glide down his length as far as they'll go, your tongue curling underneath as you pull them back, then down again, building a rhythm.
Above you, Xaden swears, quiet and savage. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fucking perfect with your mouth full of me."
His hand stays buried in your hair, fingers clenched tight, but he still doesn't force it. Doesn't need to. You're doing it for him - to him. And the look on his face is giving you confirmation you're doing something right, because it's nothing short of wrecked.
But what ruins you all over again, what truly undoes you, is that his shadows have never stopped. They're still moving inside you with terrifying intent.
The thick one inside your cunt is thrusting faster than before now, perfectly timed with the flickering pressure at your clit. The smaller tendril in your ass moves in a slow, careful motion, stretching you just enough to make your body twitch with every movement. Your wrists are still held high, legs shaking. Your entire body feels like one exposed, burning nerve.
You can't moan around his cock, but your throat vibrates with the effort.
Xaden feels it. He chokes out a curse, hips jerking forward just a little, and that's the moment you've been waiting for. His control finally snaps. "Shit - love, I'm gonna ... fuck, I'm-"
You look up at him, eyes wide, mouth full, and take it.
The shadows drive deep inside you, fast and hard now, and your body tips over the edge one last time. Your third orgasm of the night crashes through you like lightning rippling through your spine. Your hips buck, walls clenching around the tendrils inside you, every inch of you convulsing with a release so raw it leaves your vision blurring.
And above you, Xaden roars. His hand tightens in your hair, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he thrusts deep one last time, spilling hot down your throat, groaning so low it seems to vibrate in your bones. His eyes are locked on yours the entire time, wild and worshipful and undone.
You swallow around him, reflexive, greedy, and he nearly collapses.
The shadows don't stop immediately. They ease, slow their movements, stroking you gently through the aftershocks as your whole body trembles, overstimulated and utterly spent. A soft, rippling sensation coils around your thighs, your belly, your chest, like they're trying to soothe you now. Trying to bring you gently down from your high.
When he finally pulls out, you're still breathing hard, lips parted, chest heaving. Xade drops to his knees in front of you. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb wiping a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. His gaze searches yours, worried and full of something deeper than lust.
"You okay?" he asks in a whisper.
You nod. "I've never -" You break off, breath hitching.
He leans in, presses a single kiss to your damp cheek. Then your temple. Finally, your lips. Soft this time, with no demand behind it. Just him. Just your boyfriend.
"I know," he murmurs. "Me neither."
Time seems to lose all meaning after that.
You're not sure how long you sit there, body limp, shadows fading slowly like dusk melting into night. The bindings at your wrists release at last, and you let your arms fall with a shuddering sigh, your whole body humming, flushed and overstimmulated in the best way.
You barely notice when Xaden moves. It's only when you feel his arms around you that you do. Strong. Gentle. Steady.
He lifts you with seemingly no effort at all, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. You don't protest. You just let your head fall to his shoulder, your cheek resting against his bare skin, still damp with sweat and heat. His heart is racing.
He lies you down on his bed, real, solid, grounding, and eases you down like you're fragile. You aren't, of course, but gods, you're glad he treats you like you are right now.
Then he crawls into bed next to you, not reaching for more, not chasing the embers of lust still flickering in the air. He's just lying there, close and real.
You turn to him, your limbs slow and heavy, and he lifts the blanket over both of you. The heat of him seeps into your bones. His arm curls beneath your head, and his hand rests on your waist, holding you there like he's afraid you'll disappear.
And then, finally, he speaks. Quiet, almost uncharacteristically unsure. "I didn't go too far?"
You shake your head, brushing your nose against his chest. "You stopped every time you thought you might. You gave me every choice."
He exhales, which you can feel in your hair. "I've never done that before. With the shadows, I mean."
You pull back just enough to properly look at him in disbelief. "You've never used them during ...?"
His eyes meet yours, soft and unwavering. "Never. Not like this."
Your chest tightens as something inside you settles. "What was this, then?" you ask, not teasing. Just curious.
Xaden hesitates, then brushes his thumb across your cheek, the way he did when you were bound and writhing, only now with tenderness so thick it nearly breaks you.
"This," he says quietly, "was me showing you that you're not just another weapon I want at my side. You're the only thing I've ever wanted to fall for."
Your breath catches. There are no more shadows now. Just you, and him, and the sound of your heartbeat where it echoes against his chest.
And for the first time since setting foot in Basgiath, you feel safe. Loved. His.
˙⋆✮ - You met someone online—someone you could talk to behind a screen, someone who understood you a little too well. But who would’ve thought the person on the other side was actually your biggest enemy?
Xiao x fem!Reader Trope - Enemies to lovers, slow burn
Status - started 06/03/26
Warning - swearing, kys jokes, suggestive jokes, characters might not be that accurate, maybe cringe....etc
Note - Hi guys! This is my first smau and English is not my first language so please be kind, I hope you guys would be able to enjoy this as much as I enjoy the process!
synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.
status - ongoing
taglist - open
intro (chapter 1)
HOW TO GET BACK AT HER - to do list
make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state
2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday
3. go on an interview show together
4. flaunt your proposal in her face.
5. recreate a moment from their relationship, and i mean the same place, similar outfit and same pose.
6. heated and messy livestream on Instagram
7. do tiktok trend ft obsessed by olivia as the sound
8. even messier podcast
9. soft launch the wedding, in a colour that she claims is hers.
SYNOPSIS: with one of the remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the eastern seas. when one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the dark sea, you finally think you've hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure. in the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? and suddenly, you have to make a choice... either a huge sum of gold, or the man you've fallen head over heels in love with.
PAIRING: neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader
CWS: mentions of trafficking, foul language, mentions of alcohol, mild violence, mentions of trauma, mentions of non-descriptive torture, mild blood and injury, suggestive here + there.
NOTES: had this fic up months ago but took it down because it was barely getting any traction. decided to try again and repost it. originally, this fic was supposed to include wriothesley, but after a while of deliberation, i decided not to. instead, one of my ocs is gonna be a second lead to fill in the love triangle. if u get attached to my oc, im sorry. dw tho, he also appears as a second lead in one of my venti fics ;). this fic is very canon divergent and takes place a few hundred years before the archon war. mc would definitely have a pyro vision if this was post-archon war.
the regula solis epoch | playlist
01. like a love song, the sea calls me home
02. man’s world
03. the west wind calls, the east sea rises
04. like a shadow, you haunt my thoughts
05. never love an anchor
06. beneath the waves
07. like icarus, i have fallen from grace
08. you’ve dug open your own grave
09. love me like i’m dead
10. twisted like thorns, your love pierces my heart
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
author's note: we're getting very close to the end, y'all! thank you so much for your support and patience 🩷
pairing: vegeta x fem!reader
warnings: canon typical violence, does not follow canon timeline of events
"Don't expect to see this ship again soon, if ever." You murmur while carefully holding baby Trunks as Bulma unhooks various computers from the ship.
She falters in her movements for a brief moment. "What are you planning on doing?"
"Finding my son."
"That much I figured." Bulma rolls her eyes and glances over her shoulder. "You're not coming back?"
"I will for the Androids; I've already promised as much to Goku."
"You don't…" The tired mother resumes her work, doing her best to stay on task before Vegeta shows up. "I wasn't asking you to leave."
"I know that. But it's best for everyone involved if I do, don't you think?"
"No, I don't."
"Why's that? Without me, you have your perfect little family." You look down at little Trunks, who is nearly fast asleep as he rests his little head on your chest. No doubt he finds your arms to be like a warm blanket, all thanks to your Saiyan trait of running like a furnace in August, and you can't help but think to yourself just how cute he is. "Vegeta can't find V without my help, so he won't be able to kill him. I've trained and powered up in ways I never imagined, much less my son's wildest dreams. I can conquer him myself, I know it."
"And what about Goku and his family, and all they've done for you?"
"I will never be able to repay what they've done for me. And they do deserve better, but time is of the essence and all I can promise is to ensure that Gohan will not be doomed to that future your son warned you of. In four years, I will return and make sure of it."
Bulma's quiet for a moment, and it isn't until the ship is about ready that she speaks again. "Thank you. And… I'm sorry for all you've lost."
"The only thing I have still is my hope that my son isn't on that list. I love my husband and I want nothing more than to have him and be the family we dreamed of being so long ago. But my time with Vegeta… It's passed." Tears sting in your eyes, and you turn away from the woman that's being handed the fruit of your dreams on a silver platter, though you still hold her son carefully. "He's not been very good to you, I know. But Vegeta can and will be a good father and husband for your family. He was for mine, in our short time as one."
"You don't have to do this." Bulma says softly.
"I do. Perhaps the karma of my race's sins is falling on me and my family." You sigh to yourself and hand away the sleepy baby to his mother's loving arms, noting to yourself that your husband has quite the habit of making the most adorable babies. "Saiyans… We are proud, and perhaps we shouldn't be. The things Vegeta and I did…" You shake your head. "We are truly hellbound, Bulma. And maybe with you… Vegeta can avoid that fate. You're a good woman, and the people here are good. Vegeta needs that, and my son needs me."
"Just bring him here." Bulma's eyes are sad, much to your surprise. She's truly a wonderful woman. "That way everyone can win."
"To do that would be to doom him to death and seal Vegeta's fate in hell. V's my baby, and he's waiting for me at our old training grounds, I'm sure. I need to go now; Vegeta won't be down much longer."
"... Alright." Bulma sighs and after a quick summary of how to fly the ship, she steps aside and slips a pair of headphones over Trunks' gentle little ears to protect them from the loud noises of the ship. "So… Why do you think he's at the old training grounds?"
"It's where he always wanted to be. He's a true, full-blooded Saiyan, after all. We couldn't train on the planet we made our new life on, and he was always so happy when we made the journey to one of the planets King Vegeta decided to keep for the royal family's benefit. That same planet was my husband's favorite as well."
If only my boys could meet… They'd be so close.
You adjust your white gloves, pulling them tightly onto your hands and flexing your fingers a bit. Your son will never see the power that resides beneath these palms coming, and the thought does put a bit of a smirk on your face. He may think he's powerful, but his mother surely isn't one to fool with. Turning to Bulma, you give a quick two-fingered salute before closing the hatch to the ship and settling into the captain's chair for takeoff.
With an oddly calm and quiet mind, you start up the ship and aim for the stars, the image of Vegeta's smile dancing behind your lids as you relax back into your chair. He used to smile all the time, and since finding him again, you're not sure if you've seen him smile once. Will he ever smile again? you wonder as you widen the gap between your hearts.
I hope you're ready, V. Mama's coming home with a helluva chip on her shoulder.
Panic and fear flood Vegeta's mind as his eyes open up. His skull burns with a particular throb at his temple, and his back isn't faring much better as it aches with a scorching pain that climbs his spine during the dizzy scramble to his feet. What in the hell did you do?! Why?
"That woman…" He seethes and falls to his knees as his head swims. You got him good, that's for sure. He's certainly concussed and he curses lowly as he buries his face in his hands to will the nausea away.
He damn sure meant it when he said he wasn't going to let go, and despite your best effort to sway him, you will. Not. Win.
A special scent catches his nose, and it's only now that he realizes you've left your replenished lady's favor in his palm. A smirk raises his lips as your natural smell eases away his nausea and pain, which you surely must not have intended. His victory is short-lived, however, and a snarl forms as he grits his teeth with a low growl. How dare you do this to him? To yourself??
Careful not to burn your favor, Vegeta bursts through the roof of the cabin in his powerful Super Saiyan form and rushes back to Capsule Corps with a scream so raw it destroys his throat and so loud it could likely break the barrier of space and time. You've gone and fucking done it now, and the next time he sees you (and he will see you again) he may not even hesitate to get his lick back and deliver a concussion of your own.
"I will find you, woman, and you better be fucking ready to dodge!"
His landing is rough, and his stomach turns as he touches down. If Bulma let you go, so help him he'll burst into a frenzy and her poor lab won't make it out alright—
Bulma.
There's no doubt in his mind— she's the one that revealed the Androids to you. You'd been living with Kakarot and his family for months and miraculously had no knowledge at all, and after the heiress of the Brief family fortune felt slighted she had to have told you everything! What a petty, vindictive, sore loser of a—
You did threaten to kill her.
His taste in women could not possibly be worse.
Pushing through his concussed fog, Vegeta stumbles into the house loudly and isn't exactly surprised to be met with his second son's mother holding a gun at him. A small part of his heart finds the humor in it, remembering her story of shooting at Kakarot fondly. In another lifetime and universe entirely, she'd be perfect for him.
But any world you exist in destroys the possibility.
"If you shoot me, all it's gonna do is wake the baby." Vegeta slurs, vision hazy as his body fails to fully recover from your assault. The number you did on his back is just as powerful as the crack you knocked against his skull, rendering him unable to even stand to his full height as he crashes against a wall.
"You bullshitting around will wake him too." Bulma hisses and drops the gun to her side, hurrying to kneel beside Vegeta as he slides to the floor.
"Being heavily concussed is not bullshitting." Vegeta slaps his palm to his face, your old handkerchief willing the sick-to-his-stomach feeling away once again— it does not, however, dissuade his rage. "Where's my wife?"
Bulma can't help the sting and the sinking feeling in her stomach; Vegeta had obviously made his choice, and though she knew the chances of really being chosen and wanted were incredibly slim… it's still painful to hear after all she's gone through with him.
"She's gone." Bulma mumbles as she examines the forming bruise on his temple.
Vegeta's eye twitches as his blood boils, the vein at his forehead bulging at her words. She let you go and he's lost you again.
I cannot accept this.
"Get me a ship." The prince seethes, trembling as he does his best to detain his wrath and desire for vengeance. Bulma's intentions were surely selfish, but reasonable all the same. He's a bad, horrible man that's only brought havoc among those around him, and so he might as well just keep on with the destruction until he's satisfied. "Now."
"You can't even stand, much less travel through space." Bulma hisses and pushes her knuckle harshly to his bruise, her point proven as his eyes cross and the room spins. "And she did this for a reason. The mother in me can't just let you fuck that up for her."
"What, like you're friends now?" Vegeta buries his nose into the handkerchief yet again, closing his eyes to still the world around him. "I find that incredibly hard to believe."
"She knocked you out cold to get the hell outta dodge, and you think I'm lying?" Bulma picks up her pistol from the carpet and tucks it into her waistband, the cool metal chilling her heated skin. "I'd never call us friends in this lifetime. But I do respect her, that's for sure. Maybe you should try that out?"
"How dare you." Vegeta huffs into your handkerchief. "You told her about the Androids, didn't you?"
"Damn right I did! Trunks came back to us for a reason, Vegeta! Do you wanna die to those bastards?" Bulma's eyes are fierce, her conviction planting her feet firmly to the floor and her fists curl tightly at her sides as she remembers the pain in her son's voice when he gave his terrible warning. "And don't try and feed me any bullshit that we'll win and it's nothing to worry about— YOU ALL FUCKING DIED!"
Even in his slurry, wrathful state he can see the worry behind the rage: the tears in her eyes are more than a dead giveaway. Ever since his son traveled back to deliver his warning, she's been fretful and more than a little clingy. She truly has such little faith in Vegeta and the others? Do they train for nothing in her eyes?
"I have survived more dangerous things than a couple of robots. We've been warned sufficiently, and by the time they're a threat to us we'll have three Super Saiyans."
"You had three Super Saiyans then too. Take this seriously, Vegeta! I can't beg you enough, I can't make you understand!" Bulma's thin frame trembles in the midst of her duress and her cheeks are flushed a bright red. It's now that Vegeta realizes the weight she's lost as she rubs at her temples, her cropped tank top pulling up slightly— her ribs are more visible than they once were.
Vegeta's jaw sets tightly. "I understand the situation, Bulma. But understand this: the boy will have very little if he doesn't have his mother."
Bulma falters for a moment, cutting her eyes to him with slightly parted lips; Vegeta never calls her by her name. He's still crumpled to the floor and the old lady's favor is pressed closely to his cheek— she can only assume it's some odd Saiyan thing. And for the first time out of several nights together, she truly gets the sense that they are parents and having adult discussions as them.
How terribly cruel is her fate of loving a man that's never been hers and never will be.
"That would only happen if I died, Vegeta."
"Dying on a battlefield isn't the only way to do so. You'll worry and stress yourself to the grave like this— I trust you to be a good mother. Trust me to be a father. I've already promised to amend my mistakes, haven't I?"
"Forgive me for not knowing if I can trust that." Bulma snaps at him, face reddened again at his lecture. Is he telling her how to be a parent?? The audacity of a man! "The thing about trust is that it has to be earned, y'know."
Vegeta gnashes his teeth together and looks away, the guilt of his past actions hitting like a shotgun blast to the chest as it bites his ass in this dreary long run. "What do you want me to do then??"
"Try being a dad, like you were before all of this happened? If you don't want to be with me-" Her breath hitches just a bit in her throat, but she still perseveres, proving to be braver than almost anybody Vegeta's ever known. "Then don't. I-I love you, but… It's not what I need the most. It's not what Trunks needs for a healthy childhood. To even have a childhood at all, he needs you around. Please, Vegeta… Please don't abandon him." She closes her eyes and turns her head in a failed attempt to hide the tears that fall, a shudder taking her entire body in very lightly chaotic loosening of her emotional lid. An heiress to the most fruitful fortune on Earth has never been more in need of a break.
With a deep inhale, Vegeta pushes himself up from the floor and, with the grace of mercy winning against his throbbing concussion, he pulls his son's mother into a close embrace. His hand at the back of her head, Vegeta tucks her face into the crook of his neck and closes his eyes at the feeling of her tears on his skin.
"To say I hold no love for you is a lie." His deep voice buzzes against the shell of her ear. "You cared for me when no one else has, and even at my most selfish I didn't take it for granted. You are special, Bulma. I will return to raise my son— Nothing in this galaxy will stop me."
She may end up the fool again, but the conviction in Vegeta's words is far too believable for her to deny. He'll come back and protect Trunks' future, and young Gohan's too. He's not the cruel man he was when he first came to Earth— and he hasn't been that man for a long time now.
"Now…" Vegeta murmurs into her ear. "Get me a ship."
The planet's as quiet as it's ever been, and it's unsettling. Only in his wildest dreams could he imagine the way his people trained here, getting stronger and preparing themselves for any battle or hostile takeover they launched. The Saiyans would surely have ruled the galaxy, had they been given the time to build a true dynasty. It would have been magnificent.
But instead, he lives his life in this desolate place, with no purpose or even another person that understands him in sight. His father's been long gone and his mother…
Is a complicated problem of his.
V's jaw ticks as his anger swells him into Super Saiyan yet again. His whole life has been a lie— it only took you well over ten years to admit it. And he gets the strange feeling that it was all due to an accident, and that you'd have never willingly let the truth come to light.
V's just come home from a training binge, and from the moment he touched down in his ship, the energy was… off. He sprints home, a tickle of fear and adrenaline rushing his heart as he nears the house he grew up in. Bursting through the door, the sound of your cries hits his sharply-tuned ears and his arms feel light and cold now as he fears the worst.
"Mom!" Your dutiful son follows the noise to your bedroom, dropping beside you hastily as he realizes your position on the floor. Clutching your heart, you're curled into yourself with tears streaming along your cheeks. He's never seen you cry before. "What's wrong?! Are you hurt?!"
"He's dead." Your voice is hoarse, a barely-there whisper as you tremble like a leaf.
"Who?" V gathers you carefully in his arms, holding you gently as you did him when he was a young boy. He's grown up quite a lot, gotten stronger and taller and he'll kill anyone that's hurt his mother like this. You're all he has to cherish.
"Vegeta." Your eyes are near-glassy, and surely you're delusional now. V himself isn't dead, and the only other person you could possibly be this sick over is…
His father, Vegeta the Fourth, that's been dead for almost twenty years now.
"What do you mean?" V mumbles. "My father died a long time ago."
"No…" Your nails dig into the flesh of your breast, your poor heart cracking and pulling apart as your blood sears your veins and pumps a horrible migraine that throbs at your temples worse than any concussion you've ever had.
There's no other possible answer: your soul itself is dying, and it's not entirely unfeasible that Vegeta didn't die. He was always a rebel type, so who was to say that he hadn't ignored the regrouping order sent out? Hell, you certainly ignored it yourself when you were informed by your father-in-law, the King himself, to come back home with his grandson to meet with King Cold.
"Mom, be serious now!" V frowns; you're out of your mind. "We need to get you to a doctor."
"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead…" Your broken voice chants and stars flood your vision as the image of your husband, particularly from the last day you saw him, settles at the forefront of your mind. This pain is a far cry from anything you've ever felt— the broken bones, bruises and even giving birth could never compare.
V lays you on your bed, covering you with your favorite blanket that's got a strange, orange and black striped animal printed on it. "I'm gonna get some help, okay? Stay here, Momma." His icy veins throb with panic as he scrambles to someone that can help— you've never been sick before, and until now he didn't even think mothers could be sick.
Your homey little planet is small, and you've never socialized all that much with your neighbors. Enough to be friendly and have an occasional dinner together, but never enough for you to let V have a sleepover or even some sort of field trip without you being close by. He doesn't know if this is typical of Saiyan mothers or if you're just different, but either way it's biting him in the ass now as he struggles to think of anyone who—
Your energy fades further and he's got no choice but to go knocking at every door he can until someone cares enough to hear him out. And it's the odd old lady a few houses down that answers his call, and he must have quite the look on his face for her to look so shocked.
"Vegeta, dear, what's wrong?"
"My mom- I-I don't- I think she's dying!" Tears fill V's dark eyes and without much preamble, he's scooping the old woman into his arms and flying back home as fast as he possibly can, his force unintentionally though uncaringly shattering the windows of all the neighbors that didn't open up to help him.
Dizzy, the elderly neighbor holds her head once V sets her down by your bedside. You clutch your heart still, crying and repeating yourself as if you've gone mad; and maybe you have, at this point.
"My father died when I was young, but she keeps saying he's just died." V explains as he takes your hand and prays to any deity that will listen to his plea.
"Hmm." She examines the mating scar on your neck, but it's more than enough to tell her what she needs to know. "You're Saiyans, yes?"
"We are." V mumbles. "How did you know?"
"I knew since the day your Momma brought you here." She murmurs to him. "You're a unique set of people."
"Well, do you know what's wrong with her??"
Her face is too grim for V's comfort. "She's telling the truth: her mate has died."
"Vegeta…" You whimper, a fresh slew of tears cascading your cheeks.
"That doesn't make any sense! He died years ago, when I was little!"
"She's dying of a broken heart. This behavior is like most species that can bond. You see how she holds her heart, hear how delirious she is? This is the risk of bonding, boy, and why many cultures outlawed the practice."
"So I have to let her die?! There's no way to save her?!"
"There isn't."
And then you recovered a few hours later, and just kept on lying and denying it all. Dad's alive. Mom's a liar. Or is Dad alive? He must be after all, if you're still breathing. And he knows you are; he reckons he would've felt something inside of him snap if he'd killed you all those months ago. A mother and son duo so close could never not feel such a tragic separation.
"I don't want to kill you, Mother." V mutters darkly as he stares a hole into the ground. "I just want the truth."
The hairs on the back of your neck stand as you approach your son's stomping grounds. It's been years since you last set foot here and all you hope for now is that you'll be able to leave it after this fight, with your son in tow and thoroughly reminded of his place.
Once you're out of the ship's hatch and your boots crunch on the hardened, reddish-brown clay surface, you're automatically searching for V's energy. Even with your zenkai boosts and the mastered Super Saiyan form in your back pocket, the sheer power he carries is still intimidating. You're not sure if you ever truly believed your son would be so naturally strong, even though you certainly hoped he could be. Your boy is likely what Frieza was so afraid of when he ruined your home planet to mere bits.
But despite his power, yours is nothing to scoff at. Rage motivates a Saiyan like crazy and lord only knows how pissed off you are now. You haven't struggled this much and come this far even with everything that stacked against you to die at the hands of your own son. He will not win as long as you have a say in things.
It takes but a moment to locate his energy, which is pinpointed right at the center of the field you two used to run miles and miles on during training. You always beat him in tests of speed, whereas his strength overtook yours gradually as he grew up into the incredibly strong young man he is now.
As you approach, the feeling of his energy increases. He's certainly been training on his own time, as always, and he's managed to make good progress all on his own. Watching your son take your techniques and guidance and morph it into his own power and tools made you a proud Saiyan as much as a proud mother; he's inherited Vegeta's battle prowess and your creativity and blended it into a Saiyan that would've been a legend among the rest.
They took everything from us, but instead he chooses to harm me.
"Have you come to tell the truth?"
V lands before you, tall and intimidating with eyes that are cold and guarded, when they once looked at you with love and trust that was endless. You've lost your only baby and this is what remains— your heart feels the weight of your desperation to beg him to just stop this madness.
But your rage swiftly nips that in the bud.
"It's all I've ever told you, V. I don't know what kind of fantasy you'd rather me spin, but I never told you stories as a child and I don't intend to pick up the habit now."
V shakes his head slowly, taking a slow, deep inhale through his nose before looking at you once more. "Maybe if you'd told me stories, I'd trust you right now."
Okay, ow.
"I found your father."
It's not a sentence V was prepared for you to say, obviously judged by the way his eyes widen and his fists lose their tight curl. "Really?"
And there's that boy I raised.
"I sure did. And he's none too happy to hear what you've done."
And then the incredulous look is lost, hardened up into something terrible and violent once again. "And I notice you came here alone. So either you're lying again, or Father isn't the guy you said he was."
"Vegeta certainly wanted to join me, make zero mistakes about that, child." You cross your arms and stare unflinchingly at V: you refuse to be afraid of something you made with all your love and hope. "But he wanted to kill you and I said not a chance in hell to that."
"He'd kill his only son, just like that?"
"V, baby…" You sigh to yourself. Do you break the news to him? Do you anger his uneasy heart more, ruin the visage of Vegeta you've painted for him throughout his life?
"I would've welcomed him to try." V sneers, taking a step closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head back even more to still see his face.
"It's in our blood to fight, but family is off the table for us, Prince." You remind him firmly of your positions, as the Royal Family that still lives beyond the bounds of the lost planet your husband's name originated from. "We aren't low-class Saiyans with no tact or notion of civility. I taught you this many years ago."
"Hard to tell what's true and what's not when it comes from you."
"And what reason would I have had to lie to you? You've never given me much of an answer on this."
"You'd have to tell me! I know you hid things but you won't just come out and say why! You almost died because my Father did!"
"Oh, not this again!" You turn away, perhaps foolishly taking your eyes off of your well-presumed opponent. "I don't know what happened that day, V. I truly believed in my heart that your father died when our planet was lost. It wasn't until I saw him with my own eyes that I realized that wasn't the case. What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Because I definitely am. I'm sorry you grew up the way you did. I'm sorry your father wasn't in your life. If I knew there was even the slightest chance he was alive, I would've found him for your sake before even my own. But I didn't know he was alive. I can't change that, and I can't tell you anything other than this and call it the truth because this is the truth."
"No! You knew that day he was dead for real, and then brushed it off like what happened was normal! You felt it in your soul and almost died too. You can't tell me half of a truth and think it's acceptable! I'm not an idiot, and I'm done letting you treat me like one!"
A snarl curls at your lips. Here he goes again with this song and dance, insistent you knew something you didn't and taking the word of a delirious woman before taking the one of a very sane and present one. "And I'm tired of having this same conversation with you. Mind your mother, boy."
"My mother died four years ago, the day my father did." V's fist reels back and you're quick at the ready, meeting his force with your own and a shockwave ripping through the air and disturbing the ground beneath you.
V's quick for another punch, this time aimed at your stomach and it's almost too easy for you to block it and dive your elbow down on his arm, forcing him towards his knees long enough to take a solid jab of your knee to his face. He's unphased by the pain of the bloody nose, however, as a result of your training being so thorough. Pain alone can't stop him.
His superior strength proves itself as he grabs your ankle and flings you away as if you're a gnat buzzing around his face, your back making a crackling contact with the post of one of the training ground's obstacle courses, the solid tree trunk knocking the wind out of you upon impact. And just as you taught him, V capitalizes on his advantage and presses forward with a gut punch that lands this time.
Base form isn't enough to beat him, something you already knew. Powering up into Super Saiyan isn't new to your clashes with V, but now with its optimization he has far less opportunity to take you out, now that you've negged the energy drain. Your son can use Super Saiyan himself, but without a room of space and time, there's no possible way he could've mastered it entirely like you have.
Your golden glow that reflects off of his face reminds you briefly of the very first time you ascended to the legend. Your broken heart caused such a response, and you still feel it break further as you're forced to use such a power on the boy you birthed. He cannot see reason on his own or by words alone, and if being beaten into submission is the only way, then so be it.
He will know his place.
The stars are familiar as Vegeta presses the ship as fast as it can go, Bulma's words ringing out in the quietness of his mind.
"She said something about the old training grounds. The one you liked the most. Apparently the kid likes it too."
His heart jumps when the reddened clay of the planet comes into view. There's no mistaking it— this is where you are, and just as importantly, where his long lost son is. Despite his infractions and how he's lost his damn mind, Vegeta can hardly contain the bubbling feeling inside of him at the prospect of reuniting with the boy he lost the chance to raise. His heir is so close, for the first time in twenty years.
Hopefully you've got the situation handled— Vegeta's trip started a few hours after yours, thanks to the lack of senzu beans at Bulma's and Korin being a stingy thing. But he knows these stars well, knows the way to a home that doesn't exist anymore and his gift of navigation doesn't fail in an abyss so vast.
From the moment he breaks into the planet's atmosphere, he feels it. Your familiar energy amped up by Super Saiyan and another, incredibly strong energy keeping up a good pace. That's his boy, so strong and powerful? You've trained him so well, made him exactly what he was destined to be had Planet Vegeta lived on. And perhaps that's the root of V's downfall— he has all the training and yet none of the experience.
But he's aiming to kill, and you're not. And such is your downfall.
The hackles of your tail rise, and so does your son's. It's enough to warrant a pause in your battle, one that's gone on for so long you've lost track of time. Stamina was never a question though, never something meant to be an obstacle for Saiyan elites and it certainly isn't proving to be one now.
"Who the hell is that?" V mutters to himself as your heart battles between soaring and shrouding.
"Vegeta." You swallow thickly and feel a trickle of ice in your veins. How is he here, and—
Bulma. That pain in the ass!
Vegeta's out of the ship as soon as he can be, flying out and locating you both with ease.
"Father?" V's face briefly loses its rage and in what's left, you see the boy you raised. The one who could only dream of knowing his father, the one that would ask for stories of Prince Vegeta IV.
"That's right, son." Vegeta's eyes water. His boy, his son has grown into exactly how he'd envisioned; a spitting image of himself, and bitterly he realizes how much taller V is. How unfair for his son to take on his grandfather's genes, whereas Vegeta himself took after his own mother…
V's brief glimmer of starstruck doesn't last. His hands glow, gathering energy once more. "This doesn't concern you; my whole life never has." His growl loses a bit of punch as an unavoidable tear glides down his cheek. To finally meet his father…
"On the contrary," Vegeta quickly powers into Super Saiyan, quietly hoping it'll give him enough power to subdue his firstborn. "V, I think it's way past time I be a parent. Starting right now. Stand down and mind yourself, boy."
"Who are you to threaten me?!" V's temper flares again, this time sending a beam of deadly light at Vegeta. Vegeta's eyes narrow, brow creasing angrily at the attack, and with a flash he's dodged it and has V by the collar of his uniform.
"Your father. Me and your mother, mostly her, brought you into this world, and where your mother has her maternal instincts not to kill you…" Vegeta leans in closer to his son's face. "I will take you out of this world without another thought if you threaten my wife. One. More. Time."
"You don't have enough hatred." V spits out and knocks Vegeta's hand aside.
Anger flares up in your husband's eyes and his blood boils. Oh, the nerve of this child! He's as cocky as… Vegeta himself. He was always going to be this way. And Vegeta likely would've been proud, had your lives gone in the direction he planned.
"I've got a spare son to raise, so try me all you want, boy!" Vegeta releases V's shirt, backing up and crossing his arms over.
And that, right there, is the moment V's heart truly broke.
"You've got another kid??"
"He does." You mutter darkly, eyeing Vegeta with the eyes of a mother bear, daring him to lay a finger on your precious cub. "And he should've stayed on Earth with that child."
"I'll be back for Trunks, make no mistake. But if you think you'll cast me aside again, woman, you're wrong." Vegeta turns to you and is in your face now, angry and attractive and it burns you hotter than any sun to see him here and destroying the sacrifice you made.
"I left you behind for good reason." You hiss at him, mirroring his Super Saiyan glow. "You will not lay a hand on him."
Vegeta tips his fingers up beneath your chin, his lips a hair's breadth away. "If he minds himself, then you've got a deal, Princess."
"You should be training for the Androids."
"How about I will when you do?"
"Vegeta-"
"This running away thing is done. You will return to Earth with me, as my wife, and if the boy can carry himself as the man he should be, he'll be right there with us." Vegeta's fingers carefully grasp yours, holding your hand tightly as he turns to look at his son, satisfied as your hand curls with his.
"What will it be, boy?"
V's chest heaves and your aching heart cries to comfort him. His first experience that'll he remember of his father, and the asshole has shoved in his face he's got another son! You'd forgotten how cruel Vegeta's temper could be.
"Vegeta." You hiss sharply. "Do you really think this is how you should approach-"
A monstrous, angry roar deafens you and your husband. V's power swells and the glow of Super Saiyan bathes him, your entire little family now officially ascended to the legend. Hatred burns in V's eyes now, more prevalent and angry than ever as his increased speed gives him the chance to blindside you and Vegeta with a heavy tackle that makes your head rush.
Blinding light from his palms force you to cross your wrists over your face to shield your eyes, but its sudden disappearance sends your heart into freefall.
Opening your eyes reveals your husband and son in a brawl, their near-identical faces portraying a common ideal.
